I just recently moved into a new apartment and am living alone for the first time. I was really proud of myself in general, but mostly because I was able to afford the good cable package so that I get all the movie channels plus Nat Geo and the Lifetime Movie Network.

I immediately hate myself after that last sentence.

Everyone always asks if I hate living alone. Are you people high? If so, I’m jealous..but seriously, why would I hate living alone?? All I ever do is whatever the fuck I want. No, I don’t get lonely – who could EVER be lonely with Nat Geo and Lifetime?!

Also, I’m not totally alone because one of my very best friends from high school lives in the building across the street, and he’s Native American so not only does he give me instant street cred but he’s also super useful when it snows and I don’t want to dig my car out or if I run out of vodka and am too drunk to drive to the store to get more. He keeps saying things like he ‘won’t be around forever’ and ‘I need to do things on my own’.

Right…

Some of my favorite things about living alone:

1. I never have to put pants on. Anyone who knows me knows I hate pants. I think they’re for guys and the homeless. I am always in either a skirt, dress or leggings if I HAVE to. (P.S leggings aren’t pants and if you think they are then you probably also think it’s acceptable to wear tights with open toed shoes. It’s not.)

2.  There’s no one to pass judgement or question my awful decisions when I decide to cut out solids for the week, meet up with that bad idea of a guy I had finally cut loose last month or watch 4 back-to-back Lifetime movies on the couch.

3. Feeling independent. Sometimes, I’m kind of clueless. It’s not my fault that I didn’t know you’re supposed to get your car inspected, turn off the gas when you’re done cooking or NOT cut open the bag of frozen broccoli and cheese then dump it into the boiling water but instead leave it INSIDE of the plastic casing to cook as one (p.s. Mom – if you’re reading this, stop buying frozen vegetables with cheese sauce. We have a garden in the back yard and we’re not Honey Boo Boo).

I will say, however, that I do miss a lot of the roommates I’ve had the pleasure of living with in the past. My first roommate was my little sister and I don’t really miss that because she stole my clothes and ratted me out to my mom when I had a dentist appointment which is my worst fear (Reference: the Lifetime original movie ‘I Woke up Pregnant’, you’ll never get a cavity filled again).

College was fun because if it weren’t for my roommates then how else would I know that the Papa John’s delivery guy brought me home from the bar. Again. I lived with a boyfriend for a while, that was okay but boring because all he did for three years was watch Law & Order and eat Hamburger Helper (not my best relationship). 

Then came the Southie years…with my cousin’s now wife and Mary who is more of a sister then a friend. Seriously, I remind her daily that she in fact, is not my friend. We use to save quarters and walk to Stop and Shop to buy deli pickles, stare out the window to watch trashy Southie couples fight in the street and hit parked cars, you get the picture: great couple of years. Then I moved to Malden where I had two of the best roommates ever because they cooked for me and were totally cool with me always being drunk, eating Wendy’s and passing out mid-conversation because I took too many Ambien – love you guys, mean it.

Sooo long story short: living alone is great and everyone should do it at some point in their life.  You can literally get drunk while naked and eating ice cream, watching trash TV and making the Native American across the street do your packy runs.

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

We all know her. We all can’t stand her. Yet, we almost need her in a way so that we feel better about ourselves. I mean at the end of the day, sure..maybe Amazon continues to recommend the “boyfriend pillow” as my next purchase and maybe a guy I use to date recently sent me an article that “reminded him of me”, entitled “17 Reasons You’re Undateable” but at least I’m not THAT girl.

The girl that posts selfies on every social media platform she is a member of.

She posts selfies no matter the situation even when it’s completely irrelevant to her post.

The Activity Selfie – There is NO need for a duck face selfie in front of the giraffe exhibit when you’re “going to the zoo with the fam!” – neat. You’re at the zoo. We get it. Why not put up a picture of a fucking monkey or a lion for christ sakes? Lord knows I’d rather see the alligators then you’re face.

The Getting Ready Selfie – Like, why post a picture of yourself “getting ready to go out!”? If you’re going out, people are going to see you. Soo why the need to put it online? Unless you “going out” is sitting in your friends parents basement, which lets be honest it most likely is if you’re posting selfies online of your heinous outfit and awful hair, then fine, I get it – post away, Amanda Bynes.

The Skinny Beach Selfie – Love, love LOVE the shots when she’s laying down at the beach, and posts a selfie of her “flat stomach and skinny feet”. You’re not fooling anyone, sister, we all look like we have washboard stomachs when we’re fucking laying down. You want to see a picture of me at the beach? Good fucking luck trying to find one.

Why? Because the only time I’m in a bathing suit is when I’m rolling around Washburn Island or tanning in my parents backyard, where I can crush cheeseburgers and waddle to the water without judgment. The only picture of me in a bathing suit you’ll ever see on the internet is the time I caught a horseshoe crab because I was both proud and excited. So fuck you.

