The Desocializing Process of Living Alone

I’ve been considering the possibility of a roommate. Lately, my money situation feels like one of those simulations that you do in a college economics or sociology class. You know the ones where the professor distributes the wealth unevenly by handing out envelopes holding different financial scenarios and some people end up raking in 12,000 dollars a month and other people are stuck with 500. Using your assigned means, you have to find a living situation, transportation, food, etc that your salary supports. I’ve got the envelope where the means are enough to basically break even while living in a modest apartment, eating lots of pasta, and shopping at thrift stores. But you sit back and watch people from other envelopes taking trips to the South of France, going to concerts, buying shoes that have never been worn before, and drinking alcoholic beverages that didn’t come out of cans. I want to get a roommate so my envelope isn’t completely thrown out of whack if I’m handed a chance card that tells me I’ve broken an arm, gotten a speeding ticket, needed to have my car serviced, or been invited to more than one baby shower in the same month. And I’m not looking for a trip to the South of France; but a weekend in Niagara Falls or St. Augustine every once in a while would be nice.

It isn’t just my money situation that has convinced me to seek out a roommate. I’ve realized that the older I get, the more I’m allowing my “inner-dork” to take back over. When I was younger, I used to wear my dorkiness on my sleeve. In high school, I proudly sported strange outfits, weird jewelry, and a hairstyle that was usually reminiscent of an anime character. The weather and wind in Boone forced me to change my style a little bit, but I think I spent 75% of my time at Appalachian State wearing overalls. My dorkiness peaked during my sophomore year at ASU. It can actually be symbolized and summed up by one particular item, a piece of jewelry that I wore religiously for about 6 months. Thanks to a combination of Peter Jackson, his Weta Workshop, and a horrible break-up, I poured all of my post-break-up time and energy into the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. I re-read the books, bought DVDs as soon as they came out, and spent a lot of time on the internet (and this was when the internet was still used for mostly “uncool” things, like e-mailing professors, Webshots, and Doom). One night, I decided to order myself an Evenstar necklace. If you don’t know what that is, than you might be too cool to read this blog, so you should probably stop and do something else that is more awesome. But just in case you do keep reading, the Evenstar is the necklace that Arwen the Elf wears that keeps her immortal. As protection, she gives it to Aragorn, who is destined to be the King of Men, if Sauron doesn’t plunge all of Middle Earth into darkness. So basically, Arwen sacrifices her immortality to ensure that the man she loves can survive the battle of Middle Earth. Most importantly, the necklace is really pretty.

Anyway, I ordered the necklace and within a few days it showed up in my ASU Box. I wasn’t yet ashamed of my inner-dork so I unwrapped it and put it on right then and there in the post office. I wore it outside of my jacket so the sunlight would catch it while I waited for the AppalCart to pick me up. My Evenstar necklace was the finishing touch to all of my over-all ensembles. Every day, I noticed people staring at it but in my inner dork bliss, I just assumed they were all thinking the same thing as me. “Wow cool! Is that Arwen’s necklace? Badass!” That was until the day I finally talked to Sam, a guy I’d been giving the eye in my Social Work with Families and Children class. I wasn't a huge fan of my professor, but when she assigned a group project and put me and Sam in the same group (it was either fate or alphabetical order) I swore to name my first daughter after her (I think her name was Lucretia by the way). Of course I was right. Sam and I had a lot in common and we bonded over our PowerPoint about The Social Work Code of Ethics. While we were having post-powerpoint-presentation-celebratory coffee, Sam asked me about my necklace.

“So that’s cool. Is it like a special type of cross? What does it stand for?”

I gave him the reader’s digest version of Arwen’s sacrificial love for Aragorn, and I explained how Peter Jackson was the chubbiest genius to ever win an Oscar and look like a hobo accepting it.

“Oh.”

As we left to go to our 1-o-clock classes, I found the courage to ask Sam to have dinner with me. He looked down at my Evenstar necklace and then back up to my eyes behind my glasses (that were probably fogging up a little in the heat of the Student Union Solarium). He smiled sympathetically and said, “I’m busy. See you in class on Thursday.”

My Evenstar necklace was a deal breaker. I had revealed my inner-dork too soon. Sam didn't know enough about me to realize that I was still a relatively normal person, despite my LOTR jewelry. He probably imagined that I owned at least 3 capes, spoke Elvish, and played Dungeons and Dragons on a daily basis. When I got home that day, I hid the Evenstar necklace in the dark recesses of my jewelry box, and I haven’t worn it since. From that day on, I started suppressing my inner-dork, wearing overalls less and less. (Before you start judging me and thinking me weak of character, I also discovered that pants make more sense, logistically. I can’t remember how many times I dropped my overall straps in the toilet).

But that was 7 years ago when I was living with 3 other people in a tiny apartment. When I think about the quirky habits I’ve developed while living alone for the last five years, I’m starting to worry that I’m experiencing some type of social regression where I don’t know how to live with others. I worry that having the ability to give in to all of my living-alone whims has somehow stunted me socially. What if I’ve ruined myself and now I’ll never be able to live with anyone? I would have to suppress my inner-dork (which has become my outer-dork thanks to the privacy of my apartment) because I think many of my single-girl-living-alone habits would be deal breakers for future roommates…or future Sams. Here are just a few of my habits that would probably cause some tension if I was cohabitating.

-My no pants policy (which has already created many awkward moments, most recently with Steve, the mailman). (If this is confusing and disheartening, refer back to a blog I wrote last year that explains my no pants policy...it has limits).

-Singing Neko Case at the top of my lungs in the shower at 4:30 am

-Singing Journey at the top of my lungs in the shower at 4:30 am

-Singing "Space Oddity" at the top of my lungs (complete with guitar and saxophone) in the shower at 4:30 am

-Singing Pearl Jam (circa 1991) at the top of my lungs in the shower at 4:30 am (you get the idea)

-I decorate with books

-I watch at least 2 Harry Potter movies once a week (at low volume) while I grade papers (that I read aloud to catch awkward wording)

-I run in place during commercial breaks

-If I wake up in the middle of the night and I can’t go back to sleep, I play Christmas Carols on my piano

-In the mornings while I’m making breakfast, I listen to a Learn Conversational French CD and I say phrases like “Je suis un fonctionnaire et j'habite dans les centre de ville” in a ridiculously over the top (and therefore slightly offensive) French accent.

-If it’s yellow let it mellow…(stop judging me! I cut my water bill in half one month!)

-I leave clothes in the dryer for days, and I only take out what I need when I wear it. Eventually, I take the clothes that are left out when I need to put a new load in the dryer. I use the same method for the dishwasher, too.

-I knit…year round.

-I leave Christmas decorations up until it’s more than just eccentric.

-Meat substitutes smell really funny when they are cooking.

-I love watching historical documentaries on YouTube…on Friday nights.

-2 words: Billy Blanks.

Am I doomed? Fated to bask in the glory of my inner-dorkiness, a glutton for all things Tolkien and Rowling? I’m starting to worry that if I don’t find a roommate soon, I will begin an irreversible desocializing process that will push me over the endearing edge of quirky into the dark and murky waters of weird.

Plus, it would be nice to save a little money.

If all else fails, I could start that teachers' commune I’ve been talking about for years. It's for other single state-employees who have been screwed over and dropped down to a living-wage-as-long-as-you-never-have-any-emergencies-or-needs-outside-of-the-basics and could use some help saving money. And maybe we could compost and plant a garden. I have a feeling like everyone there would accept my inner-dork without question. I bet they wouldn't mind my Evenstar necklace, either.