BACHELORHOOD

Today, when I got home from work, it was a beautiful day outside. Opening the windows, I breathed in the smooth Park Slope air. It was just me and the cats, a grown man and his kitties against the world. With no woman in sight to harsh my mellow, I proceeded to make the most of my freedom.

In no particular order, the following happened:

I dumped out the ice cubes into the ice tray, then refilled all the various ice cube molds. This is a big project because my roommate and I have a variety of ice cube molds for various purposes. Mostly for cocktails. Actually, mostly just to pour whiskey over (cocktails implies more effort than we usually put into sad binge drinking). I spent some quality time i-chatting with a friend cross-country, and we traded our particular favorite tweets from an amazingly sarcastic twitterer he found. We laughed and laughed and laughed.

The sunshine was staring me in the face, and I spent a while looking at it, debating taking a long bike ride in the park. Periodically checking some current eBay auctions, I considered what else I could put up for sell that was in easy reaching distance of my computer. I couldn't find anything, and then the sun was setting. Congratulations all around to me and myself on an afternoon well spent.

After dark, I realized I was slightly weak and light-headed from not eating all day, and only drinking several pots of strong coffee. I poked my head in the side door of my regular pub, to see if there were any interesting dinner specials. There were not. In an act of rare food-desperation, I ordered from the local cheap diner and soon was chowing down on a cheese-steak sandwich with extra jalapenos. Shortly thereafter, I was lying flat on my back on the hardwood floor, groaning and clutching a bottle of Mylanta. Regrets were coming hard and fast, but they were temporary. These regrets are borne of heartburn and indigestion; they are easily fixed with a variety of over-the-counter remedies, and approximately half an hour spent laying on the floor in agony.

I sorted the recycling. I drew little recycling symbols on the side of the bin I use for said recycling. It was a brand new fat-tipped Sharpie marker, and the whole process was extremely satisfying. This particular bin was previously labeled "FABRICS: scraps and small pieces". It was created in an ill-fated attempt to help my ex organize the disaster that was her "sewing room". "Sewing room" comes in quotation marks because in actuality it looked like the Death Star's trash compactor, and was completely unusable as anything except an example of continual and relenteless disappointment. Labeling things is one of life's few joys. Unlike most other pleasures in this world, making labels does not turn to dust and ashes in my mouth, to paraphrase Oscar Wilde paraphrasing the Bhagavad Gita.

After watching a TV show (or two) on Hulu, I poured myself a whiskey. It's been several days of nothing but water and seltzer, so I figured I was due a little of the Good Stuff. And now I am writing a blog post. Finding a picture of a "bachelor" involved flipping through several vintage PLAYBOY magazines. Research, you guys. It's what makes this particular blog a cut above. This blog is a masterpiece.

Now we cut to the heart of the thing. I am able to live this perfect life because I am unattached. My free time is scheduled around playing with my cats and reading the infrequent book about men with swords. No listening to someone complain about their boss, or how their friends didn't say thank you for some minor favor. No concessions to a dinner I do not want to eat. If there are any discussions about future children or insurance policies, they are with my roommate, and those never ever happen. He is busy watching THE BOYS FROM BRAZIL on his laptop, and I am busy reading comic books on the toilet.

Sure, this existence is ultimately without meaning, but it's ultimately without meaning on my terms, and that matters.

Right?

Maybe?

For now, let's say "yes". Being a bachelor is awesome.