This is a relatively new phenomena for me. I spend my first 18 years of life under a roof with my mom, dad, brother and any number of dogs at any given point. Most of the time, there was some sort of “outsider” in there, too. Boyfriends of mine (hah!), my brother’s long-time girlfriend, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors — we’re a good Italian family with a door wide open to our loved ones. Then, escaping to college and living in dorms meant constant — and I really, really mean constant — social interaction. Even moving off campus to other apartments with roommates and roommates’ bedmates meant that I was never truly alone. In my last apartment before moving here, we dubbed ourselves the “Van Ness Bureau,” because several of us who worked for the school paper (in some capacity) all lived within a block of each other. At times, it felt more like a youth hostel. But I loved it. All the time.

And before I moved down here, I never gave “living alone” a second thought. But my adventures in solitude have allowed me quite some time to think about a lot of things. And, because I can’t help myself from researching, I’ve done a lot of reading up on this 20-something-unattached-female-living-in-a-strange-city-completely-alone. And ironically (or, perhaps not at all), I’m finding strength in numbers.

This Marie Claire piece by Mindy Kaling from The Office sums of my experience pretty well. Yes, I admit, even being alone in the newsroom tonight, I heard some shuffling (probably from the cleaning crew), and I immediately closed my laptop and darted out of there. Yes, I panicked. But why would anyone prowl through an empty newsroom? Living alone means that your once extremely logical brain tends toward constant worry and survival mode (mostly when completely unnecessary).

Then, of course, there’s Liz Lemon. Tina Fey’s character in 30 Rock has taught me more about living alone (and dealing with my neuroses) than any real person has. Since seeing every episode of the show (obviously the only way to spend my weekends), I’ve taken to chewing my food very well as not to choke, and purchasing a bath mat, as not to sleep and fall and die in the shower, as per the show’s suggestions. Naturally, my $10 bath mat is more slippery than the actual floor of my shower, but there’s nothing like convincing yourself on mindless safety. I’ve also considered grabbing one of those LifeAlert necklaces, you know, just in case. But that’d be taking it a bit too far.

I also just scoured the internet for the last 20 minutes trying to find clips from the show, but since NBC has it all on some serious lockdown, you’ve been stonewalled, my dear readers. So, after plugging two of that network’s shows in my rundown of independent women, I’m done with them.

Last one here, though, since I know the rules of blogging say that if you go more than 200 words, no one cares. I can more-than triple that because, well, no one cares in the first place.

Either way, this is the kind of stuff I find ridiculous. Your best tips are to get a dog, love your job, break out the vacuum and don’t be a misanthrope? Don’t even start me on their “bonus tip.” Things like that make this experience seem more like a chore. Here’s my list of (practical) things you can do to make sure you don’t die while living alone.

1. Install a security system. Not what you’re thinking. I have an unused curtain rod next to my air mattress in case someone finds a way through the Fort Knox security of my apartment building. No, I’m not trained in any sort of martial art, but I did grow up in New Jersey, so that almost counts.

2. Don’t fall asleep with your candles burning. Now, I like having my apartment smell like gingerbread cookies and lilacs as much as the next girl, but not enough to stop, drop and roll in them. The oven, the flat iron, anything that generates heat of any sort — double check that because you leave your place or fall asleep.

3. Be aware of your “googleability.” At a bar with my one (and only) friend a few weeks ago, some gentleman came up to me, and we did standard small talk. Turned out, the three details I gave him — my name, the city where I live and my job (but not where I work) — resulted in him finding my personal e-mail address and god knows what other information. In my line of work, I’m aware that there’s no real expectation of privacy. I’m search-able on the internet, like it or not (mostly, not).

4. Don’t lock your keys in your car. Honestly, if you don’t have AAA, you’re really on your own on this one.

5. (last one, because I’m bored) — Keep a solid supply of emergency sickness supplies before you get sick. One of the many things roommates are good for is helping you out when you’ve fallen under the weather. You need some Nyquil? Chances are, a roommate has it or loves you enough to run out and get some (read: doesn’t want to hear you sniffle all night). Obviously, you can venture out and get it yourself, but living alone means preparing for these things to happen. I’ve got a solid stock of cold meds, cough drops, aspirin, tums, Aleve, ibuprofen — you name it, it’s probably in a cabinet somewhere.

Obviously, this is a short, dumb list for a long, dumb entry in an infrequently-updated (and, well, dumb) blog. But after doing this for almost a half a year, I’m an old pro. I mean, I’ve only choked once (saved myself!) and only kind of almost fainted in the shower. Let’s not go there.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’m a half-Italian, north Jersey native who spent countless summer days trolling the boardwalk of Seaside Heights, N.J. My high school was filled with “guidos,” and I know that word doesn’t actually offend anyone. And though you won’t catch me at “Karma” (a dance club in Seaside), I probably relate to Snooki’s upbringing more than most “Jersey Shore” fans. Which is why I would shirk all my academic duties on Thursday nights and crowded around the TV with my friends to watch the show.

