Thursday, December 28, 2017

One of these is your New Year's Resolution

Hey Brainiacs,

It's been a while, and for that I apologize, but I'm back just in time to tell you how to get through this year's New Year's Eve.

NYE is strange -- in fact, it's something I've written about before for it's unusualness.  NYE is a chance to turn over a new leaf, to launch into the new year as a "new you."  NYE is the night you announce to your close family and friends what will be different about you in the morning (and what will ultimately fail by February).  It's a time for closeness, self-evaluation and honesty.  But while it can be this way for some people, for others it's also a time to get completely shit-faced.

Although some people may put you down and tell you your resolution is bound to fail (kind of like I just did), that doesn't mean you shouldn't use up a whole lot of time thinking of one!  But if you're busy this year (or, let's face it, you just don't really have it in your to give a shit anymore), you're in luck, because I've thought a few great ones for you.

1. Read a book a week.

I know this sounds unrealistic, but it's doable, I swear. I used to do it.  And even if it isn't, even if you start reading A Tale of Two Cities January 1 and put it down after the longest hour of your life, you were still that person at the NYE party talking about how you're going to read a book a week. Someone probably believed you.

2. Go camping at some point.

Maybe you've never been camping before in your life. Maybe the thought of sleeping out in the wilderness where gross animals pee and shit and eat humans alive has never appealed to you. Maybe you considered star-gazing a waste of time and you have no interest in it. Maybe you feel like civilization was invented for a reason and we really shouldn't fuck with that. Maybe your name is Taylor Engle. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't give it a go! Take a break from the stubborn hard limits you've been applying to your life and do something that freaks you out.

3. Learn how to grow marijuana.

Learning something like home marijuana cultivation is an excellent trade.  Not only can you get licensed and sell it, but you never have to buy weed again.  But the important thing here is that this serves me since I gave you this idea, and you should share.

4. Write a story.

Start with a short one -- it doesn't have to be anything crazy. Talk about something you love, something you hate, something you've experienced -- talk about anything you want. Just make it interesting (just kidding, it doesn't even have to be interesting, because no one ever has to read it! The resolution does not exist!). What is the point, you ask? Writing is therapeutic, and it can help you through more than you know. It's already saved my life.

5. Get a drastic haircut.

Why not? What do you have to lose at this point?

6. Say a nice thing to yourself every day.

We're always quick to brush off the cheesy ones, but sometimes they are the resolutions that can do the most healing for us. When I began recovering, my mom told me to write down something I was grateful for every single day. I reluctantly obliged, and it did actually help my recovery and self-esteem. 

7. Write a song.

So you're a crappy musician?  You can't even sing a single note? Write a song anyway.

8. Get in a fistfight. 

I don't know, this just sounds like it could be entertaining.

9. Base your entire wardrobe for the year on seven articles of clothing (of your choice).

Oddly specific? Yes. Brilliant idea? Debatable. But it seems like a great way to get in touch with yourself and who you are beyond material items, while also functioning as a fun exercise to have down in case you end up on Project Runway.

10. Smoke weed every single day.

Self-explanatory/never a bad idea/do it.



P.S. If you end up doing any of these resolutions, write me about it! I want to hear about your experience.

Monday, December 11, 2017

The Future of Sex Culture

Tender. Vulnerable. Unpredictable. Undeniable. Unbelievable. All ways to describe the current social climate of not only our nation, but our entire world.  Ever since the start of #MeToo, back when the first Harvey Weinstein story was coming out (why does it feel like such a long time ago?), we've all been holding our breaths to see what's going to come next.

When all of the sexual allegations and firings and public apologies first started happening, I was almost angry.  Angry and incredibly frustrated because I thought, Here we are so close to change and yet I can't even imagine a world where that is possible.  

I was driving home from work ranting to a friend on the phone one day when I realized that I have never had a female career model to look up to, because they are all men.  I've had a female supervisors, never a female boss, and I've worked for a few companies and have rarely ever seen a female in a corporate position.  I haven't been able to look up to a woman career-wise because there haven't been any around me.

The fact that this has actually progressed and could inspire change is so exciting, but it's also terrifying.  We're living in a time where we have groundbreaking news every single day (the toxic underbelly of the scientific worldMario Batali's wandering hands), but we also have no experience with such an influx of terrible information and how we should be handling it.  My fear is that it will cause a sex-cultural regression.

