It took three months, 612 moving boxes (or thereabouts), and the very last smidgen of my sanity, but this weekend I moved out of my parents’ house (where I’d been staying after a bad breakup) and back to New York City in a “single girl” apartment again.
I’m baaaaaaaack, bitches!
However, moving into a new apartment during a rainstorm is not something I would recommend. Just a little advice from me to you. Keep reading »
When I first moved back home with my parents after a nasty breakup, there was much to be embarrassed about. What was a 26-year-old (and eventually 27-year-old) doing moving back into her childhood bedroom? Why couldn’t I have become an investment banker so I had thousands of dollars saved for a situation like that? I had to see my parents every single day and answer their myriad questions about where I was going, what I was doing, and if that was what I was really wearing. (Yes.) I had to ask permission to borrow their cars. I had to explain to guys from online dating that I lived with my parents. And, of course, I had vibrators, lingerie and sex books to hide.
But moving back with the ‘rents was the best possible decision for sure. I don’t want to sleep on anyone’s couch and I especially don’t want to wear out my welcome on anyone’s couch. More importantly, though, I was a shellshocked. I needed some TLC, lots of margaritas, and several seasons of “Keeping Up With The Kardashians” on Netflix Instant — as well as time, space, and rent-free living — to get myself back on my feet. When I move back to New York City into a new apartment next weekend, I will take my love and gratitude towards Mom and Dad right along with me. Here are four things I’ve learned after moving back in with my parents — for better or for worse — as an adult… Keep reading »
I usually don’t find myself cheering for lawsuits, but this one is an exception: a jilted bride from Chicago is suing her ex-fiancé for the costs of the wedding after he cheated on her at his Las Vegas during his bachelor party and then called the wedding off when he got caught.
Pardon my ’90s expression, but “You go, girl!” Keep reading »
Two months ago, I packed up my life into all the suitcases and storage boxes I could find. My kitchen supplies went in storage. A Reiss cocktail dress I’d bought to wear for my own engagement party at some unforeseen date went to my sister’s. My books are still piles up in my parents’ living room. I left baby photos of Ex-Mr. Jessica, given to me by his grandma back when he referred to me as “the one,” behind in our old bedroom along with my housekey.
Moving out of the apartment I shared with my ex-boyfriend was worse than the breakup. He made the breakup easy on me, in a way, by treating me badly. I felt hurt about being dumped, of course, but mostly I felt angry: I didn’t deserve to be dumped so suddenly, to have another woman waiting in the wings, to basically have been kicked out of my home, and to have my possessions threatened. I still feel blood-pumping anger about all that. Moving out felt so final and being forced to do it against my will totally sucked.
I’ve spent a lot of time on my own these past two months. I’ve done a lot of thinking and hurting and growing. I feel ready — or mostly ready — to leave my parents’ house in Connecticut where I’ve been staying and move back out on my own again. A single woman. A city girl again. Sigh. It turns out moving out on my own again is hard, too. Keep reading »
You lose a lot of things in a breakup. You lose your partner, of course. But also to varying degrees you lose your feelings of security, dignity and trust. You lose that incredible French toast recipe only he committed to memory and all the TV shows you had saved in your TiVo queue. Maybe, like me, you only realize after the fact that you left behind your apron, a bunch of your socks, and a pair of mittens. Or, horror of horrors, also like me, you leaped out of bed one night, furiously looking in the designated Bag O’ Sex Toys you discreetly moved out of your apartment, looking for that one vibrator with the out-of-this-world speeds … and you realize you lost it. Keep reading »
Of all the aspects that were difficult about my recent breakup from my boyfriend of two years, the hardest was moving out of the apartment that we shared together. You can verbally say all kinds of things: we’re broken up, we’re on a break, we’re seeing other people, whatever. Those words might change from day to day. But pulling your sundresses off the closet hangers feels final. Same goes for taking your face wash out of the shower. I built a life, a relationship, with someone and then all of a sudden, it was just my things in an apartment that was now his. Keep reading »
As Erin already pointed out, there will be some point in your career as a twentysomething when someone will break your heart. There’s also a chance you’ll break someone’s heart. Either way, there’s a good chance that someone will be your roommate, making cutting ties an even bigger bitch than usual. Here are the dos and don’ts of breaking up with your live-in boyfriend from girls who’ve done it. Keep reading »
