A Cautionary Tale

Welcome! As this is my first post to this blog, I thought it appropriate to provide a bit of background on myself, my life and my current living situation.

The Players:

My name is Mary. I am a 24 year old college graduate who, after 2.5 years of living on my own in the "real" world, moved back in with my parents in April (to quote a favorite blogger of mine "BE YE NOT SO STUPID"). There were a lot of factors that went into this decision, the most pressing of which was the debt I acquired while trying to make it on my own (I am not, apparently, Mary Tyler Moore).

My parents have been married for nearly 26 years. My dad will tell you he married my mom because she's the only one who laughs at his jokes. I laugh at them too because I'm a daddy's girl. My mom and I? We can coexist, but we have to make an effort. Sometimes, it's a lot of effort. Go into my bedroom and scream into a pillow effort. But hey! We're trying!

The addition of my 2 cats brought the household total to 4. Yes, 4 cats. Since our arrival, the oldest cat (but newest addition), Belle, has been sentenced to life outside after proving that she wasn't likely to adjust to the exponential increase in feline residents. Helen is the longest-residing (and also dumbest) cat in the house. My 2 cats are Romeo, a fat orange guy who likes to yowl, and Slim, a grey kitten and the "cattiest" of the bunch.

I also have a nearly 23 year old brother who...well, let's just say we're polar opposites. He lives with his girlfriend and a roommate they can't stand about 20 mins from us. If you put all 4 of us in the same place, things get...interesting.

The Rules:

I am living in my parents' house with the understanding that I am saving money to pay down my debt. This means no rent, but it also means unsolicited commentary on every.penny.I.spend. I must provide proof each month of how much I'm paying toward my debt above what I was paying before moving home. Let me tell ya, figuring out how to do that without giving them total access to my finances required a few extra brain cells.

There are 2 more rules, as dictated to me by my father shortly after my homecoming. They are, and I quote:

1. You don't have to come home every night, but if you aren't coming home, call.
2. There will be no entertaining men in this house.

He said "entertaining men," no lie. Not only will there be no sleepovers, they are not to enjoy themselves in any way, shape or form at any time! Way to cover all your bases, Daddy.

The House:

We have lived in the same 4 bedroom, 3 bath house since I was 2 months old. Shortly (and I do mean shortly) after my brother's and my departures from the nest, my parents rearranged the 3 extra bedrooms in the house. What was once my bedroom is now my mother's office, what was once my brother's bedroom is now my father's office, and what was once the office is now the guest room/my bedroom.

I have pretty much free access to the kitchen and the large television in the living room. I have a small (ancient) television in my bedroom that you can't see when laying in the California king-size bed because the bed is SO.FUCKING.BIG.

The size of the bed lends itself to the stacking and accumulation of laundry and other crap. Which would be ok except every time my mom walks past my open door, she has to comment. Also, there's the fact that the SO.FUCKING.BIG. bed leaves little space in the room for anything else. It's fun in the dark, I promise.

For the most part, if I go in my bedroom and close the door, I am left alone. Unless there's a cat crying outside of it. Or mom is drunk.

This Blog:

My intention in writing here is to chronicle the...insanity? hilarity? hair-pulling frustration? of living at home again. I'm sure it will also involve commentary on other parts of my life as well. Join me, won't you, as I battle in the utimate cage match to the pain? And yes, that was a Princess Bride reference.