It may sound outlandish, but it really isn't that impossible. As recently as a little less than a century ago, women were regarded as innocent beings who must be pure, obedient, and endlessly giving.  We were not given a chance in the workplace and we were looked down upon when we wore revealing clothing or stayed out late.

Today, we live in a world that is the complete opposite of that.  We are looser with our sexuality - rightfully so, but if people in power in our society see that as the problem, then we could be in trouble.

I'm not saying I think we're going back to being housewives, but I do think this can potentially cause men to regard women as things they are not supposed to touch or be sexual with, which can really harm us as a culture.  That wouldn't make us equal - it would just put us in another impossible reality.  Today, we are forced to grin and bear it, to do whatever it takes to please our managers, to take the jokes and the grabs and the leers and just go with it.  That doesn't mean tomorrow we want to be considered too fragile to touch.

One extreme to the other is not what we need.  What we need is a new formula entirely - one where men and women are people.  Good, bad, lazy, hardworking, funny, efficient, trustworthy, not worth a shit - this is how we will think of each other.  Not as a male or female.  Not as a possible victim or not.

The answer to this sexual revolution isn't to box women up and mark them as "off limits," but rather to finally include them in a society they deserve to be an equal part of. To stop the sexualizing, infantilizing, patronizing, and all the other "izings" you bastards do to us and let us grow as a nation.

Thursday, December 7, 2017

Small Acts of Rebellion - A Series

Hi Everyone,

Anyone who's been reading my stuff for a while knows what I mean when I say "Chronicles of a Fashion Girl."  This was a series I did last summer covering my time spent in New York City - partially fictitious and entirely based on my experience.  Out of everything I've written on this blog, that was probably my favorite piece to tackle, which got me thinking.  How can I recreate the feeling of accomplishment I had every time I posted a new chronicle?

I've decided to start a new series, titled "Small Acts of Rebellion."  Much like my Chronicles, I'll post this one chapter at a time.

The series is inspired by all of my loves: fashion, New York, and sarcasm.  Follow the characters I've created on their journey through New York, taking the city one day at a time.  Here's the first installment:

