Saturday, October 13, 2012

ICWM #7 - Moving Out

It's about that time in my questionably post-adolescent life where I am seriously considering moving out. Not just because I'm the last of my siblings to still be living in the Batcave, and not just because I need a quiet, secluded place with no witnesses to lure my victims; but because I want a place of my own. However, there is a very important question one must ask themselves before they make the plunge and step into the wide world.

Imaginary Conversation With Myself # 7 - "Do you actually know how to live in real life?"


Me:  I want to move out.

Brain:  No you don't.

Me:  Yes, yes I do.

Brain:  No, you really, really don't.

Me:  And why is that?

Brain:  Because you have absolutely no idea how to live by yourself.

Me:  I do actually. I've pretty much been doing it for years now with the exception of a few things.

Brain:  Bull. S**t.

Me:  What is your problem? I thought you would agree with me. Or at least help me out a little.

Brain:  Have you ever once cleaned a toilet in your life?

Me:  . . . ah.

Brain: Have you ever budgeted your weekly earnings to consolidate expenses?

Me: Consoli-what?

Brain:  Where does food come from?

Me:  . . . The . . . the fridge?

Brain:  Game. Set. Match. You're not moving out.

Me:  Can you at least help me prepare so I can move out eventually?

Brain:  Why should I bother helping you when all you feed me is cat gifs and videos of people getting hit in the balls?

Me:  Because if you don't I'm going to be stuck living with my parents for the rest of my life. How fond of fish cakes and Time Team are you? From now on that's our daily routine.

Brain:  You have my attention.

Me:  Okay, where do we start? I'm so excited!

Brain:  Calm the f**k down spaz, first step is for you to get a job.

Me:  I have a job.

Brain:  Despite what many delusional people on the internet think, writing a sporadic blog about nothing is not a career.

Me: No not that, I seriously have a job.

Brain:  It doesn't count unless you get paid.

Me:  Oh, I get paid.

Brain:  . . . When did you become a hooker?

Me:  What?! I'm not a hooker. Jesus, I'm working at a café. Why did you jump straight to hooker?

Brain: No reason.

Me: Bulls**t.

Brain:  It wouldn't be the worst career choice. You could be one of those high pricey call girls who gets to chooser her clients.

Me: You think I should run an escort service out of my new place simply so I can pay for my new place?

Brain:  Well you're not going to be able to afford it any other way. 

Me: I. Have. A. JOB!

Brain:  You. Don't. Make. Enough. MONEY!

Me:  I make enough to pay weekly rent with a house-mate.

Brain: Good luck getting someone to live with you.

Me: Good luck living with your parents for the rest of your life.

Brain:  Okay, okay. Congratulations, you've made enough money to cover rent, bond, electricity and any other utilities; with some left over for food and expenses. Unfortunately, you won't have enough to eat steak 7 nights in a row.

Me: No steak?!

Brain: No steak. The first time you go food shopping, you are going to buy all the wrong things.

Me: Condiments are a food.

Brain:  Do you want to eat condiments for breakfast?

Me: Tomato sauce is delicious.

Brain: Would you likes some tomato sauce with your tomato sauce? Perhaps some satay sauce, or some salt?

Me:  I get the point, I will buy food, not condiments.

Brain:  No, you will buy proper food, vegetables, fruit, not just noodles and cookies.

Me: But . . .

Brain: No junk food. Otherwise you are going to die.

Me: Alright, mother, what else?

Brain: Learn to do everything in the dark.

Me: But then I won't be able to see.

Brain: Well if you turn on the lights you will get to see just how expensive electricity is.

Me: Oh.

Brain: Also, don't shower.

Me:  They don't charge for water usage.

Brain:  Yes they do.

Me:  Double Oh.

Brain:  Yep.

Me:  Any other completely dream shattering things I should know?

Brain:  Don't be like that. There are plenty of perks for moving out.

Me:  Really? Because it just seems like a better idea to live in a cardboard box and set money on fire every week.

Brain:  Cardboard boxes make excellent forts.

Inner Child: We should totally live in a box fort!

Me:  No.

Brain:  Double No.

Me: So much no.

Inner Child:  Awww, you guys suck. *pout*

Brain: Hush now, the grown ups are talking.

Me: At least if I had my own place I could play in a box fort.

Brain: That is true. If you're room-mate allows it.

Me: Any room-mate of mine will not only allow it, but will supply the cardboard and duct tape.

Brain: Just make sure they don't use the duct tape for anything else.

Me: I am not going to get killed by my room-mate.

Brain: You don't know that.

Me: And you don't know how awesome some people can be. I might even find someone who doesn't mind my constant need for 80's pop music.

Brain: Good luck with that.

Me: Why thank you.

Brain:  But you are still going to live with your parents for the rest of your life.

Me:  Nah I'll be good.

Brain:  And why is that?

Me:  Because apparently I would make a very nice Call Girl.

Brain:  Hooker.

Me:  Call Girl.

Brain:  Whatever, you're still a hooker.

Me:  But a hooker with a nice house.

Brain: Touché, good sir, touché.

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