If You're Lucky Enough to Get a Date While Living at Home...

I don't like looking at this picture very much...
but it seemed relevant... sadly.

By now, you should know that I live with my parents – if not from the fact that you have read multiple blog posts, then from the tone of self-pity and shame that haunts each of my posts. And while this actually doesn’t pose many problems, it does become a bit of an issue with one certain aspect of my life: dating.

Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I am not a female lothario. I could hardly be classified as a man-eater unless you want to get into the consumption and gender of my breakfast, lunch and dinner.  However, if you have even semi-interested and involved parents, then you might see how living at home can be the cause of chronic “awkward turtle” moments at the beginning of whatever budding relationship makes its way to my front door.

Any time I have gone on a first date that involves a suitor picking me up, my polite date has (usually) had the common decency to come to my door. If I lived alone or with other 20-somethings, this would not be any sort of production. In fact, it would probably be standard practice. But with my parents? This seemingly innocent moment in my fledgling of a relationship becomes fair game for them. What should be the moment my date and I lock eyes and ignite some sort of romantic fire instead becomes a verbal assault and battery as this male suitor faces my inquisitive “roommates.”

Once I can finally maneuver past my parents, shuffling my date past their barrage of questions and threats, I can breathe. Sort of. At least now, if anything embarrassing happens, it’s my fault. The date is back within my control (for the most part) and the only person I have to blame for its subsequent failure is myself. If he managed to look past my sort-of innocently-curious parents and then later seems to be exiting out of the restaurant bathroom window after I talk to him? Well, we all know the cause of that.

For the most part, he and I can laugh it off and attribute it to my parents’ always-endearing love for me, and then move on to our inevitable awkward chit-chat and sizing-up of each other… Until my date brings me home.

As he will pull up in front of my house, I make sure to check for any possible beady eyes peering out of windows. My second-check is for my dog, whose first reaction to anything within his line of vision from the window (or front yard) is to bark – loudly. When he does this, I know that whoever is within even a mile’s earshot will be notified that I have probably returned home and am experiencing that awkward moment at the end of a date where we need to decide if we’re going to shake hands, hug, kiss or just run as fast as possible away from each other. If this last parting moment between me and my date happens in the car, then at least I have a steel casing protecting me from the vision of my parents, dog and hopefully neighbors. However, if my date is really trying to step up his chivalry game and takes me to the door? I cross my fingers  and hope that my brother isn't positioned just so on the couch that he can see out the window and onto our front doorstep – a front row audience member to some guy’s attempt to end the date with something more than a nice pat on the back and “call you never.”

If I manage to make it through those final parting moments without any witnesses, I still am not yet in the clear. Believe me, I have tried to dodge past my family’s almost-meddling interest while en route to my room – but it somehow seems that I can never make it into my room before being met with a “so how was it?” And I’ll be honest, I usually don’t mind this. In fact, I do enjoy a little recap of the day/night’s events – if not just because I probably like to hear myself speak, then because I need someone to know all of the events to later help me overanalyze everything. But in those rare moments when I want to savor my experience all by myself? I will inevitably have to share something to appease the curiosity of my parents. I can’t spend a few hours with some person they have never met and then NOT tell them even a smidgeon of information– is that even possible? Any silence on my part may lead them to believe that I have just spent an hour playing mini-golf and getting ice cream with a sociopath.

Trying to keep things from my parents in general is nearly impossible for me. Not only am I a terrible liar, but I respect and love my parents and want them to know what is going on with me. I will admit, though, that there are times that this can be difficult. After all, I cannot separate what I want to share with what I don’t want to share because I live with them. They see the events of my life unfolding simply because they’re around and they can see who picks me up, who’s calling me on the phone and even who sends me flowers (even though that rarely happens -- they can still see it!).

Let's be real here. When I order something online (usually shoes... always shoes), my parents are usually the ones who retrieve it from the front doorstep and know about its arrival before I do. I can't even keep the new purchases in my life a secret from them -- how am I supposed to keep a budding relationship, something that is decidedly more important than shoes (barely), from them?

