When I was 19, I moved in with my 24-year-old boyfriend and his tattoo artist best friend. It was perfect, since we had been together for two years and hung out all the time anyway. Of course when you’re that young, you assume you’ll get married and be together forever.
He had a 3 year-old daughter who lived in the house every other week as well. There were definitely white-trash vibes surrounding my alterna-teen years, especially the empty 40oz bottles of Steel Reserve in the recycling bin outside.
I was a tomboy, so living with dudes was not an issue for me. I didn’t mind cleaning and cooking for them because I enjoyed it and assumed that was going to be my life because everyone I knew was married by 25 in Michigan. Luckily, I got the hell out of there and moved to Los Angeles.
I lived in random places I found on Craigslist, and eventually started living by myself. My best friend Lizzy, who I’ve known since I was 15, broke up with her boyfriend and needed a place to live. My apartment in Silverlake bummed me out because it reminded me of my cat that went missing, so I wanted to move.
Lizzy and I found an apartment in Koreatown and got some cats, of course. Everyone always talks about how they broke up with their friends or got into fights because they lived together and ended up hating each other. I really hoped that wasn’t going to be the case with Lizzy and I.
We still live together and I couldn’t imagine living with anyone else. I’ve had boyfriends whose houses I’ve stayed at for a few days, and moved to London for 3 months with one. She has a boyfriend whose house she’ll go to for 3-4 days occasionally, but we see each other at least 4 times a week. I’m not sure if our living situation works because we aren’t together all the time, or because we just get along really well. I’m assuming it’s the latter.
I have no desire to live by myself anytime soon. Lizzy is constantly cooking and working on some sort of art project so the food and entertainment alone are great reasons to never want to leave. Who wouldn’t want your best friend around all the time to discuss your awful boyfriends? I have two wardrobes to choose from, and if one of us is gone for the night, the other one will make sure the cats are okay. It’s perfect! Why would I ever want to live with a smelly boy again?
I don’t know what the age limit is on living with your best friend until it gets weird. I’m almost 30 and she’s 32. We’re not that much older than Romy & Michelle. We are definitely as ridiculous as they are, though. I’ve seriously thought about what would happen to Lizzy if I got married. I would want to hire her as my personal assistant and chef. I would need to move somewhere with a guesthouse or extra bedroom for her. I wonder if my husband would mind?
I really enjoy being able to listen to Beyonce at home whenever I want while wearing zit cream and period underwear (you know, my Victorian waist-high bloomers made of rags and hooks). Just kidding, I meant the bloody kind.
I hope I’m not turning into a man-hating recluse. I love waking up to Lizzy baking a vegetable quiche or making fruit smoothies know most people don’t have a live-in best friend who is really into nutrition and hangs up signs around the house about what vitamins are in different foods.
Sometimes I’ll come home and see our dining room rearranged or giant pieces of colored poster board hanging on the ceiling. One of the boards said “GOALS” at the top and nothing else. At least it was a good start.
I couldn’t imagine missing out on all the weird stuff that comes out of her brain. We also have almost 100 hair products between us. Lizzy is like one of those moms on “Extreme Couponing” who buys lots of one item when it’s on sale. I think we have 10 cans of black beans in our kitchen right now. I came home from being in New York for a month and counted 16 boxes of cereal in a kitchen cabinet. If I had been gone any longer I’m sure there would’ve been at least 50. I have to secretly throw away things because she’s one of those crazy people who keep food after expiration dates. There’s no way I’m eating peanut butter that expired 3 months ago.
Having roommates in New York or LA is much different than the Midwest. It seems fairly acceptable to live with a friend at 30. The average age to get married is 27, but that’s factoring in the Midwest, where people are usually married by 25. What does all this mean? Nothing. I’m just trying to come up with excuses to live with my best friend forever.