Technically, it’s not quite 20 years since I lived with other humans. I’m pretty sure I got my own apartment sans roommates in October of 1999. Plus there were those awful six months where Sister #4 and I lived together after the purchasing for Supergenius H.Q.
But for fun, let’s just say 20 years. Also, for roughly half of that time I’ve worked from home. I’m basically a feral human at this point. I don’t play well with others too often and whenever one of my friends vents about office politics and other work-related bullshittery all I can do is shout to the sky “I’M SO GLAD I DON’T WORK IN AN OFFICE.”
Lest you worry too much about me being an actual, factual hermit, I do make an effort to talk (maybe not with my voice, but definitely with my fingers) to people at least once a day. Plus, I have CSA Supper Club on Thursdays which means I have real face-to-face human contact (and cuddle time with Walter) at least once a week.
I love CSA Supper Club. It’s where I cook meals for people I love (this week it’ll be tacos al pastor, esquites, chips & guac — all homemade!) and they come over and tell me what a wonderful cook I am. We eat dinner talk about our weeks, and at 7:30 watch Supermarket Sweep while eating dessert.
The gameshow is a big part of my meal ritual. I eat dinner six nights a week at 7:30 so I can tune into this gameshow rerun while shoveling food into my maw. I like the routine of it and the not having to make a decision about what to watch while sitting on the couch with dinner.
However, last night I discovered there is some danger to this lifestyle choice.
One thing you should know about feral humans is that our inner monologues become outer monologues. I just say things out loud because I haven’t spoken in awhile. Sometimes it’s weird songs I made up about what I’m doing. Like the “I have to pee-pee-pee” song sung to the tune of The Beach Boys’ “Barbara Ann.” Or the “Pee, pee, pee of Earl” song sung to the tune “Duke of Earl.” I drink a lot of water. A lot of my songs are about peeing. Though sometimes there’s a tribute R.E.M. in my narrative song. “That’s me in the corner. That’s me in the spotlight, eating this nectarine, trying to keep the juice off my shirt.”
Aside from singing whatever I’m doing like a demented Linda Belcher, I also like to trash talk the people on “Supermarket Sweep.” Sometimes I will even tell members of the CSA Supper Club about the stupid people who were on “Supermarket Sweep” earlier in the week. Like the two fratty looking dudes who lost $5000 because they didn’t know what a heifer was or how to pronounce it.
Umm, you should also know that all these episodes are re-runs from like 1991, which is one the reasons the show delights me so much. It reminds you how very 80s 1991 still was and that there are so many brands that are long dead. And also that my brain is filled with advertising slogans of days gone by.
You might be thinking at this point that the peril of living alone for 20 years is that you write 500 words about “Supermarket Sweep.”
The perils is that while eating your salad and watching you the show you’ll have the sudden need to shout “God, Rachel, Kit Kat? Uh, there’s no wrong way to eat a Reeses, what are you stupid?” And while saying that with your mouth full of baby spinach and spring mix you may accidentally inhale a piece of arugula and then almost die while coughing it up and while you’re almost dying you really, really hope that whoever finds your lifeless body with a half-eaten salad on your lap realizes you died happy making fun of stupid people on “Supermarket Sweep.”