I have lots of advice for my 20-something self. I would tell her that while strapless may never go out of style, tube tops most certainly will; that you don't need to make up an excuse like a "book club" to drink a gallon of wine with your girlfriends; and that it's OK to think foie gras tastes like mucus.
I also would tell her to be more discriminatory about roommates. Instead of picking bunkmates based on friendship, I wish I had picked ones who could actually—I don't know—do something for me?
Like most, my first roommates were those I found in college. Instead of party buddies, I wonder if I would have fared better with roomies who could have tutored me through anthropology or, at the very least, woken me up for class.
I knew someone who lived with a guy who worked at a pizza joint in town and would bring home leftovers every night. Yeah ... I should've lived with that guy.
The first roommate I had outside of a dorm was my best friend Erica. We decided to move to L.A. together to be actresses. Our 800-square-foot apartment in Beverly Hills adjacent was filled with more blind hope and false aspirations than a Southwest flight attendant embarking on a career in stand-up comedy. Needless to say, we had an oblivious blast.
We were so much alike that neither one of us really brought anything to the table. Seeing as your early 20s are filled with financial struggle, think of the amount of money I could have saved if Erica had been, say, a hairdresser. Or if she didn't like to drink and therefore was constantly insisting she'd just drive so we didn't have to spend money on cabs. If only she'd been a mechanic or a dry cleaner, I'd be rolling in the dough right now.
Living with guy friends was one of my slightly smarter ideas. If you are going to live with males, there are only three things you will ever disagree on: 1) who bought light bulbs last; 2) who bought batteries last; and 3) who bought toilet paper last.
If you are the female, you most likely will always be the one who bought them last. You also will always be the one who buys them again because the males will go without for as long as they need to just to prove a point. You will spend the other half of your life savings on Yankee candles and Febreze to cover up the suspicious smells that travel throughout the house and linger for days.
On the flip side, living with men provides a built-in security system. I watched my live-in bodyguards walk around outside many a dark night trying to figure out "who's there?" with nothing but a ratty pair of boxers and a hammer.
Let me assure you, as a roommate, I was completely useless. Except for the laughs, long talks and countless good times, it was a two-way street where we provided absolutely nothing for each other. Oh, well. I guess that's what friends are for.
KATIE KILLACKY IS A REDEYE SPECIAL CONTRIBUTOR.