Blog 2 of 365:
Living in your parent's basement isn't the most desirable place to spend your post-college, two-year hangover, but being it be the safety net most people do not get the opportunity to have, I appreciate the shit out of it. If you have never shared a house with seven other people (four being blood-related, two step-relatives, and Audrey [my flame, my muse]), it is like being on a conveyor belt, stuck underneath a stamping mechanism, repeatedly being minced into a pulp with "love". I do not wish to be misunderstood as ungrateful, but once you live with seven people who know exactly how to get under your skin and have their own expectations of how you should act, it gets old.
All of this is relevant because Audrey and I (after much bantering) have finally signed a lease to our own apartment back in Tempe, Arizona.
I feel one single blog post could not possibly encompass all of the feelings and thoughts one could purely endure in said given circumstances, so I must wrap this up before it even begins and have faith that I will elaborate later upon specifics.
I am excited for the new adventure, the new opportunities to fulfill my comedic endeavors, and the next step in my relationship with Audrey. It was always weird, when explaining to a stranger about my relationship status with her, when I would say "Yeah, I live with my girlfriend, but we live in my parent's basement." It almost seems like that doesn't count as "living together" status given the Full House-esque scenario formally presented. But now, we can actual live out the adult life we so desperately desire. As previously noted in blog 1 of 365, a simple four year-old basically summarized how I feel about my family's perspective of me:
"You're not a big boy, yet."
Obviously, I want to prove them wrong and am biting at the opportunity to do so.
I feel this is a great point to stop and to be picked up at a later date. Remind me to tell you how Audrey and I blew our nieces' minds about Full House. It's worth 45 seconds of your time.
Good night.
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