It doesn’t work for careers or relationships unless you happen to love the place you’re going. I adore Sandra Bullock, but if she asked me to move in with her in New Orleans, I’d cry a lot and refuse. The same thing goes for epic vag anywhere in Canada, the Northeast, or a foreign country. Just ain’t worth it.
The latest Bachelor “winner” is uprooting herself and moving to East Bumfuck, where the men are manly (except for their giggles), and the Starbucks are distant. She had better spit out a couple-two-tree kidlets quickly so there’s something to distract her from mundane life on the farm. During the final rose ceremony, it was so cold you could see their breaths. Fuhhhhhk! Why would anyone choose to live there, especially when he has bushels of bucks?
If he truly loves her, the two of them should make their habitation decision based on climate and proximity to fun stuff. They won’t. She’ll move there, and fight thoughts of driving the Bentley into a giant oak.
Relocating to a shittier place doesn’t work because there’s insufficient distraction to avoid depression. She and stud-in-overalls will spend a few hours a day playing kissy face. Perhaps, she’ll pick up a side gig to keep her brain from rotting. Still, the majority of her time will be spent looking out her kitchen window at a sea of green and brown twigs and beasts. That’s a recipe for drunk.
I lived near Philadelphia most of my life because my parents’ families settled there, and with Italians, the family stays close. I fell in love, planted deep roots, landed a great job, and planted deeper roots. I had lots of money and love, but the snow … ugh, all that fucking snow!
No human should choose to live in a place where it’s too cold to stay outside six months of the year, and too hot, buggy, and muggy two of the remaining six. That’s just crazy thought. Even when there are regular tropical vacations, returning home to icy hell sucks balls.
No matter how incredible (the most overused, misused word in Bachelor history that makes me want to bite Chris Harrison’s nose) your family, friends, and job is, if you leave them and move to a place you like better, you’ll be happier. I have no love, no office job, and no family within 3000 miles. I do have the nightly opportunity to have dinner outside while watching the pink and orange sun go down over the sparkling ocean here in San Diego. Yes, I pay out the ass for it.
So, should you resign your job, hand your spouse divorce papers, and hire a moving company? Maybe. How happy does reading on the beach make you? Lots? Then, Google yourself a fine resignation letter template, and get moving!
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