The Before/After Selfie – I fucking LIVE for these. You lost 3 pounds in your left wrist?? That clearly requires a full body before and after shot. Just a heads up though, you’re most likely still not skinny. You’re just less fat than you were before. But really, I’m excited for you that you lost weight, thanks for sharing with the entire facebook community ..

Bottom line:

Dear Girl Who Posts Excessive Selfies:

Stop. Just stop. If you want the social media world to praise you for losing weight, getting a new hair style or to check out your new outfit; then post a group photo with your friends! Or I don’t know, at least ask your Grandmother to take it so it at least SEEMS as if you’re with another human and not just sitting in your room, alone, putting on makeup and doing your hair for no other purpose other than to take a selfie and post it to see how many ‘likes’ you get from the reject townies who are also sitting alone in their parents homes but aren’t clever or sober enough to know how to upload pictures to social media platforms.

End Rant.

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

Animals are great. They love you unconditionally, provide companionship and are always so legitimately happy to see you. But most of the time, they annoy the fuck out of me. Mostly because they’re always in the way and ruin everything. I grew up always having dogs, I love dogs! As long as they’re not mine.

But when my ex-boyfriend and I moved into our very first apartment together, we decided to get a puppy.

Worst.Decison.Of.My.Life.

I agreed to get the dog because I thought it was going to be fun to build a little family and who doesn’t love a puppy??

Expectation:

This thing hated me. I should have returned it the minute we drove all the way to Logan to pick it up and it was covered in its own shit. The ex-boyfriend immediately bonded with it and I swear to god trained it to ruin my life. This thing literally was out to get me from day 1.

Reality:

I will say, he had great taste. He would only chew on Coach, preferred my brand new push button recliners over puppy chow and ate Victoria Secret thongs like they were fucking steaks. Needless to say when the ex-boyfriend and I broke up I let him take the dog – I got the furniture.

A couple of years later, when I moved to Malden, I got the itch for a pet again. So naturally I decided to get a bunchilla. For those of you who aren’t aware, a bunchilla is a little ball of hate that is half bunny half chinchilla. I named it Ray Pruitt after my favorite 90210 character; the one that sang “How Do You Talk to an Angel” and beat Donna Martin.

This thing hated me almost as much as the dog did. It kept breaking out of its cage and I would find it hiding in my crock pot. It would have rather become bunchilla soup then be my pet. Eventually I got so sick of it trying to kill itself that I gave it away to an Asian family I found on Craigslist.

Moral of the story: don’t eat chinese food in Malden, because it’s probably Ray Pruitt.

I don’t have a pet right now, though I kind of want one again. My sister told me I might as well get a cat since I’m a 28 year old single girl living alone, so people probably already assume I have one.

Whatever. I’m saving for a jelly fish tank. They can’t hate me because I don’t think they have brains. And they also can’t run away or try to cook themselves.

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

I went on a couple of dates with this guy I met at Walmart who we’ll call George Glass for reasons that are both unimportant and irrelevant. I’d like to point out that I met him in the parking lot because he so chivalrously offered to shovel my car out when it was stuck in a snow pile that I thought was a good idea to park on top of, and that I wasn’t just trolling the aisles for rando’s..

..George Glass was nice enough to help while I sat inside his already heated brand new Audi A6 (that should have been my first red flag that he was a total psycho, anyone who drives a brand new Audi shouldn’t be shopping at roll back prices), but decided to give him my number when he asked for it.

He called a few days later and asked me to dinner. I clearly texted my three best friends and asked what I should wear in addition to sending them the address of the restaurant just in case I went missing.

I had a really great time and he turned out to be super nice. After a few dates at various restaurants he invited me over to his condo for a “night in”. He said he would order takeout and asked me to bring a movie. That was his first mistake.

I have awful taste in movies. I mean, I don’t think it’s awful, but most people do. I live for SyFy, watch Alien vs. Predator 2-5 nights a week and spent most of last weekend watching all 5 Resident Evil movies.

Anyways, I had a super stressful day at work and was running late. I stopped home before heading to his condo because I wanted to change out of my work clothes and grab the movie. He texted me that the food had arrived and I panicked because I felt bad making him wait.

I was annoyed but quickly threw on black yoga pants, a black running fleece, grabbed one of my favorite hand-to-hand combat movies and looked in my fridge for something to bring. I had two twisted teas, three cold snaps and a miller light. Perfect.

So I show up on George Glass’s doorstep dressed as a fucking ninja with an underground prison fighting movie and a Stop & Shop bag of random fridge beverages. If that doesn’t scream “wife material” I honestly don’t know what does.

George Glass began to serve me a plate of what looked like squid arms and donkey vaginas. Not that I know what a donkey vagina looks like, but if I had to imagine one, it was what I was expected to eat for dinner.

