I am a well-educated woman in my late-twenties. I have a wonderful (and successful) career that I adore. I am independent, responsible, and very much an adult (I promise). And, yes, I live with roommates.
Like so many urban dwellers, I chose to live with roommates because, in an incredibly expensive city like San Francisco (right now, the average 1-bedroom will run you just shy of $1900/month), spending my hard-earned money on things like travel, dinners out, and cute shoes (as well as college loans, car bills, and credit card debt) is far more appealing than spending weekends inside barely scrapping by just so I can live alone. Plus, in the roommate lottery of life, I kind of lucked out. My apartment is fantastic, and my roommates (two guys, 1 girl, and 1 boxer pup) are pretty darn amazing, too. In fact, a close friend once compared my living situation to that on "The New Girl.” Not too shabby …
However, living with roommates was not a decision I took lightly. There was a lot to consider, and I mulled over making the switch at great length. However, romance was one of my main concerns, and I vividly remember debating the issue with one of my best friends. It all started with my declaring that roommates meant no more hallway/kitchen counter/shower/sofa sex … and that I wasn't sure that, after years of sexual freedom, my libido was up to the challenge of containing my sexual shenanigans to nothing more than my bedroom.
Still, at the end of each month, I prefer having those extra bucks in the bank. That is why I am here to share my insights in to the world of romance while living with roommates. So, listen up, lovers. This lesson is important.
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