"Home, Home on the seventh floor........"

My roommate moved in today.

This is a really big deal. Like moving into the dorms. Except, when I was that innocent child of 17, I had no idea what I was getting in to. College was a big fat mystery, not to mention the anonymous women I would be thrown into close quarters with. This time, it's like getting a redo.

In the original version of Lilly Gets A Roommate, Princess Caroline, as we not-so-affectionately called her, moved in. That deserved its own sentence so that now I can devote sentence #2 to a shortlist of her transgressions: hanging religious symbols on our door, squeezing the remaining two of us into a space that equaled only 1/3 of the room, setting up a loft and then carving into it the dates of her sexual conquests (this was verified by a quick climb-and-peep, but it's all true), hanging dirty underwear off a perfume bottle in full view of guests to our room, stacking a cd case with music that included but was not limited to "John Tesh - Sax By The Fireplace". Did I mention that she would get up first thing, shower, and then lounge around the room naked? Thank God for the fact that I was already quite dependent on contacts to make out shapes. But what I saw, blurry as it may have been, was more than enough for this kid.

In the remake, I should start by saying that the role of Roommate will not be played by a human incarnation of an ostrich. Rather, she's a beautiful girl, and Persian to boot. I've never had a roomie from the motherland. That will put a fun twist on things. Like the episode where the parents come to town. We can dub that one in both languages. Plus, my roomie (aka "Rumi" because I'm ohsoclever) and I, by virtue of our shared common mother tongue, can talk about people behind their backs. But in front of them. So should someone come over and we find the need to be excessively rude, we can do so. Fun for the whole family!

In this issue of Roommate, she has a life. Not to say that Princess C's devotion to the chemistry fraternity at the University of Michigan wasn't proof enough that she was a socialite... but Roomie/Rumi has a career. She has a boyfriend. She does not, from what I have seen, own anything that even rhymes with "Tesh". And I love her for this.

Some people have asked me if it will be hard to adjust to having a roommate after two and a half years of living alone. To them I say this: one- you're just regretting the fact that you didn't crash in my extra room more often. Two, you're just jealous that I get to go through dorm life, minus the food, and you don't. Neener neener. Or maybe you're slightly envious that our antics will likely be deserving of its own website: 712isthebomb.com. I say: stop yer crying and start planning what you're bringing when we throw a Brand New Roomies party.

It just feels like time to do something new, and moving stuff around the house and, perhaps more importantly, moving new life into it, seems like the right thing. I know that the days, weeks, months (years?) to come are going to teach me things. I mean, I already learned something. I learned about NEEDS. You see, her boyfriend moved her in, while she was *out of town* (yes, guys, go back and read that again. Then recognize that the bar has been raised significantly) this weekend. And this made me come to terms with some deep-seated needs *I* have. Every woman has needs, right? Needs that should be satisfied, like... the need to reach the top shelf of my kitchen cupboard. The need to have someone capable of putting my closet door back on its tracks. The need for someone who isn't as scared of the dark as I am to shut off the lights.

Girls who are out there whining (writing, singing, thinking) about how they need a guy to fulfill them emotionally and make them whole are a mystery to me. What I've requested? That's the real deal right there. The basics of survival.

Simplicity is a beautiful thing.