Terrible Twenties

Trials and tribulations of the modern twenty-something because no matter what adults say, your twenties are f*cking hard.
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When I go to an event with free stuff.

When I go to an event with free stuff.

10 year anniversary of the night @badler_ and I became #college.

Well, it’s a new day and a new study about subjective topics like moving in with your partner! The Atlantic reported a very long article called, “In Relationships, Be Deliberate.” The title should be a dead giveaway that statistics aside, this is kind of common sense. Of course you should be deliberate in your relationships. I think most people would agree that it’s pretty important to be deliberate in most aspects of your life. Who wants to deal with a wishy-washy person?

But this isolated article just deals with moving in together. It opens by reiterating that even though traditionalists say moving in together before marriage is a bad idea, progressives are making it the norm. But it’s not actually question of whether or not they should move in.

But before couples sign a lease together, they would do well to ask themselves: Did we slide into the decision to move in together or did we decide to cohabit?

That question matters in terms of the length and quality of subsequent marriage. Traditionalists tend to think cohabiting before marriage is a bad idea, and progressives are more likely to embrace it, but new research says that’s not the best way to approach the question: The important thing is how couples make the leap into a shared life.

Does anyone else find this to be the most nuanced, yet obvious study about relationships?

report released today from the National Marriage Project at the University of Virginia looks at the many factors that predict a high quality marriage. More than one thousand Americans, 18 to 35 years old, who were in a relationship were recruited into the study. Within five years, 418 of those individuals got married. Galena Rhoades (a co-author of this article) and Scott Stanley, both at the University of Denver, looked closely at those who married, probing into their relationship history with their spouse, their relationships with others, and the quality of their marriages.

One of the main findings was about how couples handle relationship milestones, like moving in together. Every relationship goes through milestones, or transitions, that mark how serious the relationship is getting. Going on a first date is one; a first kiss is another. Other milestones might include the “define the relationship” talk—the moment a couple says they are actually a couple—sex, engagement, marriage, and children.

In the past, these milestones tended to follow a straightforward order that began with courtship, passed the milestones of marriage, cohabitation, and sex, and ended with children. The structure and rigidity of courtship meant that couples had less freedom, but also that each milestone was ritualized with most couples following the same script. 

YES. We get it. Being straight forward and telling people what you want has died a slow little death somewhere between AIM and Instagram DMs. Courtship looks a hell of a lot different, and so do people’s life choices. Some people get married after six months, others wait 10 years, and some never sign on the dotted line. It’s all ok! We have options in our love lives because we have more options in other areas of our lives like reproduction and career – albeit not 100 percent just yet, but much better than generations before.

The freedom to choose any relationship sequence has benefits, but it may also come at a cost long-term.

Oy. Here it comes.

Couples today seem less likely to move through major relationship milestones in a deliberate, thoughtful way. Rather, the new data show that they tend to slide through those milestones. Think of the college couple whose relationship began as a random hookup, the couple who moved in together so that they could pay less rent, or the couple who chose to elope on a whim rather than have a formal wedding. These are couples who, often without realizing it, slid through relationship transitions that could have been planned out, discussed, and debated.  

The data show that couples who slid through their relationship transitions ultimately had poorer marital quality than those who made intentional decisions about major milestones. How couples make choices matters. 

This is so silly. Of course making smart, informed and deliberate decisions is the best way to go — again, with anything. But, it’s not realistic. Life is messy and complicated; most of the time it just happens and sometimes you have to jump along for the ride to see how it all plays out. Worst case is you have to pack up your emotional and material stuff.

I have lived with two partners and each time the decision was both a victim of circumstance and choice. The line is pretty fuzzy. For both living situations a circumstance forced us into a deliberate decision. So, which was it? It’s hard to say.

The first time I lived with a boyfriend, he was a touring musician, who also happened to live 1,000 miles away. If we didn’t live together, it would be impossible to stay together. So, after six months of long-distance dating, circumstance caused us to make a deliberate decision to move in together. We didn’t HAVE to. We chose to, for the sake of continuing the relationship. That ended two and a half years later. But, that relationship was never going to last whether we lived in the same apartment or not.

