AirBnb Ruined Our Lives and Turned Us Into Entitled City Dwellers

If you live in New York, you've probably seen the subway ads for AirBnb. They display hosts who have made serious money through the tech company—the king of the "sharing economy." AirBnb has recently won significant legal battle by proving its own legality. It was ruled that AirBnb hosts who live in the apartment or house they are renting out are within the boundaries of the law. Well, that’s us. We’re legal. And yet, if I’m honest with myself, AirBnb has basically ruined my life. And it can ruin yours, too.

Leaving Atlanta and Landing in New York

We're doing fine. I keep meaning to write an update, but I never seem to have the time. Things have been pretty crazy and overwhelming and exhilarating and scary and fun.

Place I’ve Lived: Broken Leases, Okay Credit Score

Liz Goodfellow has lived in some places.

Places I’ve Lived: A Nanny’s Room, the Perfect Sublet, and a Place You Can Instagram

I moved to New York the August after I graduated to live with a family in this big brick building on Grand St. and Columbia (Avenue D). I took care of their kid and flailed my way through coexisting with them as I learned to be an adult.

The Roommates I’ve Had at the Places I’ve Lived

Remembering the people we've lived with.

My Last Hundred Bucks: Books, Books, Books, Cigs

Where did you last hundred bucks go, Bennett Madison?

Places I’ve Lived: McGill, South Korea, the Last Stop on the Train

I met my roommate Ellen on move-in day. We were a perfect match according to our student info sheets: same extracurricular activities, part-time job, and hobbies.

The Very Anecdotal Demographics Of My Neighborhood CSA

Last Wednesday marked a very momentous occasion in our house: we had our annual volunteer shift for my CSA share. CSA being the very utopian and nice-in-theory thing where you pay money up front and get produce, eggs, flowers, sometimes meat and cheese, from local farms. And like all utopian enterprises, there's an obligatory volunteer shift. I ended up actually enjoying my shift last year, if for no other reason than it let me pretend for those few dozen trips carrying pallets of root vegetables that I was actually part of something, like I was some sort of adorably ineffective farmhand who kept her complaints to herself and smiled for the shareholders.

Why Is a Candy Bar More Expensive in Manhattan? (Some Theories)

Candy bar at the bodega near my house in Brooklyn: $1. Candy bar at the bodega near my office in Midtown Manhattan: $1.25.

I’m Not Saying I’m a Gold Digger, But You’ve Got to Be Able to Buy Your Own Beer

Dating is hard.