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No Bed? No Problem

Growing up watching TV shows such as “That’s So Raven” and “Zoey 101,” my adolescent mind was distracted by the environments that these cool (well, cool for 2004) personas had the chance to inhabit. Everyone can recall the outrageous “dorm” that Zoey and her clique lived in during their years at Pacific Coast Academy. Pink and orange walls with beaded curtains and a window view of the Pacific Ocean – yes, it sounds like a Dunkin Donuts that serves virgin pina coladas and vegetarian sushi, but Teenick curated the dream room of its entire 11-year-old viewership, including me.

However, emerging out of adolescence and into young adulthood, my interior taste has evolved. Watching my brother search for the perfect NYC apartment and living in a New York suite of my own, I’ve been forced to not only mature quickly, but to also discover the necessities that a 20-something girl simply can’t live without in her first solo space – at least, in my industry, that is.
Driving myself down a track for a life in online media and editorial, I can picture myself in my future residence just like I pictured myself decorating my room pink and orange and beaded curtains in fourth grade: running around on the hardwood floors, arguing on the phone with someone of higher authority (maybe my editor, but most likely my mom), emails popping up on my laptop screen, and my microwave alarming to alert that I have a freshly-prepared Lean Cuisine.

Picturing the dream bachelor/ette pad post-grad, most of my peers would put several household goods at the top of their shopping lists – big-screen TV, big fridge, and, yes, a big, cloud-like, full-size bed. And while a big bed may be a 20-something’s field of dreams, my dreams at the moment are just a little bit bigger. That’s why the necessities for my first apartment are much more specific and much, much more important to me.

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2. A Big Closet. I’d like to call myself a Closet Curator. Any fashion-centric female could agree with me on this, but no matter how big or small the space, I insist on dedicating a lot of it to my apparel display. By the time I reach post-grad status, I may have to pick and choose my favorite pieces, but I want to show off my pro-Parisian style. It may not be Carrie Bradshaw’s walk-in wardrobe, but a rolling rack of clothes I’ve curated will look just as chic standing next to the sunset shining against the window.

3. A Big Desk. In The Catcher In The Rye, Holden was pleasantly surprised to find his younger sister in her bedroom, writing on a desk that took up most of the space. This description in the novel has resonated with me since I read it my sophomore year of high school and has since influenced the way that I refurnished my bedroom in New Jersey and, for absolute certain, will influence the way I decorate my future apartment. I identify myself as a writer. I sprawl material across my desk, from scribbled notebooks to multicolored pens to business cards. I envision my desk to be the defining piece of my apartment and definitely an important symbol of my adulthood, my story, and my career.

My dream desk? Glass, in front of my life-size window, and a sheepskin chair to seat me. I can picture all the other little details, too: a monogrammed mug filled to the rim with a skim latté (I would say it’s green tea, but it’s not nice to lie), my laptop open on one side, my iMac and bluetooth keyboard on the other, and a vanity set filled with pens and business cards I’ve accumulated over the years. And maybe a mini chandelier lamp.

My first apartment may be a few years ahead of me, but I don’t see anything wrong with planning my packing list early. But whether I’m dropped in the West Village, Gramercy, LA, even Paris, I’m not going anywhere without them.

Here And There

 

The term “boomerang” doesn’t just refer to a piece of sports equipment or a sister channel of Cartoon Network that plays reruns of “The Flintstones.” Today, “boomerang” is what my fellow Generation Y-ers have to endure after they graduate from college. One minute, they’re far, far away from home in the gated communities we call “college,” and before they can blink, they’re handed a piece of heavy paper delicately decorated in calligraphy, which serves as their ticket back to sleeping on the second floor of their cape-style houses in their hometown.

The house I lived in was the house that built me. Miranda Lambert doesn’t lie. But I’ve been fortunate enough to have the experience of attending college in the greatest city on earth (other than Paris) (which, by the way, I’m working on) and while it increases judgment among many attributes, it would be rude of me to take this opportunity for granted.

I don’t know what any of my situations will be when I graduate, whether it be socially or professionally. But what I may not be able to avoid is this boomerang effect. While many of my high school classmates may be excited to return home after our college graduations, it’s not the most appealing to me. What are my benefits? Mom cooks, does the laundry, and pays for my Starbucks. And I can go to the mall.