The second time I lived with a boyfriend is my current situation. After dating a healthy two years, his roommate decided to move out, and he was sick of his apartment. Again, circumstance presented me with another deliberate choice to make. After a lot of crying, pep talks from friends, and courage, I chose to go with the tide. I had experienced the worst case scenario and lived. You can’t move forward without actually…moving, no matter the outcome.

Of course how couples make decisions matter, both long term, short term, and within the day. A healthy relationship that turns into a healthy marriage will be founded on good communication regardless if they hopped, skipped, slid or stepped into their living situation.

  • Floss.
  • Read more.
  • Put my phone down.
  • Keep a calendar.
  • Write in a notebook.
  • Buy less sparkling water.
  • Ride my bike instead of drive.
  • Stop pestering my cat.
  • Call my grandmother more.
  • Send more birthday cards.
  • Buy less clothes.
  • Light more candles.
  • Buy fresh flowers.
  • Close all the apps on my phone.
  • Get a car wash.
  • Stop cracking my knuckles.
  • Stand up for myself.
  • Be empathetic.
  • Drink more tea.
  • Wear more lipstick.
  • Stop going into Urban Outfitters.
  • Watch bad TV.
  • Go to yoga.
  • Use the massage I bought.
  • Learn how to roast a chicken.
  • Tip more.
  • Say yes.
  • Be more informed.
  • Be an activist.
  • Use my pool.
  • Check the mail everyday.
  • Try on a crop top.
  • Trust the deposit feature on my bank app.
  • Only work eight hours a day.
  • Get more sleep.
  • Print photos.
  • Reach out.
  • Let people in.
  • Pay attention.
  • Pick up the tab.
  • Envy less.
  • Avoid picking zits.
  • Keep using eye cream.
  • Take more selfies.
  • Take more photos of people I love.
  • Love my new rainbow retainers.
  • Try to dress more grown-up.
  • Pay off my credit card.
  • Be less critical.
  • Travel.
  • Go to the doctor.
  • More blog.
  • More lists.

I tried very hard to be a grown up today.

It’s my grandmother’s 95th birthday and, even though I have an endless amount of work to do, even though she lives a good forty minutes away, even though we can only stay for a short amount of time, and even though my dad only gave me a couple days notice, I knew I had to go.

More than that, I wanted to go. This is how I know I’m growing up.

Five years ago, I might have hymned and hawed, trying to make up some excuse to not go. I would have whined that it wasn’t fair that my cousins lived so far away, making me the default grandchildren’s’ representative because I still live in LA.

To put it mildly, I was kind of a brat. I was selfish about my time and the company I kept. My friends and social life were high priority, and going out of my way for anyone besides myself and what ever weirdo I was totally into at the time, was rare.

But, here I am, almost thirty years old with no weekend plans, finally understanding the high value of taking such a small part of my week to spend with my family. It’s not that I don’t love my family; I do. And, I love spending time with them. But, like most people my age, I don’t really have much of a nuclear family left, making my experience with family time a little more unconventional. 

But today, my family time was going to look a little more traditional. So, I wanted to make a big effort to do something special, and be as present as possible for the limited moments I have left with my grandmother, and be a support for my father, whose mother is reaching the end of her long and wonderful life. I now understand that all those years of him pushing me to go to my grandmother’s was more about being there for him than for me, or my grandmother, and that’s okay.

I woke up, did work, cleaned up the apartment, and went out to buy supplies for the cake I had agreed (and instantly regretted) to make and bring to the birthday celebrations tonight. And then, after all my grown up chores were complete. I did this:

I made the cake only a grandmother could love from their grandchild, no matter how old she is.

