Because You Moved to New Jersey

If you really want to know how I became broke, look no farther than across Battery Park. The armpit of America, the Guido-capital, the wasteland of everything that is wrong with humanity--New Jersey.

This may be my only magnum opus, and certainly my only truly personal one...

As a born-New Yorker, the decision to move to Jersey City should not have ever been a thought. And I fully contend that it wasn't, but rather blinded by manipulation and a series of unfortunate events. Hey, I work in journalism, want a large space (for what, I don't know-dinner parties? I don't cook.) and boyfriend, this commuting back and forth to Kearney (North Jersey) is just too tiring. I know, let me get my own place out in NJ.

My mother was horrified. My father speechless. My sister disgusted. My brother, "Do they have welding shops in NJ?" My friends gone. I chose to move out of Manhattan's East Village into New Jersey for an unemployed, 30 year-old who's mother barked at dogs and listened to hair metal--in a serious fashion.

Suddenly, that commute to Kearney stopped and things started appearing in my medicine cabinet. ..Hmmm....Wait, I know-why don't we just move in together? I can save on half the rent and we can be together every day! Wouldn't that be fabulous?! Of course, it would! Multiple !!!s

But wait...who is going to pay for the double groceries, the furniture and the BRITA water replacement filler every fucking month when only one of us is employed?

Oh sure, I have a credit card. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.

I spent two years of my life on a leather IKEA couch I purchased for $600, watching a TV I bought for $500, drinking copious amounts of numbing alcohol (inconceivable amount) and going more than $5,000 into credit card debt (with another $5,000 I would have to report as fraudulent activity). Forget about what I paid in cash...Moving to NJ and supporting a small child was worse than living in a penthouse in Manhattan. And did I mention that it was New Jersey?

This may seem a tad personal and I hate that, so don't get used to it, but my Mastercard statement came today and I probably should be feministic for a moment and tell women never to think for anyone reason they should support a man--or move to NJ. I'm not bitter about it, just broke.