Never move in with an ex
No matter how many times you tell yourself, "Hey, it'll be ok. It's been ten years. We're like siblings now!" Never move in with an ex.
They will eat all your cake (that's not a metaphor). They will make you clean the toilet (also not a metaphor). You will hate it like you've never hated anything before (difficult for someone so full of hate - trust me). All of a sudden, simple, ordinary household chores that you've always done and never thought twice about before take on a whole other meaning. You've morphed into his mother. Gawd. Of all things to morph into.
Then, *your* mother will convince herself that the two of you were really meant to be together. Even if you didn't work it out at nineteen, maybe at thirty-something, something will change (Mother ... nothing will change). She'll end every phone conversation with "Give my love to ... [you know bloody well who, the prick who can't learn to pee in the toilet or put the toilet sit fricking well down]". And you'll say: "Will do!", when what you really mean is, "Will ... flush his head down the stinking toilet." The stinking toilet which he fricking well made stinking.
As an aside: Why do men have so much fucking trouble pissing in the toilet? Consider the surface area of your average toilet bowl and then consider the size of the average willy-hole. One is big, one is small. Is it honestly, that difficult to bring them together without spillage?
I always knew I was the kind of person who preferred to live on her own. But I figured that before I turned thirty, I should test the waters one last time.
Bullshit. That's what's in those waters. Bull. Fucking. Shit. If, by the time you are in your late twenties, and you pretty much figure that living with another human being will make you want to rark twenty-four-seven, then listen to yourself. You know yourself better than anyone else. Certainly don't live with an ex.
I once saw a documentary about this dude who decided to live his life as a hermit. I think I was around sixteen or seventeen years old. I envied this fucker. Honestly. Part of me thought it was a "difficult", "teenage" phase and that somehow, I'd become a social being.
Nah. Fuck that. The older I get, the more I realise how right I was back then. Living with other people is for suckers. Suckers and nineteen year olds.
They will eat all your cake (that's not a metaphor). They will make you clean the toilet (also not a metaphor). You will hate it like you've never hated anything before (difficult for someone so full of hate - trust me). All of a sudden, simple, ordinary household chores that you've always done and never thought twice about before take on a whole other meaning. You've morphed into his mother. Gawd. Of all things to morph into.
Then, *your* mother will convince herself that the two of you were really meant to be together. Even if you didn't work it out at nineteen, maybe at thirty-something, something will change (Mother ... nothing will change). She'll end every phone conversation with "Give my love to ... [you know bloody well who, the prick who can't learn to pee in the toilet or put the toilet sit fricking well down]". And you'll say: "Will do!", when what you really mean is, "Will ... flush his head down the stinking toilet." The stinking toilet which he fricking well made stinking.
As an aside: Why do men have so much fucking trouble pissing in the toilet? Consider the surface area of your average toilet bowl and then consider the size of the average willy-hole. One is big, one is small. Is it honestly, that difficult to bring them together without spillage?
I always knew I was the kind of person who preferred to live on her own. But I figured that before I turned thirty, I should test the waters one last time.
Bullshit. That's what's in those waters. Bull. Fucking. Shit. If, by the time you are in your late twenties, and you pretty much figure that living with another human being will make you want to rark twenty-four-seven, then listen to yourself. You know yourself better than anyone else. Certainly don't live with an ex.
I once saw a documentary about this dude who decided to live his life as a hermit. I think I was around sixteen or seventeen years old. I envied this fucker. Honestly. Part of me thought it was a "difficult", "teenage" phase and that somehow, I'd become a social being.
Nah. Fuck that. The older I get, the more I realise how right I was back then. Living with other people is for suckers. Suckers and nineteen year olds.