Carv's Thinky Blog I'm an author with a focus on satirical science fiction.

Christian Carvajal and the Olympians

I've completed my move to Olympia from Bremerton, seventy minutes away. Okay, so actually I'm in Tumwater, but that's just a less bohemian neighborhood of Oly so close it shares the same zip code. I'm five minutes from downtown, less than ten from my girlfriend. Huzzah!

And it's weird.

I'm not used to being minutes from my girlfriend. I really dig it, of course, but it's weird. Today she walked over for lunch from her office, which is literally a parking lot and two doors away. She can check on me any time. No more semiclad centerfold models lounging around the house. No more Ecstasy-fueled ragers or late-night body "disposals" in the back yard. This is really going to cut into my imaginary social life.

I also have male roommates, for the first time since 1995. I'm gradually working my way down my list of possible roommate demographics. Living with a woman platonically, check. Not so platonically, check. Not at all platonically, in fact energetically, check. Gay man, check. Black man, check. Mormon, check. Republican, check. Not necessarily in that order, but you get the idea. My domestic history has been a Rainbow Coalition of fun and enlightenment, and I like it that way. But for the last two years I've lived entirely alone. It was always my turn in the shower. I got to choose the TV channel every night. I could sit around the living (okay, only) room in my underwear or, if the urge had ever struck me, I suppose, someone else's.

By the way, as I'm currently looking for work in Olympia, if you're a potential employer who just found this site via Google, I am totally kidding. It's the Internet, aka Sarcasm Central. We bloggers don't mean half the stuff we say, and we could probably be talked out of the rest.

All sarcasm aside, though, I remember male roommates being louder and messier than my current cohabitants. About the only music I ever hear is when Kyland rehearses Bach on his piano, and that just makes me want to order some bruschetta and a delicate pinot gris. So far there hasn't been one tae kwon do sparring match or kegger. I haven't even fought with a roommate's significant other. I swear, it's like...maturity. Bor-rinnngg!

We need skanks up in here.