Things about living alone that are awesome:
Taking really long showers
Sitting around in my underwear
Dancing badly to Jay-Z (I’m a little ashamed of this one, to be honest, but there it is).
Rapping along badly to Jay-Z (No shame here, I’m improving)
Things that suck about living alone:
Dear readers, I live in the set of a horror movie, and I genuinely mean that. My apartment building has been specifically designed to play to my one, true phobia, which is the walking dead. Lumbering bundles of rotting flesh with an insatiable hunger for human flesh? NO THANK YOU. I’ll stay over here.
The problem being that I cannot simply “stay over here”, because I live in a place that is going to be a zombie heaven when the apocalypse hits (which I predict will happen if Rick Santorum becomes president, but in that case I guess I won’t mind the world ending so much). My apartment is pretty Japanese-style, which is usually lovely, but which is a terrible fortress against the undead.
For one thing, my apartment has no locking doors. Well, the front door locks, but is one, measly locked front door going to keep out the zombie hordes? No, it’s not. And once the zombies bust that down, I am out of luck, because the rest of my doors slide open, and do not do anything even remotely like locking. And some of them are made of paper, so even if they did lock, it wouldn’t matter, because they’re PAPER. The zombies could just spit on them repeatedly and they would come down. The zombies could get at me with nothing but their spit and that is really not secure.
For another thing, the vast majority of my entire apartment building is composed of nothing but dark, spooky corners, which are usually roughly the size of an average zombie. Sometimes I wonder if the architect was a zombie sympathizer (that traitor), and he built in extra corners just to give his rotting co-conspirators a place to hide. In order to reach my apartment, I have to walk/run frantically past approximately a hundred of these corners and up a flight of stairs.
In addition, the lights in the stairwell flicker the way lights flicker in the movies right before the serial killer leaps from the shadows and decapitates the promiscuous teenager. It sounds like I am making that up, but sadly, that is actually completely accurate
So my arrival home every night goes something like this:
PHASE ONE: MENTAL PREPARATION
Stand at edge of light from streetlamps and gaze into darkness
Select chipper Japanese sugar pop music on iPod
PHASE TWO: BUILDING ENTRANCE, PART ONE, LIGHTSWITCH
Walk purposefully to the building’s front door
Inspect initial giant scary corner. If zombie-free, proceed.
Go up first set of stairs.
Press back to the wall and hit stairwell light switch.
Wait for lights to stop flickering horribly.
Pause music and listen for approaching footsteps from the apartments above. (SIDENOTE: I once did not do this, and therefore didn’t hear one of my neighbors coming down from the third floor, and we sort of met as he came around the corner, and I screamed like I was dying, and he screamed like you’d expect someone to scream when a crazy foreigner is backed up against the wall looking at you like she’s not sure whether to flee for her life or kill you in self-defense. And then we had this moment where I was like, “…you scared me?” And he said something I didn’t quite understand, but which I guess meant, “I’m moving,” and left, and that is why I am not friends with any of my neighbors.)
PHASE THREE: BUILDING ENTRANCE, PART TWO, STAIRS
RUN OH GEEZ SOMETHING MOVED OVER THERE RUN.
PHASE FOUR: APARTMENT
Slam door shut
Lock door (it’s your only defense).
Turn on EVERY SINGLE LIGHT
Disregard electricity bill
(SIDENOTE: That last bit is particularly true, by the way. I compared my electricity bill with one of my friends, and mine was…well, it was higher. And it’s all because of zombies. Those evil jerks are costing me money and the apocalypse hasn’t even started yet.)
Well, just be aware, zombies. I have a drawer full of dollar-store butter knives, and I am not afraid to use them.