History, Personal

P.S. I got a job in New York City

In case my last post about going on my first date in NYC didn’t tip you off…

Bring on the city boys!

I’m beyond excited to be moving home to the NY/NJ area and starting a new chapter of my life post-graduation. I’m excited to share my dating successes and (mostly) failures with the Internet. However, Boston will obviously always have a place in my heart – it’s where I grew up.

One would think this post would be all about the future but really I’d like to take a minute to talk about how much Boston will always mean to me.

It means responsibility. In high school we always have someone to remind us to do the important things. Once you move away – that person becomes you (or you roommate). I had to get a planner, set reminders, take notes, and not fuck anything up. I didn’t have my parents waking me up and driving me to school, I had to walk two miles in the snow to get to class even when I didn’t want to. Omg. I am becoming my parents.

It means maturity. Growing up is hard. Especially when you’re hours away from family and everything safe and cozy. Since the people you surround yourself are really your only family for the time being, putting petty things on the back burner is a necessity.

It means a little bit of immaturity. Growing up is hard. But being young is so much easier. Sometimes we did stupid things and then had to face the consequences and learn from them… Like that time I studied in bed and retained nothing and then got a D on my Finance midterm… Or the time we walked home from MIT in five inch heels and then couldn’t walk properly for like three days.

It means firsts. Jobs, apartments, bills, co-ops, frat parties, interviews, and so, so, so much more. Boston was the place where I got to experience all of the things that adults experience after graduating college and living at home for a few years. I went on my first job interview and got my first job (co-op, but same thing) at 19 years old. I was, for all intents and purposes, a functioning adult at 19. By 20 I had an apartment, bills, and a lease in my name.

It means lasts (kinda). I firmly believe that anything I do in Boston will not be the “last” time I do it there. Although I still have a “Boston Bucket List” in my Google Drive that I still haven’t completed, I feel like I’ve done a lot there and it’s kind of okay that I haven’t done everything. My visits to Boston are going to be fewer and further in between, but when I do get back one day I will most definitely whip out that list and go to town (literally).

It means history. Boston = American history. It also means my own history. At this point, looking back, I have amazing history in that city. I have landmarks that I cherish, bars I barely remember going to (including the oldest one in America), and places I’ve created lifelong memories.

It means winter. Sorry, I had to throw this in there. In my five years living there, I managed to survive two of Boston’s top 10 snowiest winters and two of the top 10 worst individual snowstorms. I almost moved to Florida.

It means the future. Boston is an amazing place with only good things to come. It’s only becoming more and more amazing with every passing year. With the impending Olympic decision, Boston is ramping up it’s overall accessibility, state-of-the-art public areas, residential (and hopefully affordable) housing, and dual commercial/communal spaces. I swear, I’m going to come back in five years and not even recognize my school.

It means family. I 100% believe that I have a family in Boston. Although there may not be a real bloodline involved, I have a Northeastern family, a Delta Zeta family, and a network of friends that will be there for me if I ever need it. We’re all moving around and choosing our own paths in life, but Boston is one thing we will always have in common. It will always be that nostalgic thing that we look back on and wonder why we ever left.

It means independence. This is the place that fostered my independence and showed me how to succeed on my own. I absolutely would not be the person I am today if I had not made the decision to move to Boston five long (but short) years ago. I learned to be my own person, to value my happiness first, to remove myself from toxic situations, and to truly trust myself.

I got wicked emotional writing this post and had to stop here. Tears on the keyboard. Check back for potential updates.



P.S. Follow me on Twittah. Ya won’t regret it.

History, Media

WHAT?! Did feminism even happen or nah?

It’s hard to believe that there are actually women out there that aren’t feminists. It’s hard to believe that some people aren’t feminists.

Last night I overheard something that one of my roommates said while watching Chopped that made me completely cringe. I don’t think she meant it in an anti-feminist way but you be the judge.

“Cooking is just such a commonly female profession, like, women usually are the ones that cook in the home. But there are so many more men doing it.”

Cue the shivers, shakes, and all the bad feels. There are two things wrong with this sentence in my opinion.

First and foremost, the idea that a woman’s place is in the kitchen. It is not. I know she was probably saying that a woman’s place in the past (like the sixties) has been in the kitchen, but very outdated ideology is somehow still there.

Second is the idea that men are somehow not allowed to be taking part in cooking. This is pretty much the basis of equality and freedom. Everyone can do any job they want and look any way they want and act any way they want. Acceptance for all, obvi.

Maybe Chopped brings more male chefs on to the show, who knows. But the point is: why are we pointing this out? If men want to cook, let them cook. If men want to play with Barbie dolls, let them play with Barbie dolls. It’s the same as a woman wanting to be an engineer: let them do it without calling it a “men’s career.” If we keep saying things like that, we’re reinforcing the ideology that some careers (or outfits, or toys, or haircuts) are inherently linked to a specific gender.

Pointing out the past is one thing, inferring it’s a shame that things have progressed is another – and it’s not okay. (Insert clenched fist emoji here)

Sorry to get all real and ish. I just had to get it out there.




P.S. Follow me on Twittah. Ya won’t regret it.

History, Personal

When someone mentions going to the beach…


I went to the beach yesterday for the first time this season. Granted, it was only at Castle Island, but it still has sand and a bay!

But let’s just talk about Fort Independence for a sec. Fort Independence, a pentagonal five-bastioned fort built between 1834 and 1851, is Castle Island’s 8th fort and was built with granite from the quarries in Rockport, MA. Now since my boyfriend is a huge nerd and history buff, I know this.

But another thing about my lovely boyfriend is that he cannot sit still for more than three minutes. This will be a problem when I take him to the New Jersey Shore for Memorial Day weekend.

If anyone has suggestions for beach activities for a mildly ADHD 23-year-old man please let me know. Tweet at me @alliehearts or comment on this post.