I suppose that's what everyone says when they have to move. For some reason, I guess everytime you move someplace new, you hope and pray you'll never have to move again.
But actually, when I moved to Reston, the theory was that we'd be moving into a different place within a year or two. So really, I planned to be moving again pretty soon anyhow.
And I am!
Just a slightly different set of circumstances.
So I've decided it's time to actually work out the details. Like where I should live. And whether I should live alone or with another human being.
To be honest, I had really hoped I'd be in love again by now. I mean, it has been a couple of months...almost. If I were in love, I could just move in with the next guy.
But, alas, no one seems to want me.
So here I am, looking at townhouses.
I think I'm through with apartment buildings. When you live in an apartment building, you have to share the elevator with people who are too shy to talk. That's so awkward. Or, you have to be social with your neighbors when you're really just tired or you've been waiting the whole ride home to get inside and pee. And in an apartment building, there's totally no way to check your mail without running into at least ten people. It's just a big responsibility living in an apartment building. Besides, the hallways in apartment buildings are way too long to walk after you've been out for a run.
A townhouse is much easier.
It's just considering a housemate that has me nervous. I've never lived with someone I wasn't intimate with.
The thing is, how do you live with someone who's going to be intimate with other people? People besides you? Where will you be while that stuff is going on? This is a part of life that's always stumped me.
I've only lived with non-intimates twice. Both times girls. The first time it was amazing. The second time it was complicated.
My first time was in Washington DC.
I had left high school to be a Congressional Page in Washington.
Sounds impressive, right?
Well, don't be impressed. It was just part of my master plan to get the hell out of high school. Plus, I got to leave home early. An extra plus.
Being a Page was fun except for the intolerable uniform of a blue suit and white shirt. No accessories allowed. That's why Congress sucks. No sense of style.
Along with 70-some kiss-butt overachievers, I ran around the halls of the Capitol delivering papers and packages to various legislative offices. We were a critical part of the democratic process.
But the best part of the experience was living across the street from the Supreme Court in a boarding house for women where all the female Pages stayed. The boys were left to their own devices. I only found out years later what the boy Pages were really up to. Or down to, should I say.
Anyway, I lived in this all-girls boarding house. With all girls. For the first time ever.
It was so cool!
The only girl I had ever lived with was my mother. I had no sisters. No adopted girl cousins or long-lost girl relatives who came to live with us when their families were lost in a flood. No, this atmosphere was completely different from my house where testosterone ruled.
In the boarding house, it was just about hanging out, gabbing and giggling. There were no boys allowed above the first floor foyer and nobody dared to break the rule. It was just girls. Just loud and fun. And silly. I liked it.
And I really couldn't wait for college when I would have my very own girl roommate.
Unfortunately, my very own girl roommate in college had different ideas.
When Lisa, my college roommate, wrote to me the summer before freshman year to introduce herself, she sounded so nice and normal. She had two parents like me, two siblings like me, and she couldn't wait for school to start, just like me.
I arrived at college totally psyched to meet Lisa, my new best friend. Fresh out of the fun and silliness of Washington, I anticipated four years of best girl friendship. Late night manicures, make-overs and shared M&M's. I was willing to give up whatever her favorite color M&M's were. Anything for my new best girlfriend.
Did I mention that Lisa came to college with a completely different idea?
You see, Lisa hated her family. And her upbringing. And her religion.
Maybe Lisa would have hated me too if she had taken the time to get to know me.
But Lisa was too busy to get to know me. Lisa had a campaign of rebellion to carry out. Beginning with her freshman year of college.
I rarely saw Lisa. The only times she was around, she was sleeping. Sometimes alone, and sometimes not so alone. When she wasn't sleeping, she was banging things. Sometimes alone, and sometimes not so alone.
Sleeping and banging things. That was Lisa.
Basically, first semester freshman year went something like this:
I'd be in the dorm room and Lisa would come back from class or back from three days spent somewhere else. She'd BLOW into the room, BANG the door shut, SLAM her things down, THROW herself onto the bed, and sleep. None of that frenzy included a "hello" or "what's up?" Then again, we didn't say "what's up" back then.
Oh, and there was the one where I'd come home from class and the door would be locked from the inside.
That one was really fun. When the door was locked from the inside, it meant she'd be in there for a bunch of hours. Knocking wasn't an option since she didn't acknowledge knocking. Later, she and some nameless guy would leave, and then I wouldn't see her for a few days or more.
Yeah. We were best friends. Just like I had dreamed.
Our wonderful friendship didn't last four years. At the end of the first semester, I went to the Dean and asked for a transfer to a different room. Luckily, there was an opening in a different dorm.
As I was packing up my side of the room, my real college best friend, Molly, from across the hall, came in. She told me that she and some of the girls had talked to Lisa. They had convinced Lisa to move out so that I could stay. They had appealed to Lisa's sense of fairness.
That, of course, hadn't worked.
But Lisa apparently did understand that the third floor of Jameson Residence Hall just couldn't survive without it's Campus Safety Student Representative.
Thank goodness I always volunteer for queer quasi-leadership positions. Being the floor cheerleader for quick exits in case of fire alarms saved me.
I never saw Lisa again after she left. Molly I saw more often since she moved her things into my room from across the hall.
So, back to the original querie. Can I live with someone who's being intimate with someone besides me?
I have no idea.
I've asked people how that works and no one seems to know the answer.
I know I like having a friend to come home to and a friend to hang out with. And it would be really great if someone could help me out with the Netflix rotation...I'm having trouble keeping up.
But where am I when my really fun housemate and friend is entertaining company? I can't just hang out with them all the time. They'll roll their eyes and think I'm pathetic. Do I just disappear to Barnes and Noble everytime my housemate wants alone time with an object of affection?
As much as I enjoy not thinking about these things, I might have to actually think about this one if I want to progress in my planning.
Because all the housemate fun in the world won't mean much if I come home to a locked entry and a scrawled note on the dry erase board mounted on the front door that says "Busy Now - Come Back Later" ...