The best thing about humanity is the small acts of rebellion.  I’m not talking big criminal activity, but those small acts of rebellion that we all partake in, no matter how holier than thou we may appear externally.  The thing is, we do these things without knowing whether or not others do, too.  In our minds, we are quite possibly the only person on the planet who drives solo in the carpool lane.  As far as we’re concerned, no one else slips tubes of chapstick into their purse at the checkout line at the grocery store.  Only we have clipped the bumper of a parked car and left without checking for damage.  Sure, we’re probably assuming others do to make ourselves feel better, but in reality we’re just taking shots in the dark.
It’s the cheap thrills that get to us the most.  Why else do so many A-list celebrities get caught shoplifting?  
“I like to put on bras at Target and wear them out,” says Jane, a divorce lawyer living in a third-floor walkup in the Upper West Side (she isn’t exactly in the poor house but she also isn’t exactly in the penthouse).  She’s just below six feet, but the tragedy is that she could never be a model because the reality is that her hips are too wide.  She eats Chinese leftovers two days in a row.  She never forgets to lock her front door.  She hasn’t had sex in four months.  “It makes me feel...dangerous.”
“I never clean up my dog’s shits,” says Jackson, a financial analyst from Tribeca.  Jackson sits before me at a coffee shop, sipping on his cappuccino and thinking about the reports he has to get done by the end of the day.  He’s completely unaware of the slightly chunky waitress who’s been checking him out since we got here, even though her section is at least 60 feet away, but he hasn’t stopped looking at the blonde bombshell who’s lunching across the street in a dress tighter than my budget after taxes.  He doesn’t know that the woman he slept with last night, who he told this morning, “I’ve got to head to work, but take your time getting ready.  My housekeeper should be here soon, have her make you some breakfast,” is still curled up in his sheets, giddy and anticipating his return.  Jackson shrugs, “I just figure my apartment is worth so much, and for the neighborhood I pay to live in, why should I have to worry about picking up shit?”
“I never wipe down the machines after I use them at the gym,” says Jason, a construction worker with a beautiful body and a rich older girlfriend.  He holds up a hand once he sees the expression on my face.  “Okay, okay, hear me out!  I know that doesn’t sound very scandalous,” he continues.  His arms are more vascular than an old woman’s calves, but in an extremely sexy and tortured way.  “I mean, I sweat profusely.  I sweat more than your average man.  On top of that, I drink beer every night.  I enjoy the other, uh, you know, perks of life (here he sniffs a few times) pretty often, and I practically live on chimichangas.  So you’ve got alcohol, poor diet, and a few other vices, all being sweated out of me and onto these machines that hundreds or thousands or whatever, other people are using.  Even I know I smell.  God, it feels good to say this out loud.  You’re using a fake name, right?”
Whether or not we admit it when a writer isn’t recording us (while swearing on her mother’s grave not to use our real names in the story), we all have a problem.  We’re addicted to danger.  And for anyone who’s reading this and thinking to themselves, Nope, not me.  I’m straight as an arrow; I would never do anything wrong to help myself out--fuck off, because there’s no place for you here.
“What do you think of that guy over there?  Wait, like, two seconds and then look,” Hailey says, eyes darting towards a guy sitting on a booth in the corner of the bar.  He sits with his hands woven together and his brow knit, seemingly deep in thought.  He’s got thick blonde hair and the whitest teeth she’s ever seen.  His short-sleeved shirt reveals his veiny, chiseled arms and he definitely works out.  She’s never seen a nicer body on such a hottie.  He’s sitting across from a woman, who is speaking to him.  An object that sort of resembles a tape recorder sits between them on the table.
Jane shrugs, rolls her eyes not-so-discretely.  “Look, I really just don’t want to picture you having sex with some meat head.  But hey, who’s that girl he’s with?  I think I know her.”
“Oh my god, he’s not a meat head.  Do you think he’s a meat head?  He doesn’t really look like one to me.  I think he looks really defined and handsome and just like so, like--”
“Oh my god shut up, I could not care less.”
Hailey leans back a bit, allowing her mouth to drop open.  She’s astonished.  “Well I’m sorry,” she gasps, shaking her head in disbelief.  She clutches her chest, seemingly still bothered about what just happened.
“I just don’t really care about my sister’s sex life, feel?”  Jane shrugs again, wanders off to find the bathroom without really explaining herself.  She’s contemplating sneaking out the back (she drove).
Hailey has already forgotten what happened.
She looks to the corner Jason is in again, finding comfort in the face of a complete stranger.  He’s alone now; the woman left while she was talking to Jane.  He’s ordered a plate of french fries.  He’s eating them without closing his mouth.  Hailey finds this endearing.  She decides to go over and introduce herself.

She makes her way across the bar, dodging a tap on the shoulder from the creepy older man (who can’t be taller than 5’11 or skinnier than Fat Joe) who’s been watching her from ten feet away all night (she notices every single detail).  “Hi,” Hailey breathes in what she hopes is a sexy manner, “Is this seat taken?”

Thursday, November 16, 2017

So You Feel Like Relapsing Into Your ED

I hate hijacking my own fashion blog (say a prayer to Anna Wintour) to talk about eating disorders, but it’s something that’s had a huge effect on my life and I can’t live with myself if someone else is suffering and I could have helped but didn’t.  This post is for anyone who’s considering ED recovery/already in recovery and ready to give up.  I can’t tell you how many times I considered relapse during recovery. 

Sadly, relapse is incredibly common for people with EDs.  I have talked to dozens of people who suffer/have suffered and it’s a lifestyle.  It’s 20, 30, even 40 years of going up and down in weight, recovering for a few years and then relapsing.

I could be delightfully cliché and say things like “Keep fighting” and “It gets better” and “Your best day in recovery is better than your worst day sick” or (my personal favorite) “Trust the process, it’s different for everyone!”

Shut the fuck up.

Let’s be honest: If you’re someone with an eating disorder and you decide to recover, only about 10% of you makes that choice.  The other 90% is still begging you to be thinner.

I have been in recovery for a little over 8 months and I refuse to sugarcoat what I’ve been through: It has been the HARDEST 8 months of my life.  However, I’m finally in a great place.  I finally feel like Taylor again—the Taylor that I’ve known since March 17, 1995.  For those who know me closely, you know I’m not really the type of person to change.  Anorexia (and the entire personality that came along with the misery) aside, I haven’t changed much in my 22 years.  I’ve been writing stories and sketching fashion designs for as long as I can remember.  The walls of my childhood were covered with magazine covers and quotes from my favorite authors.  I’ve always liked to make people laugh, I’ve always been honest.  I’ve always danced.  I’ve always loved myself—it’s who I am.  To lose that for three years is tremendously sad.

