-As a kid growing up in the suburbs, I was always perplexed when I took a standardized test and the address section on the form had a space for “apartment number.”  Back then, I didn’t know anyone who lived in an apartment and could never imagine doing so myself.  Now, I’m on my fifth apartment and can’t imagine anyone my age living in an actual house.  For me, though, my apartment is not just my home, but my office as well.  It has been almost three years since I first described “daycrawlers” in Ruminations #82.  Daycrawlers are the self-employed, the creatives, and the freelancers – those often misunderstood twentysomethings who work from home – and our numbers are growing.  We don’t own suits, we usually don’t have bosses, and we’re all wearing pajamas right now.

-One of the drawbacks of being a daycrawler is convincing people that I do in fact have a job.  When my buddies want to visit me in LA, they’ll say, “Karo, we’re thinking about coming Wednesday to Sunday.”  While I’m excited for them to crash, they don’t seem to realize that I’ll be working more than half the time they’re here.  It’s the equivalent of me coming to visit you and literally living in your cubicle for three days.

-One of the benefits of being a daycrawler is the ability to get laid on weekday afternoons.  I used to date this girl who was in law school.  Sometimes she’d come over after class in the middle of the day.  It was the simplest recipe for sex ever, since I’d already be laying around in my boxers.  Just add chick.

-Because I live alone, I often wonder what would happen if I was attacked or I choked on a pretzel or something.  I’m worried that no one would realize anything was wrong for weeks.  I tend not to leave my apartment for days on end and if I don’t respond to email, people just assume I’m really busy or on tour.  I’m like a kidnapper’s dream.