Life was grand in the year 2000. I was 18, I had a full time job at a hot resale clothing shop on Hawthorne BLVD in Portland Oregon. I only wore thrift store clothes, I even had a bumper sticker on my car that said "I am a Thrift shop Junkie". It was also a band sticker..all wrapped into one. I was so hip.
A friend of mine had scored a sweet house in the up and coming hipster central, otherwise known as NE Portland. I on the other hand, was living with my parents. Rent free, eating free food, free cable, free phone, and even got $20 a week to clean a little around the house. I know..SPOILED BRAT. But being 18, I thought I had it SO rough. Like OMG..I had to give my mom a heads up if I was staying out for the night just so she wouldn't worry. Pfffft!
*Let's just take a moment here and laugh at ridiculous teenagers are.
It wasn't long until my friend asked me if I wanted to move in and rent a room. Conveniently enough, I had just gotten paid. So before I had a chance to spend my hard earned $700 on cd's and thrift store hauls, I jumped at the opportunity.
I called my mom at work and told her I was moving out. I thought I sounded serious, but apparently she thought it was a joke. Because when she got home and saw that I was packing up, she was in a state of shock. Within about 3 hours I managed to pack up all of my belongings and a large box of food. Because I knew I needed food..right? Without a clue of what I really needed, I crammed all my stuff into the car and strapped my twin mattress to the roof (with my mom standing there in shock). I thought it would be more rock & roll to put my box spring on milk crates rather than lug my bed frame the whole 7 miles across town. Off I went!
I moved all of my stuff in and set up my room. I was so pumped and excited about all of the fun my BFF and I were going to have living in our own house! Then she was like, so where's your kitchen stuff? And I was like..uhh..what? Apparently she thought I was going to be bringing a set of dishes, pots and pans, and so forth. Oh geez. We lived on instant meals for months, until we built up our dish collection and were able to make semi-real food.
Three months into living on my own I was so sick. Sick of the stress of having to make sure I had enough hours at work, sick of my roommate, sick of not being able to have my own food without someone eating it before I got home from work, sick of lame parties (seriously, we didn't even know how to party..it was us and like two neighbors drinking boones wine and watching Shawn of the dead). I was sick from eating poorly, not sleeping, worrying, and from missing HOME.
No one ever tells you that when you move out it takes more than just having your own bed to make it feel like HOME.
It took months and months before I got into a rhythm and figured out how to function. Funny because FUNctioning doesn't always mean FUN. I had to learn that the hard way.
But I made it!
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