Don’t get me wrong, anorexia was hell.  Being underweight, constantly bloated, constantly weak and dizzy, and looking in the mirror and seeing nothing but flaws is terrible.  But to not be Taylor anymore was the biggest loss for me.  I looked in the mirror and didn’t know who I was anymore.  I didn’t have any fun, I didn’t enjoy life.  Again, anyone who’s known me for years knows that isn’t me at all.

So yeah, recovery is a complete bitch, but it DOES get better and I AM feeling more like myself than I have since I was 15 and too hot for my leggings.  But I’ve deviated a bit from the point of this post.  While I’ve been recovering, I have spent countless hours researching what to expect.  Someone who has no experience with eating disorders can’t fathom how hard it is to recover.  “It can’t be so bad, all you have to do is eat!”

Again, shut the fuck up.

For the men/women out there who believe they can change their lives, you can, but it’s terrifying.  The difficulty of recovery is the reason so many people relapse, so I’m going to discuss all of my symptoms and how they’ve changed/disappeared/improved over the past 8 months.  Every article I read was extremely vague about symptoms and timelines, which is understandable as it is dependent on the individual, the starting weight, the need to gain or lose, the genetic makeup, the possibility of permanent damage, etc.   However, I believe that if at least a few recovered/recovering people talked more openly about their symptoms, maybe it can be less terrifying and maybe less people will relapse.

My Symptoms:

Wild changes in heart rate.  This was one of the first symptoms I experienced and it’s something that still occurs to this day (SO DON’T STARVE YOURSELF LOL).  From research/talking to a doctor, I learned this happens because your body is confused that you’re giving it food again and the blood sugar levels are all over the place (obviously this doesn’t read very medically sound so please do your own research if you have this, it’s scary).  There was one time it was so bad I actually thought I was going to die that night.  My friend drove me to a park to get my mind off my heart rate and I had to sit down on the grass and try not to think about the fact that I was almost certainly going to die.  This occurred maybe 5-8 times a day, every single day for about a month or two.  Now it only happens if I go a long time without eating, which is incentive to never go a long time without eating.

Extreme hunger.  The hardest part of my recovery has been coming to terms with the fact that some people need more food than others, and I am one of those people.  I’ve always been in sports or dance, which means I’ve always had a huge appetite.  I have almost always eaten more than people around me, even guys, but I’ve never been overweight.  I can just put away a lot of food.  My ED loves to tell me I can’t, but I definitely can, and in order to be healthy, I have finally accepted it.  Many people get extreme hunger at first and then it evens out.  I can still eat more than you.  I don’t care who you are—I can.  And that’s okay.

Thicker hair and stronger nails.  Not much more to say about that, except recovery isn’t all bad.

PREGNANT STOMACH.  Okay, THE WORST.  I cannot tell you how many people asked me if I was pregnant this summer.  I really can’t count them all.  This was really awful to experience.  Imagine trying to recover from an illness where you believe you’re huge and the ONLY cure is to gain weight.  “Are you pregnant?”  No, but I sort of want to stab you. 

Inability to digest certain foods.  When you’ve deprived yourself of things like bread, sweets, sugar, salt, etc. for so many years, your body goes into shock.  Remember the first day I posted about my anorexia?  That night, I went to bed at 6 p.m. because I was in so much pain from eating a fucking tablespoon of mashed potatoes.  You can ask my dad because he was next to me on the couch.  The only thing that got me through that night was the beautiful, uplifting comments and a determination to be better.

Anxiety.  All revolving around eating.  I’ve had to smoke weed before countless meals to even be able to bring myself to pick up the fork without crying/hyperventilating.

Constant exhaustion.  I mean like, practically falling asleep at the wheel.

Depression.  What did I do to myself?

Loss of “identity,” which is really your ED identity and the best thing you can lose.