It is one of the trade-offs of living at home. Although I have been living back at home for over a year now, I am still trying to find a way to balance my new adult (sort-of) life with the comforts that come from moving back in with your parents. I am not the same person I was when I lived there back in high school and my dating patterns are certainly more different. No -- I definitely do NOT bring anyone back to my house after a successful date -- but still, even if I felt the need to extend my date to an evening romp, do I really even have a choice? (And, parents, I know you are reading this, I am not trying to offend you! -- side note: they are probably the majority of my readers) I guess the issue here is that I do not have the choice to choose the information and potentially filter it or share it the way (and on the timeline) that I want to because they see everything happening in real time.When I am hurt by a guy or when I go through a breakup, they see the tears and the pain -- so even if I want to keep it to myself, I really can't. Of course, I always eventually tell them what's going on, but I never have a moment where something can be just mine when I'm located just down the hall from them. I do not have the luxury of having a first date, processing it and then calling up my mom to tell her the highlights because there is no time to process.

I am forever grateful to my awesome "roomies" for letting me stay at home and save a few bucks, so I don't mean to sound unappreciative -- because I am! But I do think that part of growing up and becoming more independent means having to work through situations and sift through information on your own. You will be able to formulate your own resolutions to problems and your own opinions about people and information before it becomes offered up for dinner table conversation. However, it is part of the experience of living at home and learning to manage with current circumstances.

I'd also like to point out I realize that I also am cramping my parents' "dating" habits. My mom said to me, "Did you ever think that maybe you get in the way of us wanting to...[be romantic]" (I'm editing her sentence, but you can interpret that as you wish) to which I could only reply TOUCHÉ!

Thoughts? Comments? Smacking your forehead with your hand? Doh?

A Brother Abroad

I went to Italy once (okay, twice).
But because my brother just left and hasn't posted any pictures, I had to improvise. I tried.

In between the rigorous months of college course-work and party-marathons for those living in their wonder years, my roommates and I add a fourth roommate to the mix (or fifth, if you count my dog as the fourth roommate.) It is obvious when this fourth roommate returns home: there are empty cereal bowls left on the floor beside the couch, every single light in the house is turned out, the washer/dryers have to run every day to accommodate the massive influx of dirty clothing, and all of the snacks in our house miraculously disappear in a matter of hours. I suppose if this semi-permanent house-guest were not my brother, it would be exponentially more intolerable to deal with his seemingly lackadaisical (borderline inconsiderate) habits.

But alas, during the winter months, he crawls back home, forced to relinquish the inflated sense of independence that so many college students revel in while living at school, and not-so-seamlessly assimilates back into parent-supervised suburban life. The roomies and I live a quiet life, used to going to bed early (we're all old people), keeping TV volume at an all-time low and content with low-maintenance dinners. But when #4 returns, the house somehow goes from quiet to loud and empty to full -- even though we're only housing an extra body. Although the roomies and I are generally drama-free (for the most part), the return of #4 brings with it a bit of a tumultuous transition as we can no longer expect to go to bed at 9:30PM without someone still being up and about in the house. Despite this minor commotion, within a week or two, our trio becomes a regular quartet and it's as if my dearest brother never left. 

Until now. My brother is embarking on what nowadays seems like a regular rite-of-passage for most privileged college folk -- he is studying abroad. After a bit of negotiating with the parents, they agreed that it would be a great opportunity and he was off to Rome for the semester. But we had just started to get used to him being home! What will now happen to our little, dysfunctional family unit sans our semi-permanent house guest?

Well, we'll do what we always do, except this time, it is different. Before, my brother was a mere twenty minutes away -- easily accessible whenever my mom had a hankering for doing some extra laundry or when my brother needed to spend some quality time with everyone's favorite roommate (my dog, naturally).Now, we're battling a six-hour time difference in order to communicate and I'm left to deal with my mother's reverse homesickness (she misses him. A lot already). A semester ago, we could check in with him with a quick text or just tune in to the ol' college gossip mill (I know people). My spy-system does not stretch all the way to Italy. Instead, we have to rely on his anecdotal emails and infrequent tweets from afar in order to gain a little insight into what is arguably one of the most important, life-changing and exciting experiences he'll have as a young adult. Strange, right?