So, I dig “Jersey Shore” because it reminds me of home? If that’s the case, why are my Californian friends equally obsessed? What makes a country that loves to hate New Jerseyans so remarkably caught up in their reality TV world?

The same thing goes for the Real Housewives of New Jersey. Danielle, the one who everyone describes as being a bitch, is actually from my hometown. A bunch of scenes take place on roads I would take everyday. My ability to relate to the show — at least, the locations — is the most interesting part of it. When I hear people chatting about the show while I’m working out at the gym, all of 1,200 miles away, I fight the urges to brag about “knowing those half-dressed girls working at the car wash.” Because I know someone will tell me, “that’s nothing to be proud of.”

But if that’s true, then why are you making treadmill talk about it? My best guess is that people enjoy learning about “another culture,” especially one they find “trashy.” After all, everyone knows no one will watch a show about a successful, academic, average-looking girl, going to Rutgers University. Isn’t it counter-intuitive for most people to watch things they can’t possibly relate to? I guess, in today’s world, the overexposure of “interesting” people’s lives are making the rest of us feel boring.

I just don’t know if I’m ready to live vicariously through J-WOWW.

At any rate… I graduated in May from American University, and less than a month later, I packed up to start a new job as a reporter in Fort Myers, Fla. There won’t be a lot of graduates in my generation who move on to work for a daily newspaper, so I’ve been told. I feel extremely lucky to have that kind of opportunity. There’s a lot to learn about being a reporter. To be honest, for as much “journalism” as I did in college, I didn’t do much reporting. For the last two years, I focused almost solely on editing. I thought that it’d be an easy transition, but there’s definitely a learning curve. That, and I’m still trying to understand this city. Which is proving to be a monumental (but not insurmountable!) task. My editor said it best — I just need some time. My mom also pointed out that I have this annoying need to be perfect at everything I do, and that’s really just impossible. I’m coming to terms with that, little by little, everyday.

Moving to Florida after growing up near New York City and going to college in D.C. is nothing short of a culture shock. There are people with strange, southern accents and who drive carelessly and can legally make U-turns in the middle of the street. I can’t remember the last time I drove around a traffic circle or a jug handle.

What’s most interesting is picking up on some of the nuances of Floridian life. No, I’m not talking about the ant colony in my kitchen or the alligator that was sitting next to my car the other night. I’m talking about the real, nitty-gritty social differences between my northeast upbringing and my life here. I’ve figured out that people down here really, really enjoy nature. We’re talking kayaking on the weekends and fighting to preserve species of wildlife. There are state parks and islands and rivers named after native tribes. Which, I guess I had growing up in New Jersey, but no one really cared about that. Yet, messing with sea turtles is a felony.

As for me, it’s going to take me a while to embrace that kind of thing. My idea of nature is my walk to and from the car, where I get bitten by strange bugs and frogs pounce on me. I guess the thing is that life is simpler down here, but still, far more complicated than any of my friends from up north would ever realize. The though of “urban sprawl” would have never crossed my mind when I lived in the city, and I haven’t heard the word “gentrification” since I left Washington.

The average value of a house is about $75,000. Back in Jersey, people spend that much on a car. In D.C., a 3 bedroom row house in Columbia Heights would go for over a million dollars. I’ve never lived in a city with a Wal-Mart, let alone four of them. Most of the people I have spoken to about politics are Republicans. We’re talking red-state, gun-toting, gay-bashing, God-fearing Republicans. Coming from a school like AU, where even the biggest Republicans were more like classical liberals, the perspective is fascinating. City council meetings begin with a prayer. Back north, people would be passing petitions called for the separation of church and state.

Not that any of this stuff is bad, it’s just contributing to the culture shock. I’m determined to keep trying and work toward making myself the best I can be, right where I am. Not much more to ask, I guess.

All for now. Back in some arbitrary amount of time.

So this is sort of a play off of my dear friend and news editor’s “Quick Take,” where he goes through and opines and muses on a few news stories from the last few days.

In the interest of self-promotion (to, well, no one), The Eagle ran a first person account from one of our staffers who is studying abroad in Santiago, Chile. Admittedly, the photo on the story is a bit weak, but we may have been one of the earliest publications with an account on this weekend’s 8.8-magnitude earthquake.

Going along the idea of plugging college publications, I came across this little gem in the Georgetown Voice’s blog. Turns out there was some sort of disgruntled lawyer/GU Law graduate who felt the urge to part with his diploma over the Internet with a price tag of $59,250. If anything, guy, just go for the $60k mark. Those shipping fees can really empty out those pockets.