None of your clothes fit.  And you turn into that girl with the big boobs (well, big for you because they’ve been literally nonexistent for three years) who doesn’t wear a bra because you can’t afford one that fits because you’ve had to buy new pants, shorts, skirts, shirts, underwear, jackets, shoes (yes, if you’re tiny enough, even your feet grow back) and you figure if you only have a certain amount of spending money and it’s between literally just covering your body with any fabric that fits and supporting your boobs, you’re going with the clothes.

You hate everything because you have to wear the same thing constantly.  It takes a long time to build up a new wardrobe. When fashion is life, this is especially sad.

Randomly feeling like you’re going to die.  This is dramatic, but there are times in recovery (even now, although it is very rare) where I just feel…horrible.  Fogginess, forgetfulness, weakness, exhaustion, etc.

How I Feel Now:

Recovery has been somewhat slow for me because I am stubborn and I continued to restrict slightly (not enough to halt my weight gain but enough to stall the recovery process a bit) for quite a few months.  However, for the past month or so, I can honestly say I have not been restricting.  I’ve somehow been able to let go of that ED voice.  I don’t know if the voice is going to come back, but this is the longest it’s been gone and I am not complaining.

For all the symptoms I listed above, the ONLY thing that has helped cure/ease them at all: eating.  That’s it.

Believe it or not, I’ve been eating completely intuitively and regularly with NO disordered thoughts or subconscious habits for about two weeks now and I have actually slimmed down.  This is because my metabolism is working properly again, my weight is distributing, and the bloating is going down a lot.

I’ve gained so much muscle and energy, my heart rate is practically normalized, I’m nowhere near under/overweight, and I feel like myself.

I can’t really share numbers because I’m not weighing myself and I’m no longer counting calories.  I am eating intuitively and healthily and I’m working out 5 days a week for about an hour a day.

Sorry for the length of this post, but I wish something a little more extensive had been out there when I started recovering.  At the very least, I can be that person for someone else.

That being said, I might be missing a symptom or two here that I may have forgotten about, or maybe I STILL didn’t go into enough detail for you.  If that is the case, please don’t hesitate to reach out and ask me for more.  I do NOT mind sharing every single detail of my anorexia and/or my recovery.  It’s hard to talk about at times, but I am really dedicated to helping others get through it because I have had so many beautiful people touch my lives throughout the process, and it makes it so much more bearable.


Friday, November 10, 2017

Why I (And You, Don't Lie) Care So Much About Justin and Selena

Image result for justin and selena

I really don't know. But that reality aside, we need to talk about this couple: a.k.a. the Syd and Nancy of our time. 

Okay, so they're not quite that extreme. But Justin and Selena give us hope for ourselves. If a Canadian pop star with an excess of tattoos and bad attitude that just doesn't quit can find love, then can't we all? And if Selena can make a somewhat decent man out of him, then maybe there's hope after all for you and your lump of shit at home.

Selena Gomez tried to move on. She made a few breakup songs, she sneakily got extra-hot, and she got a boyfriend with a gross amount of swag. But even a boyfriend that cool (who can list Bella Hadid under his list of ex-girlfriends) couldn't keep the Biebs away.

Justin continued to fuck around and get himself into ridiculous amounts of trouble, straightened out a bit and confessed to the world he still loves Selena, and randomly became extremely religious (extremely for him). He has never settled down.

On the other hand, Selena had The Weeknd, but not for long. As the universe knows, the couple broke up in October and Jelena has been spotted together multiple times.

There was the bike ride. The church visit. The laughs. The smiles. Everyone's (no one's?) favorite couple is back and more collectively notorious than ever.

Okay, so they're not back together, just hanging out. But for the sake of our generation, they need to be together and here's why:

Our generation is one accustomed to being lonely. I was musing about this with a close friend of mine the other day. In the world we grew up in, intimate relationships are hard to come by. We meet each other behind screens, carry out most of our lives behind screens, and have a limited amount of human interaction. I know this theory is tired, but it holds up. Why else would we be so interested in the lives of two spoiled asshole billionaires who happen to date?

Everyone falls for the bad-boy-meets-good-girl plot. We don't really know how "good" or "bad" Selena Gomez is, but luckily you don't have to work too hard to be a better citizen than Justin Bieber, and the fact that she can "make him better" makes all of our disgusting hearts flutter.

They bum it together. This probably helps people stop thinking about appearance for like 0.00001 seconds and realize that even famous people look like shit during most of their free time.