As an older sister, it seems as though whenever I'm stuck under the same roof as my brother we constantly bicker and butt-heads, but as soon as we're separated and given the choice to interact with each other, we develop a new-found, mutual appreciation and respect for each other. I will admit this though (and since he doesn't read my blog, I think I'm safe): the house will be a lot less fun, lively and colorful without him around for the next four months. We won't be able to have a surprise visit from him (accompanied by the depletion of our liquor cabinet and supply of Wheat Thins) anytime soon. But we'll be the ones sitting around bored and missing this tornado of tenacity and spontaneity, while he gets to explore the world. I'm hoping that my brother will return at the end of the semester with great memories, valuable experiences and hopefully, a better understanding of the world around him. Fingers crossed that he will also learn to consistently put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and maybe even gain a better appreciation for his other three roommates.

Life with My "Roomies"

I always find myself telling people stories about my roommates. I have two roommates -- and they're pretty fun, as well as also being helpful, generous and smart. One of my favorite anecdotes I like to share is the one where I found my two roommates spooning in my living room while watching the Kardashians. To most people, this seems odd. Not just because people still actually watch the Kardashians, but because I walked in on my roommates spooning. Frankly, I'm glad that walking in on them spooning is the most intimacy I've had to witness. For those of you who are uninformed of my current living arrangements  I will admit it: I live with my parents.

This living arrangement is one that's met with divided reaction, by the general public and myself alike. Society has ingrained into us that once you're done with school - whether it be high school or higher education - you now must move out and forge an independent life in separate living quarters from your parents or guardians. In doing this, you have made the complete transition into adulthood and can now embark on that adult life free of supervision, curfews and your mom folding your underwear. Unfortunately, with the current economic climate and the overwhelming necessity for student loans, this rite of passage is being delayed by many fellow  post-grad adults. How are we expected to afford to live in an apartment paying hundreds of dollars (assuming you can find roommates) when you've also got hundreds of dollars going towards that education of yours -- you've got the diploma stashed away somewhere under your bed to prove it, I bet?

The fact of the matter is: many of us can't. I know that I certainly can't afford to pay for rent with my entry-level income, let alone furnish that shabby apartment, drive a car and pay off any accumulated debt. What about food, you may ask? Forget that. My private college education fed my soul, so certainly, that should be enough to keep my hunger at bay. What about having a social life -- it does cost to go out, you know? Well, if I can't get free drinks, then I'll just have to be satisfied with a non-existent social life because I can't afford a $10 cover charge and a $10 beer. 

I realize that this may seem overdramatic. And to a certain extent, it is. Plenty of recent grads find a way to make it work and thrive, even with a limited budget. However, I find myself asking the following question (and I know many other people have asked the same thing) as a twenty-something living in her childhood home: does living with our parents stunt our transition into adulthood or can it be seen as a very strategic, adult decision being that it is fiscally responsible?

My life at home is pretty cushy, I will admit. My parents don't charge me rent or ask me to pay for food. My mom still does my laundry and packs me a lunch for work (the shame is overwhelming even as a type this). My dad will bring my car to get gas if I'm feeling too lazy (although, I do give him money to pay for it!) or pick up a prescription for me at CVS. And on top of all of that, they're fun to be around. I go out to dinner with them, we watch TV together, and we share many a laugh over the funny things that my dog does. But in the midst of all of this, I wonder if I am regressing towards my childish ways.

I have a full-time job equipped with benefits and a 401K. I commute into Boston (about 1.5 hours each way). I have to navigate around my own schedule, balancing work, running my errands, seeing friends, etc. But that still doesn't mitigate the reality that I am living with my parents. I am not embarrassed that I live with my parents, though. Since graduating last December, I have saved up a considerable amount of money and have been able to contribute more money towards paying off my car loan. I am trying to set myself up to be successful once I do leave the nest, so that I don't have to come fumbling back, hands outstretched begging for money and for my mom to separate my lights and darks.

