Last Tuesday morning started off normal enough. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and my alarm went off two hours earlier than any sane man would want it to. But besides all that, something just wasn’t right. For instance, when I went to take a shower, the bathroom wasn’t occupied. And when I went to brush my teeth, there weren’t any unidentifiable substances clinging to all surfaces of the sink and faucet. Though naturally suspicious of clean, unoccupied bathrooms, I was too tired to really give it much thought and moved on to more important things – namely, breakfast.

I filled a strangely spotless bowl with Coco Puffs and opened the fridge. When I went to grab the milk, a rare but beautiful spectacle distracted my gaze. My eyes had fallen upon the Brita. Yes, the Brita. It was full. As in, completely, all the way up, more-water-than-you-could-ever-fit-in-4-glasses full. I tilted my head back and glanced nervously around the room. Something was afoot.

“Alright,” I yelled to no one in particular, “that’s it! What do you want from me? Money? Help with homework? Sex? ‘Cuz I won’t do that! I refuse to breach the academic code of integrity!” But there was no response. The space that had been previously filled with familiar voices was now filled with silence. In all the mayhem of settling into my new apartment I had overlooked one minor yet crucial detail: I no longer had any roommates.

And lemme tell you, it’s freaking great! Everything in my little world is the way it should be. The silverware is clean. And not like that bullshit clean where you breathe on it heavily and wipe it down with your shirt. Like, real clean. You know:scrubbing, detergent, the whole nine yards. And the sink is empty! No two month old dirty dishes lying there unwashed. And you know what? Those are my dirty freakin’ boxers strewn on the floor!

But life’s about more than a clean apartment. For instance, I can walk around naked! I can put leftovers in the fridge knowing with 100% confidence that they will be there when I go looking for them the next day! I can go to sleep soundly and stay awake loudly whenever I want! Better yet, my iPod is the one connected to the stereo, it’s blasting Roxanne, and ain’t nobody singing to it, but me! Did I mention I can walk around naked?

Honestly, though, as much as I love flaunting my chiseled physique to the neighbors across the street, I do miss my old roommates. We’ve been through a lot together. Freshman year my roommate and I lived in one of the 7’ x 10’ jail cells provided for all inmates – ahem – tenants of Hill College House. Even if he and I had had nothing in common, we would always have had something to talk about: “Dude, this room really sucks.” “Yea, man, seriously… you think this is legal?” That sort of hardship brings people together. It’s like pledges during hell week, except… it’s every week… for two semesters straight. (At the very least they gotta get some fucking AC in that building, seriously.) The arguments over piles of dirty clothing and stolen boxes of cookies aside, some major bonding goes on between roommates.

And that bonding isn’t just because you share in talking shit about Penn dormitories. It’s from talking shit about your neighbors and your professors and stupid sorority girls. It’s from waking up the morning after throwing a wild party in an apartment the size of a small dog house and saying to each other, “We threw it down last night!” It’s from having a friend puke on and around the toilet (with, strangely, none of the projected matter making it into the receptacle) and then playing two games of rocks-paper-scissors – one to see who has to clean up and another to see who gets to kick the friend in the balls.

So, yea, it’s not terrible having a roommate. All things considered, I almost wish I still had one. They’re someone to eat with, drink with, talk shit with, and, maybe most importantly, play beer pong with. Decimating the wall in one-on-one games gets a little boring after awhile. By about the fifth game it’s up there with convocation on the excitement meter. So let this be a lesson to the kids out there: roommates can really suck sometimes, but you’ll probably miss them when they’re gone, even if it’s just a little and even if for the simple reason that they’re there to listen when you talk shit about that girl in psych class, who, by the way, is reaaally annoying me. I mean, she just won’t shut up and is always asking really stupid quest– damn it… where’s a roommate when you really need one?