Living with Mum vs. Living with Friends vs. Living on your Own
I’ve decided to write up on the advantages and disadvantages of living with friends, living on your own or living back at home with Ma’.
The Television
Living on my own
I could watch what I want, when I want. Nobody complained about me watching two hours of Hollyoaks a day (today’s one, tomorrow’s one, then all again on +1) and the rest of the time I could watch cooking all day long. The trouble is that soon you realise that you’re not laughing at the funny bits. You think to yourself “lol” instead of actually laughing. (Mum: if you’re reading this, ‘lol’ stands for ‘laughing out loud’ now, not ‘lots of love’…. lol.).
Watching tv on my own.
Living with friends
Thankfully I now live with friends who like similar interests in television to me. They’ve infected me with F1 Fever, but I don’t understand much more than the ones who get around the track first are the best. I think I can’t even blink as fast as the difference some of the stuff makes. I keep on asking questions that I’m told are stupid. Apparently the most stupid one is that I reckon at least one driver has used a modified version of a playstation game to practice in their hotel bedrooms, it sounds plausible, right? I also can’t work out what stuff makes a difference or not, so I ask things like “Does the vinyl stickers from the sponsors make a difference?” and “What happens if they need to use the lavatory?… All those vibrations over a long time would probably make me need to go.”
As revenge, ‘S’ is now interested in the daily going-ons in Chester and although none of us would admit it, there were wet eyes when Steph died the other week. I’m still trying to inflict it on ‘R’, but it’s not happening, I think it’s because he is nostalgic for the days of Chloe, who went on to write this: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fat-Girl-22Hollyoaks-22-Mikyla-Dodd/dp/0340935472
Watching tv with friends.
Living with Mum
There is some serious politics going on when I stay around my ma’s place, in regards to the television. We both have a mental list of shows that we like and the other doesn’t, and we have a list of ‘neutral’ shows, stuff we both like. For every show I pick that she doesn’t like, she gets to watch one of hers. It may sound petty, but her shows are normally a few hours long, and we judge it on a per-show basis. She also counts the time when she’s out at a friends place. This is deeply unfair on me, but I have a few tricks of my own. She thinks I really don’t like Law&Order, but I don’t mind it in truth*, this way I get to watch Hollyoaks. My general rule of thumb for something I hate but she likes is “If it’s on ITV3, two hours long, has a detective and is based in a village in England”. I just can’t relate to films or television shows based in small villages, casinos or forests. She’s tried to do the same to me, claiming she doesn’t like cooking shows, but I know she’s got a bit of a soft spot for Nigel Slater
* I’m not giving away the real name of the shows I don’t mind but she likes, I’m keeping those cards private.
Watching TV with mum
What to eat
Living on your own
Baked Beans, cheese, potato and jellipinos... what's wrong with that?
Cooking for one is a bit shit, normally there are loads to throw away and I just can’t be bothered for it. Once a month I would cook something special, but in general I can’t be arsed. This can sometimes lead to wonderful creations, such as “Potato and Beans… Thing”. I would get some baby potatoes, put it in a dish, and cover with beans and a few jellopinos, top with cheese and bake for an hour or soo. The reaction I got from displaying this culinary creation was far worst than the result. Reactions to this include:-
- it looks like a mong has been let loose in the kitchen and told to feed itself
- I can’t look at it without crying a little bit for you
- That’s a bowl of spasticity if I’ve ever seen it.
I actually missed things like Sunday Lunches when I lived on my own, which is weird, because I find them mostly dull and boring, unless there are loads of Yorkshire puddings and gravy.
It’s allowed for me to think of lots interesting things that I could never put into practice, such as The Everlasting Desert. Don’t dismiss this one, it’s got potential, one day I shall UNLESH THE CULONARY DRAGON. You get a tiny ball of cream cheese, batter, deep fry, cover in peanut butter, batter, deep fry, cover in nutella, batter, deep fry, cover in mashed banana, batter, deep fry, cover in caramel, let it set, batter, deep fry, cover in….. etc etc, until you have a rugby ball. Slice that baby up like a watermelon and enjoy! I think it’ll work; one day I shall create this.
Living with Friends
This is great if you have people you can inflict food on. It’s easier to cook for two or three than it is for one. All our tastes are pretty similar, except my intense dislike for Tuna. There are a few ‘weird’ things that I like that ‘R’ doesn’t, but ‘S’ seems to enjoy everything I’ve made so far. ‘T&C’, my old flatmates, sometimes would enjoy my creations, and would come up with a few of their own. The general rule of thumb is that as long as I tidy as I go, someone else will do the cleaning up if I do the making of it. We tend to split things quite evenly in regards to paying for things, I would pay for bits and bobs, and someone else would pay for other bits. Which is great because I normally make enough for two or three and throwing stuff away anyway; but now it’s not costing as much ‘cus other people are eating it.
Nobody complains when I get a take away, except for myself, when I attempt to justify it, when there is no reason too. Just the other week I phoned up ma’ and declared to her “Ma’, I’m an adult. If I wanted to join the army, then I could. I can die for this country. I’m old enough to have a child in secondary school; legally. I pay my own bills and earn my own money. If I wanted to drive a big truck, like an artic lorry, age would not be the thing stopping me. I’ve called you to tell you that tonight I shall be getting Sushi for dinner, and I’m not going to justify it to you or anyone else…. Ok ma’, I know, I know, yeah’, yeah’, I just felt I needed to tell someone. Ok. Love you loads… bye-bye.”
Brave friends trying out my sometimes dubious looking food.
Living with Mum
This is a winner, if your mum is a good cook, which my one is. Except if you fancy a take away and have to justify it. It’s great that you can ask them to get you a glass of squash and as if by magic it appears. On the other hand, even though there are 10 ashtrays in a one-bedroom bungalow for one person; they magically disappear beyond reach every time you go to light up. Her kitchen is always stocked to a level I can never achieve though; she has all kinds of exotic ingredients such as two kinds of Olive Oil, Smoked Salmon and a jar or questionable pickles.
Ma's Steak and Chips.
Tidying up
Living on your own
Meh’, why do today what you can do tomorrow. Until eventually you’re ashamed to even get pizza delivered.
Living with friends
This all depends on the type of people you live with. I used to live with someone, and there was a stand off. On principal people wouldn’t clean up after anyone else until there was a Showdown in the Wild Wild West and we had to get a cleaner in every week. I was no saint, but I’m adamant that I was not the worst (despite the evidence). The worst thing about this is that we have a dishwasher. Now I’m living with some really awesome people though, so it is all working out cleaning wise. No one begrudges the other when they have to wash their plate, and nothing gets left out for more than 24 hours. There was ‘words’ in regards to the cleaning of the bathroom though, which came down to basic genetics… women are clean and men are dirty sods.
Living with Mum
When I go to my mums and stay the night, I ask if I can ‘crash round’, this has turned into a literal expression, as I tend to dump my stuff where I am. Ma’, being a ma’, will always feel the need to deep clean on a weekly basis, and it makes her happy, I just time it so I crash ‘round the day before rather than the day after.
Bringing Girls Home
Living on your own
Sad Times. This is a good thing considering the state of the place I was living in.
Living with friends
Sad Times… with added whooping and hollering, and the awkward conversations for the next few days.
Living with mum
Sad Times… with added “Oh thank goodness, I thought he was a feygela. I can still be a grandma one day!”
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