I did it. I moved off campus and it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was a difficult decision to make—to cut the umbilical cord myself—for I was afraid I’d be alienated from the people and energy of campus life that I enjoyed for two years. Of course there were the days when frankly I would have rather not ventured into the unforgiving lighting of CafÈ Mac. But I worried that once off-campus, I would avoid campus like the plague as a self-righteous upperclassman and forget how much I really liked going to Soup and Substance and MacCinema. And how would I start my mornings without the routine comfort of being flipped off by a driver on Grand? Nevertheless, on the last day possible I canceled my housing contract with the Veggie Co-op and dove head-first into house-hunting plans. I reminded myself that bills, dish-washing, and leases were unpleasantries I could not avoid forever, and I also reminded myself that I really really love eating meat.

After two weeks, I've proved to be an able homemaker. My room is a veritable cocoon of soft lighting and effortless feng-shui. Delicious Ikea furniture, stained with my blood, sweat and tears from “easy” assembly, integrates well with the bedding and decorations I already own. I painted my room a warm golden tan, originally named "Copper Springs" but re-christened by my housemates as the more suitable "Gingerbread LattÈ." As for the house as a whole, between the turquoise wall-to-wall carpeting and my friend describing the exterior as “very axe murder-ish,” let's just say I remind myself that 20 is far too early in life to have one’s dream home; you have to leave something to look forward to.

It’s surprising how quickly I’ve fallen into this role of homemaker: shopping for and cooking Martha Stewart dinners, scrubbing dishes 'til I can check my hair in their reflection, and emptying out the dirty bong water and ashtrays on Sunday morning. I guess the most reassuring thing is that if this English degree doesn’t land me a job I’ll have the stay-at-home-dad thing down pat. The only thing getting in the way of my house-husbandry is that pesky stuff called homework. Last night, while calmly enjoying my pesto pasta dinner al fresco, I remembered I had 100 pages of reading due the next morning and hastily finished my cheese course in a bad mood.

One thing that is important to consider are the many qualities of a compatible roomie. How financially liberal will they be with money at Ikea? Are they clean and organized or will minimalism not work in the living room? How effectively do they get things done on-time? These are all important questions to ask. My housemates live by a strict code. Bedtime? Anytime. Boys? Who needs 'em. School? Schmool. I like to think of them as a renegade gang of bad girls. As I come home for bed at midnight to catch glimpses of their silhouettes biking away into the night, juggling a cigarette at the same time no doubt, I think how different my household is from the one I assured my parents it was going to be. Where are the study groups I promised them, the super-involved people who got up before me and were always early to class? If my parents came to visit, they would take one look at the ominous pile of garbage in the living room, dramatically cough from the faint smell of cigarettes, and turn to give me a look I would never forget. Lucky for me, they dropped me off in front of Dupre as an awkward first-year and never bothered to check back in.

The drawback I never foresaw was having to cook for myself every meal, every day, because while balanced, photogenic dinners are do-able, the lazy shit in me comes out and just wants a goddamn Hot Pocket. Meanwhile, the best thing is being able to choose when to venture on-campus and see my liberal arts brothers and sisters. This has made the experience far more pleasurable, for although I would argue that social claustrophobia is part of the Macalester experience, seeing friends has become a much more special occasion. However, the best perk of living in my house is that now I don’t have to watch gay porn alone in my single; we watch it together as a family.