We all have questions and need advice, but sometimes the pseudo therapy in the Instagram stories of astrology girls doesn’t cut it. Or maybe the gate-keeping culture of adventure bros has you fearing the judgment that comes with revealing yourself as a newbie at anything. This advice column exists to hold space for you and your Boulder queries (especially the uncool ones).
How do u get Lucky’s Market DILFs to notice you?
With their running-honed bods, tired eyes, fashionably tousled hair and five-o’clock shadows, Lucky’s DILFs — that is, actual fathers, not just hotties of a certain age — are a classic Boulder sex symbol. They are frustratingly loyal to their partners, making them more desirable but even less attainable. I am assuming you are not a half-off bag of muesli, but have you considered disguising yourself as one? Or perhaps some on-sale ketogenic breadcrumbs? Part of the biology of a Lucky’s DILF is that he cannot resist a sale or a food trend. Spilling your hot fresh rotisserie chicken on him in the checkout line will have a 100% success rate as well.
What are the five definitive markers of a Boulder NIMBY?
- “In this house we believe…” yard sign
- More than three pages of results when you search their name in the Daily Camera letters to the editor archive
- Has requested to connect with you on Nextdoor for some reason, but their post history suggests anti-homeless supervillain status
- Tips 20% on the food but not the bottle of wine at Frasca and gives the server the smuggest smile you’ll ever see in your life
- Voted Michael Bloomberg
I got dumped a month ago and I still feel like poop. What do?
I’m betting you’re in a place where you need some validation, and are perhaps feeling self-conscious about testing the limits of your friends’ capacity to “hold space” for your 12 a.m. sad-texts. Feeling poopy one month after a breakup (or three, or six…) is perfectly valid. Being dumped is a breakup’s more agonizing iteration. Many of us in our “slut eras” owe our existence to the absolute ego death of a good dumping.
Making it more difficult, living in a small town quickly turns common spaces like coffee shops and climbing gyms into awkwardly shared territories. What do? Cry it out in pigeon pose, or make art. Channel that hurt into creativity, like Stevie Nicks singing “Silver Springs” (live 1997) or a Naropa student painting a portrait of her ex with her menstrual blood for her thesis. If you must, ease your sorrow with some margs and/or other substances, but don’t numb the pain completely; the hurt means it was real.
Help, I’ve fallen in love with a hippy who lives in a van and does a lot of ’shrooms. Advice?
Oh nooo, you’re in situationship with a gentle and resourceful soul who hooks you up with psychedelics? Not to invalidate your terrible struggle, but it seems like you’re the one who should be giving the rest of us advice. My advice? Decolonize your mind! Reject what society told you about living in a van down by the river. While your unwashed lover may have extra potent pheromones (which many would consider a plus), they are also likely saving over a thousand dollars a month in rent compared to us Boulder-renting chumps. Unburden your mind of what your mother would think and enjoy the freaky van-lovemaking free from a roommate’s prying ears.
Is it fun to be in Boulder as a post-college grad?
Listen, being five years out of college barely qualifies my experience as post-college grad. But to answer your question in short: Yes, it’s a blast. Instead of waking up for a 10 a.m. lecture after doing shots you didn’t pay for at the Downer, you get to wake up for an 8 a.m. job (if you want to make rent) after doing shots at the Downer that no one bought for you. You may not have the blush of youth anymore, but you have gained the wisdom to know Illegal Pete’s breakfast burritos are the best cure for a hangover. Plus, having a newly developed prefrontal cortex makes it less likely that you’ll wake up next to the bouncer.
Got a burning Boulder question or conundrum? Follow wholefoods_daddy on Instagram, or email letters@boulderweekly.com with the subject line “Dear Whole Foods Daddy.”