For tonight’s last break, I read this story this morning and was beside myself with the absurdity of it all. Apparently, Topeka, Kansas, likes to go around changing its name regarding certain trends in society. Well, Topeka is temporarily no longer Topeka, but Google. Yeah, Google, Kansas. So, does the Topeka-Capital Journal have to change its name, too? Yup. I’m back to hating the Internet again.

Hopefully you weren’t too upset by my pure Internet audacity. The nerve of those damn kids today! Blogging too darn much. (Forgive me, I’m blogging past my bedtime.)

I actually surprised myself with how not-embarrassing it was to see my mom in a domain that I’d typically reserved for college kids seeking a distraction. She’s always been a pretty cool mom, in her own right. I smiled looking at her pictures — shots of my dad, brother and dog (and of course, a few less-than-glamorous ones of me) — memories I haven’t visited in the bustle of my busy collegiate life.

From: http://myparentsjoinedfacebook.com/

Oh, and of course, a few hours later, I get the friend request from my dad. My brother refuses to add him, but how could I say no? These people changed my diapers and helped me through every single life crisis of the last 22 years. I couldn’t possibly reject that.

So here’s to the people who love us the most, regardless of what our “Jobs/Education” and “Relationship Status” sections say.

I have a few short reasons, aside from the fact that this stupid series of tubes has gone ahead and ruined any hope I ever had of working in print journalist.

One of these reasons occurred to me today while I was sitting in my 5:30 class. We had a pretty serious publishing mogul and seasoned politician come to our class. I’m pretty sure my professor had to pull a lot of strings to get him there. So, I’m sitting in the back of the room, taking pretty good notes and listening to this guy talk to a room filled with college seniors. I take a couple seconds to look around at my peers, and of course, nearly everyone had their laptops open to Facebook. Now, I’m as addicted to mindless social networking as most other people my age, but come on, people. This guy was actually interesting. Why anyone would feel the need to creep on other people’s profiles at that given moment is so far beyond me.

Another thing that really gets me about them Inter-webs is how easily people with no social skills can get through life without having any incentive to improve that. My roommate asked me this afternoon if I’d ever heard of this Web site called “Chat Roulette.” It’s exactly what it sounds like. Think, modern speed dating. Or fleeting interactions with strange-looking people from across the world. While cool in its concept, there is no reason to let most of these people within 100 yards of a school. And yet we probably do. Every day.

My roommate met me with a problem yesterday. Some guy she’d known, ugh, “IRL,” who she’d recently been linking to in her blog and communicating (sort of) via Twitter, recently asked her on what sounded like a date over a Twitter message. We both pondered whether or not one could successfully score a date in 140 characters. My vote is: a resounding no.

Sure, I take full advantage of the Internet. I wouldn’t have even considered blogging if the world/my university didn’t beat me over the head with the importance of these “tubes.” But I think the trouble with “kids these days” is that we’re forced to put ourselves in the public eye through all this social networking blah blah blah. So many of my journalist-in-training friends measure their success based on how many pages come up when they Google their names. Certain publications pride themselves in their ability to tweet out breaking news and then never follow-up on it. And sure, there is a need for those things in this fast-moving world. But I can’t say I’ve ever been moved by a tweet or a twit-pic. At least not the way a well-written, thorough article has. I worry that someday, I’m going to be stuck in a world that puts priority on speed over accuracy and brevity over thoroughness.

But for now, I’ll keep my fingers crossed. Oh, and check my Facebook page. And tweet out this (poorly-written, not even a little bit thorough) post.

But the one thing that most of my college friends and I have been harping upon lately is the fact that we don’t live like real college kids. Take last night’s adventure, for instance. After Eagle production, four of us piled into my Sebring and took an hour-and-a-half drive down to Easton, Md., to see our newspaper come off the printing press. We ran out to the car with the same kind of excitement that most people would have going to Miami for spring break.

Driving across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, we told bad jokes and talked about journalism and The Eagle. Occasionally, we took a second to reflect on our obvious excitement — we would finally see our “baby newspaper’s birth.” Despite not getting to bed until 8 a.m., it was certainly an experience I know none of us will forget. I’d never seen a printing press before (at least, not in real life), and it is amazing to see all that hard work from start to finish. On top of it all, we got to keep the plates after they were done. Keeping with the “college kids in Miami” theme, it felt like getting a night’s full of free drinks. I know for a fact that Miami could never put that kind of smile on my face. It was completely worth every minute of missed sleep, gallon of gas and cup of coffee at the diner.

So, here’s to having a perfectly nerdy college experience.