It happened, folks. I did it. I moved into a closet-sized dungeon room in my 21 year-old brother’s basement to save money to move to Los Angeles. This photo is for Mom:
…Nothing but trouble, that’s for sure.
I left this glorious studio apartment with city skyline view in SE Portland (let’s pretend I made my bed in that photo):
For this 100 sq. foot room in a college house (go Pilots):
And because I am a badass, I pimped out the closet-room to look like this:
That’s right, this girl will be on Cribs next season. Check out that sick gold Sultan-curtain I have for a door. Who needs a door when you can fly straight into your room on your magic carpet? A door is clearly unnecessary, so fuck that. I would like to think that all of this basement-dwelling is prepping me for the Ultimate Basement Adventure when I move into Dani’s place in Silver Lake. I shall be reining Queen of the Basements!!
With every dollar I save on rent and every college party I live through while creepily squatting in the basement as a post-collegiate troll, I am one step closer to being prepared to make The Big Move. Eye on the prize, 25-year-old girl living with four 21-year-old boys, eye on the prize.
I am impressed that I could execute a move in the midst of such a busy time. I couldn’t have done so without my amazing friend Suzzane helping me move car-fulls of my crap across town. And yet, in the midst of this moving extravaganza and 32 hours at the day job, I was still able to sink my teeth into the juicy FUN stuff of BrittLife that keeps me keepin’ on.
I also had the pleasure of working with the genius goofballs from We’ll Fix It In Post on a short called “Do You Love Me”. To tell you anything about it would be a complete spoiler. So… you will just have to check in with me next week to watch. That’s right, those crazies work fast!
…Beware, as I am also a crazy that works fast. In just under two-weeks time I have successfully made a move happen and created a solid financial plan with 9-month budget to get debt-free and saved up to move to a new city. But I know the hardest part is yet to come. Sticking to that financial plan will be a bitch. Eye on the prize, Harris, eye on the prize.
Back at my brother’s–er, my house–, I walked up to the back door to use my new key for the first time. As I walked past, I couldn’t help but realize that I had never seen the backyard during the day-light hours. Behold…. the Backyard of Broken Dreams. I spied a large table broken in half and defeated on the lawn, several PBR cans, a (surprisingly upright) barbecue, and several dilapidated plastic chairs strung about on the grass. It’s likely that a stampede of wildebeests crashed through my poor brother’s yard. And that’s not really something you can plan for in the Northwest.
I walked inside and informed my brother’s roommate of the backyard situation, as any good and caring sister-roommate does: “You guys have a lot of broken furniture and crap in your yard.” To which my new roommate responded, “Yes, there is a lot of broken furniture and crap in…our yard. It’s your home now too.”
“ONE OF US! ONE OF US! ONEOFUS!!”
And the Post-Collegiate-Troll-Squatting-in-the-Basement’s heart grew three times its size: “It’s my broken furniture too!! And my backyard!! And my home!!”
I do have life outside of the golden curtain of my sultan den… and it will be glorious. As reining Queen of the Basements, I say it shall be so.