The End of an Era

After four years with my roomates I've decided it's time for a change. I will be moving into my friend's condo by the end of November.

I love my roomates, they are like family to me, so this was a hard decision for me to come to. The truth of the matter is, that living with them is like being with family. I am content with them. Yes we sometimes get on one another's nerves, but that doesn't change the fact that I truely care for each of them. It's just that even though they feel like family, the reality is that they are not mine. I need to be a little bit more of a "single girl" so I can find the person that I want to start my own family with.

When I told the roomies that I was leaving I burst into tears. The cold part is that I did it seperately, so I bawled twice. I told Mr. Roomie first, and then I told Roomie. Both were very supportive and told me that I am doing the right thing for myself. I know that I am, but it is like the end of an era.

I am also not one to take well to change. I really hate it. So now, I have this huge change in my life, and as I am preparing for it I constantly feel like I am about to have a panic attack. I feel as if I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Not only am I moving, I also feel insecure in my job right now, and the bills still have to get paid. I swear, if I wasn't afraid of prison I would become a drug dealer. I would. It sounds terrible, but my shit would be the best out there. When Gilda was first born and the Roomie was at home all day I tried to get her to start cooking meth. I mean really...who's going to ever suspect that we have a meth lab in the neighborhood that we're in? We live on a golf course for goodness sake! She might have gone along with me, but she didn't want to blow up her house. Jeez Roomie...why do you have to be a dream smasher?

Even though she stomped on my dreams of being the druglord of this town I have to say that I've loved living with her. She stopped drinking after she had Gilda, so she would never go out, but she would always attend my birthday festivities. She would be my DD. The next morning I would wake up and she would start telling stories that I had no recolection of. This year went a little like this:
Roomie- "Do you remember talking to those Mexican guys outside the bar?"
Me- "What Mexican guys? I don't remember any Mexican guys."
Roomie- "The ones outside the bar, before we left you were talking to them. You took pictures with them."
Me- "I did?!?"
Roomie tells Mr. Roomie to get her camera where she then proceeds to show me pictures of me and two Mexican dudes. I'm clearly out of it by the crack head look on my face, the mardi gras beads around my neck and the Boston Red Sox hat on my head. (which then reminded me that I had stolen some guys Red Sox hat, and I still have it to this day. Whole other story though...)
Me- "I do not remember this at all."

The birthday the year before she told me on the way home I told her how much I loved her, and that she was one of the best friends I had. I get really emotional and nice when I'm drunk. My friend J tells me that people's true colors come out when they drink, and since I'm so nice when I'm drunk I'm actually faking being a bitch when I'm sober. Bless her heart.
After my display of friendship she told me we walked into the house and I layed down on the couch while Mr. Roomie and her ate some pizza that we had brought home. She then told me that I suddenly got up. Roomie asked me if I was ok, if I need any help. My response was, "I'm okay, I'm just drunk!" It wasn't what I said, it was more how I said it. Sort of like, "Of course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?" After I stated this I then started to walk to my room. On my way from the couch to my destination I ran staright into the TV, then I manuvered and ran staright into the desk, then the refridgerator, then the wall, and finally got to my bed.

Mr. Roomie has also been very helpful to me in my drunken adventures. The next day, if I'm super hungover, he would do a Taco Bell run for me. Anyone who's ever been super ridiculous hungover knows how you don't want to even move in that condition, you just want to lay on the couch until your blood alcohol level has returned to normal. For Mr. Roomie doing that for me I am eternally gratful.

I will also miss Gilda. For a person who doesn't hold babies until they develop their neck, I really have grown attached to this little girl. She's the bomb diggity, that's all I have to say about her. She's changed my life. I will always remember the night we played the Move It Move It music video from Madagascar on On Demand for her. It ended and she told us she wanted to watch it again. Then it ended a second time and she threw a fit to see it one more time. I swear we watched that thing 30 times in a row that night. We all were walking around for a week singing lines from that song. Same thing with Backyardigans. I will not miss Calliou. For those of you unfamiliar with Calliou, it's a cartoon about a creepy little boy who's bald. He's the only character who is bald. Does he have cancer? Does he suffer form alopecia? What's wrong with him? Why does literally everyone else in that stupid show have hair but him? It drives me nuts.

I will probably cry about a gazillion more times between now and the time I leave. It's going ot be a long three weeks, but it's been a wonderful four years. As Gilda would say, "Peace Out"