I love living by myself. You can leave your clothes on the floor, leave your bed unmade, allow the toilet to breathe properly with the toilet seat up, and hang around in the buff whenever you want to.
The biggest advantage, though, is that when the fancy strikes me, any time day or night, I'm free to punch my way into heaven. I can polish my helmet if I ever notice a smudge. When ever I'm feeling frisky, I can do a bunch of rapid one arm pull-ups.
Last night, though, my security was shattered. There I was, roughing up the suspect to some internet porn like a good little heterosexual at 5:30 on a Sunday night when lo and behold, I hear a knocking on my door. Barely a second later, my door swings open and in strolls two of my former friends and still current coworkers (one of which was the chick who visited me last weekend). All I got to say is thank Christ my back was to the door and I was actually clothed. My desperation-fueled speed allowed me to rein the snake under control before the chick, at least, knew what was going on (or at least that's what I'm hoping). The guy knew, though. We know these things.
We went to a movie (Waterboy--was OK) and hung out, all the while my profound embarassment weighed heavily on my mind and my unfinished weiner wrangling weighed heavily on my nuts. We had fun, and when I got home I quickly completed my task and went to bed.
Still, I can no longer feel safe in my own home. Sure the odds are low, but what if someone comes barging in while I'm making a sacrifice to my god, Ejo Likrem (coming soon to the humor section)? What if I have on my Mighty Mouse underwear and am rolling around in pudding? What if I'm prepping the baby Juice pipeline again?
My ex-girlfriend-turned-evil-back-stabbing-'ho shattered my ability to do it with chicks, and now this may destroy my ability to get it off on my own. My nads may explode and I'll die of blood loss or infection and it will be a sad, sad death.
Or I could lock my door. That might work.
Thank GOD I wasn't doing something REALLY bad.