Homeboy ordered Thai. That’s a pretty ballsy thing to order without asking someone if they like or eat it. I politely pushed some shit around my plate and took a bite. I tried so hard to muscle it down but it’s like my body knew it was donkey vagina and rejected it. BOOM – I vommed all over my plate at the dinner table.

George Glass looked at me with a blank stare and asked if I was okay. I smiled and asked where the restroom was. I sat in there for a few minutes contemplating if I should just jump out the window or drown myself in the tub, but decided to own it best I could and walked out laughing and spitting some bullshit about acid reflex.

I then almost immediately had a heart attack when his psycho ugly cat came bombing around the corner, out of fucking nowhere, chasing a bug.

I don’t fucking do cats.

I’m 1-allergic, 2-hate them because I think they’re all shady as fuck and would murder their owners in their sleep if given the chance and 3-what normal, single guy owns a fucking cat?

I said I didn’t feel good and went home. I never hung out with him again, and actually defriended him on Facebook JUST so I could write and share this post because I’m not trying to be murdered later.

Sooo…what did we learn from this? Don’t date guys you meet at Walmart.

Side note: I recently learned that a guy I work with is George Glass’s cousin. I discovered this when homeboy friended me on Facebook and George Glass was in his default – turns out, the whole family is apparently psychotic. Here’s a conversation between us via office communicator. I just..I can’t.

 

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

We all have that one friend/acquaintance/girl we don’t even really like that over-analyzes every situation. She analyzes shit to the point of you wanting to smack her across the face while screaming you CANNOT be this dense. Instead, you just quietly sip your vodka soda while thinking, “this bitch is fucking bat shit.”

It’s like she processes things in a completely different manner and you just don’t follow or understand where she comes to the conclusions that she does. That or she’s just fucking brain dead.

The best is when she gets dumped but doesn’t want to accept it.

Dear Jesus, hold onto the designer fedora that you clearly only wear while traveling to warm climates or shopping at outdoor venues, because homegirl turns into a three gallon scoop of psycho in a two gallon bucket. That.Shit.Explodes.

Her Ex texts:  “Hey – what’s up?”

She immediately proceeds to screen shot the message, send it to you and her closest 45 friends to get everyone’s take on what it means and to ask how she should respond. Hey, here’s an idea: how about you fucking say hello back before he remembers that you’re 50 shades of cray..

The best is when she tries to convince you he likes her, but you know he’d rather have chlamydia then be seen with her in public. He clearly justifies this to her by explaining that he’s “not ready for a relationship” but “still wants to hook up”..

She gets dumped? You might as well go ahead and cancel any plans you had in the next six months and possibly even quit your job because you know damn well you’re getting called all day, every day, for nights filled with tears and bitch sessions.

I am HORRIBLE at that shit. I show little to no emotion outside of humor (is humor an emotion? Whatever this is my blog, I do what I want) or the occasional depression stints, but even that I turn into something chic that everyone wants to feel.

Me: “Seriously, though..I hate everything that isn’t wine or Zac Efron.”

Suddenly everyone’s buying Pinot Noir and Red Box is out of High School Musical 3.

Me too, Zac…me, too.

It’s not that I’m a heartless bitch, it’s just that I firmly believe if anything happens to make you that upset, it HAD to have happened for a reason, so why not learn from it and try to see the good? That and I don’t care about a whole lot outside of wine, Lifetime, Phillip Phillips and brussel sprouts. And corn.

I have two points of view I’d like to share, one for Pathetic Pam that’s probably crying in her room while watching Beaches right now (solid movie, no disrespect to Bette – GINGER REPRESENT – just meant it’s a tear jerker) and another for the girl who’s dealing with her.

Pathetic Pam: Cut the shit. Seriously, just..just, no. If he wanted to date you, HE WOULD. You’re not Ally and he sure as shit ain’t Noah, and this isn’t the fucking Notebook. Want to feel better? Then stop crying in your room or bothering your friends unless it’s to go shopping, get drunk or do anything OTHER than complain and be pathetic. You were fine before him; you’ll be fine after him – I PROMISE. And if not well then that sucks and I don’t know what else to tell you other than vodka never leaves and Kate Spade doesn’t lie.

Just be like me:

..and I couldn’t be happier.

Pathetic Pam’s Friend: Bless your heart. But quit feeding the monster that is two steps away from jumping off a cliff and/or making a hair doll out of her ex’s stray pubes. Take that bitch, get her shitfaced and make her hook up with a rando that she can then focus her time and effort stalking. If she refuses to get outta the house then mail her a dildo, change your number and get some new fucking friends.

**PS: We’ve all been one of these two girls, myself included. I don’t know how I would have gotten through a lot of things, especially the past 10 months, without my friends who were nothing but patient and understanding. The point I’m trying to make here is that there comes a point when you need to realize that nice girls finish last so don’t cry over anything that isn’t spilt wine or ruined designer clothing. Or if someone dies, because that’s like, really fucking sad.

The End.

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Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony