The (Failed) Maturity Chronicles

Loyal reader, you may have heard the horrifying news that I recently took a step into adulthood and moved in with my ladyfriend. RVD and I had a brilliant vision at the time of an on-going blog series called “The Maturity Chronicles,” where I would pontificate on this new lifestyle and share all of the interesting daily comings and goings of living with my new roommate. Putting pen to paper never happened though. I guess the move went too well and nothing overly exciting has gone down during the first 25 days. I started complaining to RVD that there was nothing to write about, but he pointed out that the simplicity factor might be key. Enjoy.

Meow
In the days before my handsome self was brought into her life, my ladyfriend (we’ll call her Miss Canada for now) filled the void of love in her life by purchasing 2 cats, Big Mack and Bean. Apparently the scent of kitty litter and cat food just made her feel complete. I guess I didn’t really comprehend that when I became roommates with Miss Canada, I was also becoming the proud owner of the two feline monsters as well. I have since made peace with this fact, even though I never thought in my life I would clean up cat vomit or “take out the shit” of another species. With respect to the best G-D tv show of all time (Trailer Park Boys), I decided to have a little fun at the cats' expense. A character on the show named Bubbles is a proprietor of the “Super Cats Cat Show” and is also the proud owner of many adorable kitties. Big Mack and Bean are not appropriate names for the vicious creatures that I live with. I have taken to confusing them by now referring to them as one of the following (Bubbles inspired) cat names: Meowenstein, Shit Rock, Steve French, Vince the Pince. These inquisitive little nightmares have also become interested in my bathroom activities. My new favorite pastime is throwing magazines at the paw that sneaks under the bathroom door while I'm sitting on the John. Last week, I even sat for a good 15 minute session with the bathroom door open, just to see if they would approach. The look of shame/fear on my face must have led them away, because they pawed at the door frame and scampered away. I stink and have too much time on my hands.

Clog
It was inevitable. The clogging of the one toilet in our apartment was going to happen at some point, but I didn’t think it would happen six days into our lease. My time at the River St Sex Club included heavy indulgence in cheap American ale, chicken wings and burritos. In those years, I perfected the art of the plunge and should probably be teaching classes on how to un-clog toilets. So two weeks ago on a Saturday, I made the Executive Decision (see a movie) to walk out of the bathroom with the plunger in one hand and a sad and confused look on my face. “You officially now live with a gentleman.” “What’d you do?” You get the idea how that conversation went. When I started laughing halfway through and told her I would fix it but that this might be a weekly occurrence, she asked if our lease was still negotiable or not. I’m not sure if the land-lord ever got back to her. F my A.

Yoga + The Hangover
Miss Canada’s suggestion that I try out yoga was well taken at the time. I will not deny that I need to work on my flexibility and stretching. A nice quiet hour on Sunday morning with some soothing music and 15 complete strangers seemed like a good idea on the Tuesday that I agreed to go. Saturday afternoon, I started to have my doubts. I don’t like being the new guy at places. I don’t own a yoga mat. I really feel like sleeping in and watching SportsCenter three times on Sunday. You get the idea. So Saturday evening I put my plan into place. If I could get Miss Canada drunk enough, she’d be hungover on Sunday morning and want to skip class. We were at a Red Sox game that night – so the draft beer was flowing well and she fell into my trap. Every suggestion of “one more” was accepted. The Sox won the game, and I won at my game. Sunday morning rolled around and I heard someone mumble “let’s just skip it this week.” VICTORY!


Please note, dear reader, that these stories certainly are on a different scale than the days of old. I do miss my old roommates but I have a growing appreciation for the new lifestyle. Especially if it involves shitting with the door open, which I have never done before. Nice.

Honorably,
The Fridge