ChloëKillwell: Age of Consent

We Get Our Keys Tomorrow!

And even though we're far to small to do it alone, we're moving all of our shit in. Help is welcome though. We'll make you lemonade or something.

And then we're buying blow up mattresses and candles so we can sleep there because 20th street is basically a hazard to our health.

It's been real guys, BUT it's definitely time to move on.

For posterity's sake though let's take a moment to look back on the place I've called home for the past year.

Things I've learned at 300 W. 20th St:

Svedka is better than Georgi, but it's not quite Skyy. But at the end of the day, all Vodka will still taste like rubbing alcohol.
I've lost at least 1,000 brain cells bumping my head on the ceiling, lofted beds are not all they're cracked up to be.
Postcards make good wall art.
Making this many people live in such confined and close quarters is cruel and unusual punishment.
Apparently even at art school there are frat boys.
Alcoholism is more of a generational trend than a personal problem.
Having to sign people in is degrading.
Having to "swipe in" is worse.
My neuroses were not meant for dorm life.

There's plenty that we can all complain about, but at the end of the day there was always someone bitching about you, always someone to bitch about, always someone to bitch with, and when you were really down, there was always someone to drink it all away with.

Oh and remember when we all used to go to Rush?

At least we can say we've come a long way.

And Now it's time for life on West 10th Street. You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet.

Mama Jackie is coming up on Saturday, which I'm really excited about. And then I'm flying back to Nashville on Tuesday, where there's a puppy waiting for me!