I looked at my genuine attempt at decorating the birthday cake, for which I bought the supplies, and made from scratch. I was relieved to be reminded that no matter how old I get, no matter how far I get in my career, no matter how close I am to marriage, no matter how many adult decisions and chores I complete in a day, I’m still an impatient child with poor motor skills who gets frustrated when she isn’t good at something.

Aging scares me. Change can be hard. But it’s nice to be reminded that little things will always stay the same.

Hurray! It took me almost three decades to reach popularity…according to a really inconsequential study conducted amongst a small group of British people.


Anyone who deigns to touch — neigh, celebrate — the leper infested untouchable of ages, 29, can come be my friend. Turning 29 was terribly uneventful and mildly depressing. It’s time to face the music, pack it up, and do a massive inventory on what the fuck just happened for the past nine years, and understand what you really have to show for it.

It’s not fun. It’s not pretty. But, at least your brain is developed enough to deal with it.

It’s a one year holding pattern, taxing the runway for 365 days, waiting for something to make sense, something important to happen, something that’s going to make 30 feel like the start of a good thing. Half of the time is spent freaking out, scrambling to doing something worthy of narrowly missing the limbo stick of a 30 Under 30 list, and the other half is consumed by waiting for your life to start. Neither is productive.

Maybe you have a savings account. Maybe you buy your first house. Maybe you get married. Maybe you find happiness in yourself. Maybe you finally get out of credit card debt. Maybe you learn how to wear lipstick. Maybe you learn the value of friends. Maybe you finally upgrade to a couch not from IKEA.

Whatever you do before 30, it will be great. It will be perfect. Feel ok about packing up your twenties and be excited for the next chapter. 

It’s confusing and weird, just like the last nine years, only for very different reasons.

BUT, none of it matters because despite how weird and neurotic 29 is, we’re still the coolest people to be around. The numbers don’t lie.

Best friend calling me out for being old balls. On Gchat…where else?

Asker Anonymous Asks:
How tall are you?
terribletwenties terribletwenties Said:

I don’t know why I am answering this but, 5’3”.

All too often I look at old photos and, aside from oohing and ahhing over how my face has morphed into its adult shape, I can’t help but look at the clothes I am wearing. Shirts, tank tops, designer jeans, and hoop earrings that meant so much to me, long forgotten, get to live in these photographic memories for me to forever find when I am cleaning out my closet.

Growing up, becoming an adult specifically, is so intensely expressed through our clothing, hair, makeup and, for me body art. Who we are is defined by how we look.  What we choose to buy, wear, and wear again and again is both how we see ourselves and how we want to be seen — usually like a grown up.

As confident adult individuals, we come to understand that it’s really what you do that defines you, not the clothes you wear.

I am about to embark on a self-indulgent/explorative/expressive journey through my wardrobe from the past decade to see what hindsight has taught me about myself both in a past moment and the present day.

From Abercrombie to Emo, let’s dive into 2004 shall we?


This was taken in another room on the floor of my freshman dorm. I chose this photo to highlight these exquisite Seven brand jeans, which meant SO MUCH to me in the year leading up the college, and during my freshman year. Seven brand jeans were a status symbol. At $200 a pop, wearing that wave butt pocket design meant something. I had two pair at the time — both of which I saved up my own money to buy — a darker pair that I usually reserved for “going out,” and a lighter more casual pair for every day wear. The ones I am wearing in the photo were my fancy denim.


QUAD LIFE, amirite? On the weekends, my dorm friends and I would treat the main lawn area on campus as our own personal tanning central. I was pretty in love with this Lucky Brand bathing suit and these Abercrombie shorts. 

I had worked at Abercrombie for a couple weeks in the summer before college as a nighttime clothing folder because I assumed I was not cute enough to work in broad daylight. Whatever! I used my discount to stock up on clothes that I felt were perfect for college, even a not pictured tan corduroy messenger bag that hurt my shoulder and made me wish for a backpack. I was pretty excited that even my loungewear was from Abercrombie. Again, status symbols.