I like to think that I am still facing adult problems and have an adult life -- but it is a modified version of the stereotypical post-grad life of ten, even five years ago, when jobs were a guarantee post-college and debt wasn't necessarily so overwhelming. I do want to move out of my house eventually, but I want to do so at a time where I feel as though I am more financially stable. Does that make me childish? Or does that mean I am making an adult and responsible decision?

For now, I'm going to enjoy the perks of living at home and continuing to save my money as I prepare for my next big adult steps. I might as well enjoy it while I can and savor this special "roommate" time. Besides, I'm pretty sure my "roommates" love having me home: who doesn't love to do an extra load of laundry!

If I Was a Housewife...

Assuming you've been following my blog for the past few months, you know that I have been looking for a job and living at home. While I wonder if you, my avid blog followers, consider me to be simply an unemployed bum mooching off her parents, I'd like to think that we have developed a sense of camraderie over my ups-and-downs in this whole process.

Certainly, with this much unstructured free time, I can tend to go a bit crazy from lack of productivity, but at the same time, I feel like I have made some real progress in my domestic prowess going from just taking up space in the house to being able to actually contribute with baked goods, the occasional dinner and my exceptional ability to do laundry. All of this has led me to contemplate what life would be like if I were to pursue my back-up career path as a trophy wife or "Real Housewife of Suburbia." Sure, I might have my Bachelors degree and am considering pursuing a Masters, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't examine all options, right?

Because of this and my propensity for all things reality TV, I have decided to devote this blog post to my musings on what my life would be like if I were to pursue the role of Suzy Homemaker a la trophy housewife of my neighborhood since I have been practicing my domestic skills as of late.

The children: If you've seen any of the Bravo Housewives, you'd know that they can be a bit over-the-top, for better or for worse. I'm assuming that I would be in the "for worse" category, proving to be the most obnoxious. Take the children, for example. I'm pretty sure I would be that housewife with approximately one child and five nannies. Everyone knows you need one nanny for waking up the child, one nanny for dressing it, one nanny for transporting the child to boarding school, one nanny for handling all of the problems with the child, and one nanny as back-up, because you seriously don't expect me actually to interact with the child. Of course not.

The cooking: I have been practicing for my stint as a trophy wife by learning how to cook -- an essential tool to insuring that my husband and child are well-fed when my professional cook is off-duty. Attire for the times when I bake will be as follows:

From Anthropologie

From ModCloth

As expected, the cooking uniform will also include some sort of fancy designer attire, a pearl or diamond necklace and high heels, which are to be worn all day when attempting to do the chores. Since cooking is one of the few things that I can actually do and as a "real housewife of suburbia" I will most likely not have a job and only engage in charity events, baking and cooking will have to be my claim to fame -- well, that and my charming personality, of course.

Measuring spoons from Anthropologie

Measuring cups from ModCloth

All kitchen utensils and appliances will be frivolous and adorable since those are two words that would sum up my daily activities. Note: If I am not going to be productive and going to be a trophy wife, I aim to live a charmed life, starting with anything pink, colorful and sparkly, including above kitchen products.

The cleaning: Now, obviously, I will have a maid, housekeeper, full staff -- what have you -- but on the off chance that I have the urge to pick up a feather duster, I'm going to have to know how to clean. I'd say my strong points are washing dishes and doing the laundry, since both require minimal effort. I've also been known to make a mean bed, fluffing up the pillows and making sure everything looks just so. In this alternative utopian lifestyle as a trophy wife, aesthetics are everything, right down to the throw pillows.


So there you have it, my alternative universe as a "Real Housewife" of anywhere in the suburbs, white-picket fence, cute dog, and "Leave It to Beaver" theme-song included. I, in no way, mean to offend anyone who is actually a "Real Housewife" of somewhere, prefers to be a stay-at-home mom, or actually has a fifty person staff, as this is my imagination running wild due to boredom, lack of chocolate cake and minimal interaction with people other than my parents (oh, and don't forget my tendency towards the sarcastic.)

Just a little day-dreaming on a Friday afternoon to make me almost wish I was running around in heels while vacuuming.