No, not that, you perv. Guess again.
That's right, I'm sitting here, on MY own couch, in front of MY own fireplace, watching American Idol on MY own tv with MY own Comcast account (they are the best...they are) blogging away on MY own internet connection, listening to the dishwasher wash MY own dishes while MY kids sleep in THEIR own room.
I have a cable account and an energy account and a lease and they are all in my own name. I have never had utilities in my name before. When you have close relatives that are, um, fucking crazy, you learn to appreciate the value of a level of anonymity. The last time I had my own apartment I was 20 and all of my utilities were included in my rent and I didn't feel the need to have a phone and Al Gore hadn't invented the internet yet (shit, I am OLD) and so here I am, age 24*, doing this all for the first time.
It feels kinda nice.
So, I am going to be back on the blog. The baby, she is crazy big. She talks a lot and flirts and dances and is still knocking me out with those American thighs. The boys are bigger and smellier and adjusting to their new old life. I am calming down, and not as lonely as I thought I'd be, though honestly it is weird to not bounce dinner ideas off of anyone and it's weirder still to have no one to break in the couch with, but I can handle the menu and I suppose that if I tried really hard I could
Oh, I almost forgot. I have CLOSET SPACE. C-L-O-S-E-T space. My darling ex, well, he really likes clothes and shoes and ties and belts and stuff and he hoards them. He has always filled every closet we have ever had. And most drawers. I have never had places to hang my clothes.
I LOVE being single. Love it.
*maybe in dog years.