Bath Meditations 2.0 – Fiscal responsibility and Lifestyle

I am writing this after having gourmet steak tacos and homemade banana pudding cooked in front of my eyes by my roommate, Jacob.  Seriously, the three medium rare steak tacos, with skillet cooked fresh salsa bathing in cilantro and lime juice and homemade lime crema on a fluffy tortilla bed was pretty delightful.  As I wait for my banana pudding to cool so I can enjoy the slightly soggy Nilla wafers among the delectable banana pudding, I am writing this entry.

I’ve had a drama free roommate for the past year and it’s been fantastic.  Honestly, it was nothing like I expected.  When I first moved home after college, I was elated to get into my first apartment in the Southend, which was where the gays had polled was the homeland.  I am happy to report I couldn’t spend more than one year in a single apartment.  I even switched units in the same apartment to a smaller studio to address my insatiable desire for change (the unit was literally across the hall, and it was smaller for about $100 cheaper a month).  I lived in sleepy SouthPark for a year, even moved home for a couple of months, before deciding that I wanted to move back out to where the people are (cue Ariel from The Little Mermaid).  I couldn’t stop flittering back and forth between imagining what would it feel like to be among the people and wanting to break away and just save my money so I could buy property and do mature people things.

Driven by conflicting motivations, I moved every year.  One minute, I wanted to be frivolous and have all of the luxurious amenities of posh uptown living, including a Olympic saltwater pool, a state of the art dog spa (I don’t have a dog), three bocce balls courts, a rooftop clubhouse overlooking Charlotte’s skyline, beer on tap in the lobby, etc.  I wanted to have it all at my fingertips.  I thought, somehow, this would make my life feel more delectable.  I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t nice, as times.  An aura of city living while I was nested in my tiny apartment felt like I had made it.   
However, I didn’t stop spending many days in close proximity to my family and considering whether the expense was really worth it.  Was it really worth spending the extra hundreds to feel like I was among the people?  I was within spitting distance of the most prominent LGBT bars in the area.  I could go every night if I wanted to and get completely trashed.  Wasn’t this what I should want?  Apparently not.

I moved back and forth, like Goldilocks, trying out different arrangements until finally I shed all of my preconceived notions about coexisting with other humans and decided to get a roommate (exactly 15 months ago).  I had tons of people warn me about nightmare roommates they had in the past.  Admittedly, during my search for a roommate, I was on the brink of giving up.  When I met Jacob, I just had an intuition that he was the right one to room with.  Call it a sixth sense…

One year later… I’m moving… out…again.  Even an ideal situation with an awesome, drama free roommate chef and no issues didn’t prove to be enough for me.  Perhaps I secretly like the turmoil.  I have learned a lot from this living arrangement.  It’s been nice to have someone to talk to, even though most of the time he’s too busy playing his video games to listen.  I would spend most evenings recapping my daily nothings.  I swear, sometimes I felt like I was talking to the wall, but it was still perfect in my head (Is this what it is like being with a straight man?)  He definitely gave me some odd looks when I would randomly make bird noises for no reason whatsoever.  But I’ll miss those random one-liners of sincerity after a couple beers had been downed on a Saturday night. 

I have no doubt we’ll stay in touch.  What’s more important is that I’ve realized that being stingy with my pennies or living in the coolest location was utterly irrelevant to my life experience.  Also, I guess for now, I’ve concluded that living alone kind of sucks.  I enjoy the randomness that comes with various other people and their foreign energy.  Maybe it’s the sheer kick I get out of the conflict of coexistence.  Best of all, my introvert self is still able to retreat to my bedroom for privacy. 

So what wins… it extravagance or simplicity?  Would I choose the diamond resort of the shack on the lake?  Neither for me, and it doesn’t matter at all.  I mean that… I honestly don’t give a shit.  Changing environments can provide you with different tools to build your life, but that doesn’t mean that they will do the handy work for you.  So long, roommate, for now.  I agreed that I would be bringing over some food to his new apartment, and indulging in his skills in beautiful preparation of fresh vegetables and meats and all of the other wonderful pieces of a home cooked meal over a glass of wine.  Wine always enhances the experience.

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