Adam has been camping and doing manly things with his brothers and father since Wednesday afternoon, finally set to arrive home here any minute. I knew about this trip for quite a while and to be honest, I was sort of excited to have the house to myself for 5+ days in a row. I mean, I could watch absolutely ridiculous shows like the Rachelle Zoe Project without anyone rolling their eyes, spend as long as I wished tooling around in the bloggoshphere without a certain someone feeling abandoned, read 700 million books, eat nothing but popcorn and drink wine, live in my pj's, and be an all around lazy sack of shit. Glorious!
Except... I totally didn't realize what an absolute nasty ass bachelor I would suddenly morph into. I haven't eaten a real meal since TUESDAY NIGHT of last week. I am living off pizza, taco bell, sandwich shops, mac'n cheese, and cereal. Which was fun as hell the first two or so meals, but seriously I think I am about to die my stomach hurts so bad. Yet, even with the crippling pain I couldn't for the life of me cook anything. I would stand in the kitchen, holding a frying pan and the fridge door wide open hoping for inspiration and NOTHING. Eventually I would just grab my keys and get another pizza and allow the pain in my mid section to increase.
There is a pile of laundry in my bedroom right now, clean even, that if it happened to fall on top of Oly it might actually smother her. Saddest part? That one isn't even an exaggeration. The only dishes I've done all week have been the wine glasses, because lets face it, wine has sort of become my go-to meal in these desperate times, and although I'm lazy, I've not yet resorted to using the water glasses for my wine. A girl has limits. Also, I have watched more tv than I care to admit. Everything from bad reality tv, delightfully sappy chick flicks, animal shows to medical features. You know you're in a bad place when another gruesome show comes on Discovery Health about some kid with 7 legs or something and you actually yelp with glee.
Even worse is there are people I could have called during this bachelordom, people who would gladly have spent time with me, enabled me to break out of the bachelor funk, yet I was so deep in my pit of nastiness that the idea of getting dressed in real clothes and actually doing my hair to converse with others felt like WAY too much work. Spending time with friends these last five days meant I would have had to think of things like matching, or style, and even try to ensure that my shoes and purse matched and I just couldn't. I had a pizza hangover. Remember?
It's amazing the difference a year can make. Back when I had roommates, even if you liked the person, a weekend, or even better a WEEK with them gone was like winning the Super Bowl. Not because you particularly despised them, but because for a change you didn't need to share your space with a single other human being. I'd lock myself in my home and avoid human contact for as long as humanly possible. Therefore, based on past experiences I was sure this trip would be the same way. But honestly, two days in I missed having someone else to eat dinner with, I missed watching a movie with someone else so I can rattle off impossible to answer questions about the story that make no sense, I missed sharing the daily duties of Oly, I missed feeling completely 100% secure in the house after dark, and mostly, I think I just missed him.
And now I blame the pizza hangover for my utterly sappy outlook on the last week. Either that or the chick flicks. At least one of them has to be to blame.