Freshman year was all about letters. From my sorority letters to my school’s acronym,  I was all about pride. I was part of organizations and I wanted everyone to know it. To be fair, everyone else was too. Being 18/19 meant we were all on the cusp of being individuals, but still stuck in that high school group mentality.

With this sweatshirt in particular, I remembering having a hard time choosing my overpriced $50 USC pullover. I knew I didn’t want the black one or the cardinal one, and the heather grey was definitely in the running but, ultimately, I went with white. I think, being a pragmatic dresser, I thought it would go with more “outfits,” which I use loosely because every day was a combo of jeans and an Abercrombie top. I had also had a favorite white pullover sweatshirt from a local surf shop (super trendy at my Orange County high school), so I figured it would serve the same purpose.

Fun with Clorox wipes. What an important and memorable moment to capture on a disposable camera. I LOVED this green top from Abercrombie. Again, snagged it with my employee discount before I got to school. I loved how it looked with denim, and it struck the right amount of casual effort for me. You can’t tell but it was sheer, and had tiny little embroidered dots that I loved. I always wore a white B.P. tank top underneath. (In fact, I wore a white tank top under most of my tops for all of college.) Also, my hair was super long so I loved putting it in braids, and I loved that god awful enamel Hawaiian flower on a rope I wore around my neck ALL THE TIME.

Not my shirt! My roommates tank top. But I was all about the boobs hanging out, and goddamn that dumbass necklace!! Please also note the straps of the mini Coach purse we all HAD to have. 

Both of the tops I was wearing in these two photos were purchased at Anthropologie, which I had just discovered and appropriated as “adult” wear. I could barely afford anything, so I only had a few pieces, mostly tops, but I thought I was SO grown up for wearing them. I remember choosing to wear them on special nights going out. 

Ok soo… I get how this looks, but this was Spring Beak in Mexico. Again, both the top and denim mini skirt, which was a 2004 staple for ANY girl, are from Abercrombie. I am showing the amount of skin only a self-unaware 18 year old can show, and I thought I looked so HOT. I was also really digging the translucent pink hoop earrings I had found at a boutique I can’t remember the name of now.

Again, more Spring Beak. I’d like to highlight the off-the-shoulder top that EVERYONE had bought from Urban Outfitters that year, more denim mini, white tank top undershirt, and Rainbow sandals. Oh man, that stupid Coach purse too! Oh no, the necklace is hanging out too! I was such a little clone. We all were. It’s OK.

Just want to point out the very tight polo shirt (Yes! Abercrombie!) and super low waisted shorts. At least I had jumped on the black rimmed glasses already, my one tiny spark of alternativeness I let show.

Toward the end of 2004, I started to find my edge. I stopped shopping at Abercombie, and started getting into vintage t-shirts. I wore two black plastic bracelets — from Hot Topic — woven together because I was just learning about Death Cab for Cutie, Garden State, and everything emo. This particular vintage shirt was worn TO DEATH. I actually still have it and wear it as pajamas occasionally.

A guy I had been dating found it in his laundry room and gave it to me thinking it was mine. It wasn’t, but I took it anyway, and wore it ALL THE TIME because it was so soft, red, and alt. It had indiscernible Russian text on it that someone in one of my lit classes translated for me as, “I love being Russian.” I always, and still do, wished the original owner hadn’t cut a dumb keyhole into the neckline.

I was definitely settling into my alt/emo phase nicely. I started buying way more black clothing. I liked simple basics like this black tank top, and shifted to predominantly shopping at Urban Outfitters, which was definitely more alt than main stream at the time. I was all about the front pouf, a hairstyle I had played around with since high school, but really committed to in late 2004 because I didn’t have a car to get bang trims. I was also really into these cheap plastic black and white hoops I mostly likely found at Hot Topic.

Again, I should point out that I was also very committed to the white tank top undershirt. 

Stay tuned for 2005!! 

This scarf served its tour of duty in multiple seedy bars as my number one security blanket from 2010-2011. Thank you for your service.