Memoirs of a Fat Girl

Living single is a fabulous thing. You answer to no one, and make your own time for everything.

It can also be a freaky thing, wreaking havoc on the finer points in your life. This hits you at the oddest of times.

For instance, yesterday I was standing at my kitchen counter, reading a magazine and filling out Blue’s annual city registration forms. I was eating dinner: Ikea meatballs, gourmet mustard, and beer, while the music from my surround sound was blaring.

Why was I standing? I don’t have a dining table and chairs. I usually eat standing up.

Why was I eating Ikea meatballs, gourmet mustard and beer? Because that’s all I could find in the fridge.

Why was the music from my surround sound blaring? Because I don’t have a TV, and must be content with plugging my hard drive and 82 hours worth of music into my surround sound system. The system I got for the TV I don’t have.

Somewhere between reading about Sienna Miller’s personal style, a meatball halfway to my mouth and Shakira screeching, “Whenever, Wherever,” it hit me.

I’m single. Maybe not emotionally, but living wise… man, oh man So, so single.

How else could it explain such bad habits? Standing while eating? Ikea meatballs?

Then again, how else could it explain such freedom?

I turned the volume up, and sat on the counter for good measure.

Gotta love it.