They model our own relationships. Celebrity relationships are, for the most part, perfect and clean to the public eye. How am I supposed to measure my own love life problems up to Brangelina, Couple #4723472 that "split but still love and respect one another"? Give me Jelena, the couple that is almost regularly a walking PR nightmare.

If they can make it, maybe you can. Like I said before, everyone likes to look up to public relationships as a sort of guide for their own. Heartbreak is romantic and reunions after messy breakups are so much more satisfying than a history of solid respect and love. We're all fucked up and we all fall for this, so just embrace it and move on.

And tell me if you have any new updates on Justin and Selena.



Wednesday, November 8, 2017

When Faith Meets Fashion

The 2018 Met Gala theme has been announced and I can hardly contain myself.  I literally got up and ran to my boss’s office so we can talk about it (he used to work in fashion) but he was on the phone so instead I decided to blog about it. For May 2018's First Monday, celebrities, editors, and moguls alike will flock to Manhattan to celebrate "Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination."

Image result for met gala 2017

For those of you who don't know (but if you've been following my blog for a while and you don't know then get your head out of your ass), the Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan puts on an exhibit from May to September every year. This year, that exhibit will cover the relationship between fashion and religious art, and anyone who's seen Madonna circa 1984 knows how successfully these worlds can cross paths.

Image result for madonna catholic

The exhibit will actually be displayed in three different locations (the Holy Trinity?): the Met, the Anna Wintour Costume Center, and the Cloisters.  Much of the papal apparel (say that three times fast) on display will be items that have never before been seen outside of the Vatican.  This will of course be accompanied by traditional haute couture/high fashion pieces by designers over the years who've gathered inspiration from Catholicism and religion (Versace, Balenciaga, Galliano, Chanel, etc.).

Image result for versace catholic

Perhaps the best co-hosts to Wintour herself are part of this year's lineup: Donatella Versace, Amal Clooney, and Rihanna.  About the exhibit, Vogue wrote: "The intersection of faith and fashion, the sacred and profane, as it were, has not always been easy - 'complex and sometimes contested' is how Bolton characterizes the relationship - but the interplay between the two has inspired some awe-inspiring sartorial innovation." 

It's customary for Met Gala attendees to wear a custom outfit that aligns with the theme, so I am in fierce anticipation of the first Monday in May to see what/who people wear.  As you know, this is my bread and butter.  Any ideas who is going to dress the most outrageously?  Guesses to who will wear whom?  Leave a comment below!



Friday, October 27, 2017

All The Ways Living with Roommates Is Completely Different from Living at Home

This summer, a lot of things changed.  I graduated college, I gained a shit ton of weight (yay me), I quit my first job, I started a career, and I moved into an apartment with roommates.  While all of these are some pretty major transitions to hit a girl at once, the last transition has been both the strangest and the most exciting.

You get to start over with decorating a new room.

Unless the room you're renting is already furnished, in which case 1. I hate you and 2. You can still decorate it to your liking.  It was sort of cool to move into my new place.  I walked into an empty room with so much potential.  So far all I've done is set up an air mattress and a card table, but my Led Zeppelin poster is on the floor and I'm only a few weeks away from buying some tape to hang it up with!

You get to meet brand new people.

This can either be good or bad.  Luckily my roommates turned out to NOT be psychos.  Instead, I live with three female college students who are clean, friendly, and I've been able to bond with pretty quickly.

You turn said new people into your new family.

Of course we still have families outside of our little apartment, but it's kind of nice to be able to clean up after someone or help someone else out with the groceries and to be returned those favors when you're in need.  Looking out for each other on this level is family stuff and it's a beautiful thing I hadn't felt in a while.

No one eats your food.

Okay, I'm sure there are tons of situations where people's roommates are eating their food and it's a big deal, but in my apartment we're all really respectful of each other.  This means never again do I have to come home to find that my mother has eaten all my bananas!!!! Yeah Mom NEVER FORGET!

When something needs to be fixed, you have to figure it out yourself.

My dad isn't exactly a handyman, but at least I could always count on him to call the Internet people when the WiFi wasn't working.  Now, that's all up to me.

Bills are addressed to you.

Need I say more? Ew.

You always have someone to talk to.

We all have our hard days where we just need to vent.  Having roommates that you really get along with makes this so much easier and helps out all of you in the long run with trust and communication.