On one hand, sure, that’s all great. But from what I’ve experienced from going from living at home last summer to now living in NYC for this summer is that the boomerang may not be positive for my transition into true adulthood. It holds me back from growing – and I’ve grown so much this year. I don’t want to go back.

I’m used to cooking, doing my own laundry, and cleaning my own apartment. It’s almost second nature to me now. Yes, it may just be at the collegiate level as opposed to the “real world” level, like paying rent and electric bills (and credit card bills – *shudder*), but I think that I have a leg up on anyone that isn’t in my shoes and living here at 20 years old.

I love home. Home is great. But this room that I’m sitting in now that looks over a street in Chelsea has also become home to me. And when your apartment feels like home, you know you’re heading in the right direction. No boomeranging here, but maybe archery. I’m getting closer to the bullseye.

Frat Boys And Promoters: They’re, Like, The Same Thing

College in New York City is a unique experience that not everyone gets to live. Sleeping in the epicenter of the city that never sleeps is exactly what it sounds like – countless endless nights, crossing the streets from dusk till dawn, and doing it all again less than 24 hours later.

But there’s more to it. When the sun sets in the city, an underground society comes to life. Gangs of girls are strutting down the sidewalk in stilettos, accompanied by their cheerful comrades and a guy or two with his hair spiked in a black button-up slapped on his chest. Where are they going? What are they even doing?

The longer you follow, you notice they approach a tight door with a bouncer, unhooking a velvet rope and letting in the ladies with their body-con dresses. You didn’t think it was real until you finally saw it, but that guy following those girls helped them get in through that door. And that’s not just any door, that’s a nightclub. And that’s not just any guy, that’s a promoter.

A club promoter is not a typical person that the masses would have the “pleasure” of meeting, especially for those in college. Nightclubs are one of the biggest entertainment outlets for college students in NYC. But who can blame us? It’s not like we have frat parties to crash 4 times a week…

Or do we?

I’ve experienced the club culture, and as much as I loved my off-beat NYC world, the back of my mind always wondered what a frat party would be like at a big school. So although it was sort of true that we didn’t have the stereotypical college-esque frat party to frequent on weekends, the good thing about New York is that if you’re looking for something, we probably have it. And on that note, I was right.

I had come across a group of young guys one day and understood that they were recruiting people to come to a future party their frat was throwing. And since I got the invite and was secretly more excited than I should’ve been, of course I grabbed my gang and we headed across the river for a very, very strange night.

This is where the similarities come into play.

Why Frat Boys and Promoters are the Same People

1. They look for girls to come party. Promoters need to bring girls to clubs so that it gives the club more attention. In this sitch, the bros were seeking out belles so that their party could be more crowded. For both sides, the more girls, the better, because as bad as it sounds, girls who look like they’re smiling and having fun attract all types of people.

On another note, both at nightclubs and frat parties, these girls are dressed exactly the same. Yes, it’s acceptable for a girl to wear a black hip-hugging dress and patent heels to Avenue. At a frat house, the ensemble is a bit out-of-place. Just a tad, IMO.

2. They pile on the alcohol. Promoters never make the ladies pay for anything, booze included. When you arrive at the VIP table, bottles upon bottles of Vodka are just ready to be picked up and mixed in with a splash of cranberry juice. And they keep coming, so don’t expect to complain about empty handles.

A frat party is similar in this fashion. I didn’t believe the rumors that the bros had been drinking since happy hour all the way through 1 am, but they somehow accumulated enough alcohol to sustain the guestimated 220-person max in their crowded townhouse. Keep up the fundraising, boys.

3. They’re dangerous. You may have heard Ghandi-esque people say “you can only trust yourself,” but it might actually apply here. While promoters try to serve you at the club and make sure you’re having a good time, some often want to serve girls in other ways. The unlimited alcohol can quickly turn into a negative rather than a quirky benefit. If your promoter keeps pouring you drink after drink, beware.

The same for frat boys. And it’s unfortunate because they’re your age and sometimes, you think you could actually be friends (or more) with some of these guys. But some of them might have cruel intentions. I’ve seen them lead sideways-stepping girls up the stairs and their partners in crime clapping them on. You don’t want to be that girl.

It may be all fun and games, but it’s not a game you can play forever. I’m all for making as many friends as possible. Just don’t get too friendly.