Beyond 30: The Next Chapters

There are a handful of absolute truths in the world among them that dogs will always be better than people, a good cup of coffee makes any awful day much better, and that disappointment is a fact of life. I am sorry to report that of those absolute truths, disappointment has come to effectively dampen my week with sour news. I lost the apartment. A couple of weeks back, I looked at this positively beautiful, charming, sunny apartment near Old Town and it goes without saying that I fell in love. And really, it's no surprise: I'm a sucker for hardwood floors. Of all the apartments I've seen in the last two months, this is the only one I've actually put in an application for. As such, I've spent the majority of my spare time since then looking for a prospective roommate intent on seizing the perfect opportunity to find my next long-term home. Earlier yesterday afternoon, after an interview that went particularly well, I called the homeowner to try and set up a show

Approximately once a year, I get an insatiable urge to be extra feminine--doing my nails, having my hair done, expending that barely used effort to actually shave my legs for once (which, as a real woman with a real person body, I'm not sorry to report has hair. Who is seeing my legs besides me and my dog? NO ONE! That's who. And why should it matter? Women have hair! Sorry not sorry). And apparently that day is today. I went to the store after work and picked up a new nail file, because the one I own is actually a million years old, and some black nail polish. Because though I do occasionally embrace things traditionally seen as feminine, my efforts are nothing if not rooted in my love of all things goth-esque. Thus the black nail polish. I digress. The point of this little rant is that I absolutely suck at being girly. There's nail polish painted in jagged, bumpy little lines scattered on the skin surrounding the actual nail like a very, very, very poorly executed Ja

Today, I don't want to write. I don't want to put my hands to a keyboard and talk about my week or talk about my struggles or talk about the many ways in which I am just a person--faults and all. But I know that I have to. Because while this project is an experiment in working towards my own happiness, there is an underlying fear that the moment I talk about failure, it's already over. I've been beaten by my own lack of ability, by my own deficiencies as a person, as a friend, as a daughter.  This week started out just fine, honestly, it did. Truthfully, there was nothing even noteworthy about this earlier part of this week even worth mentioning. Just work, work, and more work. Though believe me when I say that of all the things happening in my world right now, work is the least stressful of them all.  And then it happened.  I can't really talk about what "it" is because it's not my story to tell. And I wish I could. There's some vindi

This week's post is sponsored by David Bowie.  Sometimes, life happens all at once and before you can even begin to process its events, the next moment has come to demand your attention; it almost seems as though the very life you just experienced was a just a distant ripple in the pond, the stone of action already long sunk to the bottom.  A few years ago, I took something of a risk, finding a new place to live in Fort Collins. The apartment where I was living, though spacious and filled with the love and companionship of my good friend Jules, was realistically out of my budget and had the unfortunate downside of another roommate whose very existence still to this day makes my skin crawl. I digress. While I was searching for a place to live, I stumbled upon a Craiglist ad for someone who was looking for a roommate. This person seemed to align with all of the things that were important to me: cleanliness, punctuality, beer.  If you haven't figured it out already