Humor as the Cure

As I sit at my desk, I nervously await my roommate coming home. She generally asks me lots of questions, many of which I must fabricate some sort of worthy answer to, thus saving me a conversation about making the most of my time. If I were to tell the truth, I would be subjected to penetrative eyes and staccato rhetoric about how my life will go nowhere if I have no ambition.

My roommate is nice though – she lets me eat whatever she’s cooked, and she does my laundry with hers. She generally looks out for my well-being, and lies to her friends about what I am doing so that I don’t look bad. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship – I screw in light bulbs, lift plants, and unscrew jars, and she does most of the other stuff to keep our residence looking good.

So, the question might beg of itself, who is this roommate of mine, and why have I voluntarily agreed to live with her. The answer is quite simple. My new roommate is my mother, and I live with her because at the moment my life is not following the GPS navigated course I had set up for it. I made a left turn a little too soon, and need to get back to the main road. Too many metaphors, I know, but think about all the symbolism I just put into two sentences. As Gob on Arrested Development would say, "C’MON!"

Now many would find the fact that I live at home sad or darkly funny. What’s even funnier is that the valedictorian of a high school is working an $8 an hour job at Borders Café, where we do brew a great cup of coffee for a quality value (Plug-in for work: Check). But I know it sounds cliché, but I’m not worried. I’d be more worried if I were one of a kind (I mean I am very unique, and my roommate has commented once that I have special eyes), but the fact of the matter is, I am one of many who has made the trek home. The prodigal son returns, for pretty much most of the suburban households I know. Out of a random sampling of 10 of my friends – whom I met at different points, all with different abilities and accomplishments, 6 of us live at home. That’s 60%. For something to be an anomaly, you would expect the percentages to be 10% or less. So while I know most of us have come to terms with rooming with old parental units again, sometimes it still saddens me a little bit, so I remind myself at those times, that it’s part of the game. It’s simply good poker strategy – wait for your big hand, and then play aggressively. If you’ve got nothing, play the blinds and then get out, and wait for the next deal. So while I wait for the next dealing of hands to come around, I have decided to pass the time with humor.

Thus, I think I need force myself to laugh more about my observations instead of getting upset – which in turn means that I will be now writing my blogs as humor entries, mixed with some insight here and there. So, first and foremost, I must credit those who are much more adept than myself, and recommend a book to everyone. It’s called “Sh*t My Dad Says.” You can find it for the low, low price of $15.99 at Borders Bookstore, where your music, media, and book needs can be fulfilled with a smile (I better be getting a goddamn promotion soon). But seriously, if I were you, don’t buy it, but go in sometime and read it for 15-20 minutes, and you’ll have a great laugh. You can also check it out online, and I’m telling you, it’s the kind of blunt, unvarnished humor that only a senile, old, yet oddly keen person would say that makes total sense to us in our 20s. Also, listen to “September” by Earth, Wind, and Fire sometime this month (it is September after all), and write me back if you don’t bob your head along. I'm telling you, you can't listen to that song and not feel good. Look for the next post soon.