We all have questions and need advice, but sometimes the pseudo therapy in the Instagram stories of astrology girlies 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 monthly advice column exists to hold space for you and your Boulder queries (especially the uncool ones).
Where can I afford to stay in Boulder for a wedding in September?
There are two words for people who invite their broke, out-of-state friends to their Boulder weddings, and they are: sick fucks. Not just because they are flaunting the fact that it’s possible to stick it out through the first “ick” of your partner breathing a little too heavy on Sanitas to marriage; no, they are also purposefully disregarding the fact that you chose to spend your 20s pursuing broke nonprofit jobs and even broker climbers and now can’t even afford an East Boulder Airbnb that will give you chronic mold issues for the next five years.
Remember that time you got sloshed with your betrothed friends and they made a pass at you “as a joke?” Perhaps it’s time to “jokingly” bring up that time in case their casa has room for a little unicorn like yourself.
What to do on rainy days in BoCo?
6:30 a.m. – Wake up without your alarm because being 30 is terrible. Actually, nothing is terrible, because the heavy early July rain on your roof means you can snuggle back into a furry dog and/or Hinge man and slip into a super-weird morning dream.
8:30 a.m. – “Amsterdam” by Greg Isakov is playing as you sawftly depress the plunger of your french press because you are literally a twee rain fairy who will die if she wears anything besides loose, neutral tone linen and tea tree oil on her pressure points. The smell of the rain through the screen door is yummy and your roommate will fucking die if they try to shut the real door one more time.
2 p.m. – Have you ever chair-rotted by the west window of the metaphysical room of Boulder Bookstore with Outside Magazine and the OG Farmer’s Almanac whilst IT WAS RAINING??? You’re welcome.
Other rainy-day coded things: London Fogs and conversations with elderly strangers at the Trident, rainbows from the Whole Foods parking lot Insta stories, pondering the durability of Boulder’s floodplain infrastructure.
Will I ever know if I’m ready for marriage?
Hell no! Backing up, I know we’ve been led to believe there will be a moment when you just know, like the first time your partner lets you poop while they’re in the shower and you realize that maybe you could poop in the same room as this strange roommate for the rest of your life. Or maybe you’re watching a cute boomer couple smooch as they take in the jazz/swing fusion musical stylings of Espresso! at Spruce Confections, still deeply in love after all these years. Actually, they’re swingers and have other spouses! That is fine too :)
Anyway, most of us barely know if we’re ready for the commitment of being a single person buying a Lucky’s rotisserie chicken, much less marriage. Don’t let that stop you from doing it though, because a fool’s confidence is all it takes to pop the question or make an impulse chicken purchase.
My BF has a porn addiction and refuses to get therapy. What do I do?
Remove this man’s access to the internet under the guise of EMF wave avoidance and … God, this feels a little gross to joke about. If I were Dan Savage, I’d say you have two choices, one of which is an untenable way to live. So, you really only have one choice, and luckily for you it’s the best season to be single in Boulder.
What do I do with my ridiculously small boobs?
I won’t give you the “Omg all boobies are beautiful #bodypositivity #welovesmallboobs” spiel because … I get it. Sydney Sweeny cultural zeitgeist aside, I understand wanting, or at least being curious about how it must feel, to have every eye in Gold Hill on you as your big naturals bounce around under a tight shirt to some slappin’ bluegrass tunes. That being said, here are some things to “do” with those precious lil’ things, because the smallest Palisade peaches are often the sweetest:
- Stretch one of those headband things over ’em and call it a top. So cute!
- Design a thesis for a Naropa poetry degree around a live reading of your poem about the sacred power of tiny breasts while holding the printed poem on a flat piece of paper over your bare chest only to reveal that it was printed directly on your flat, flat boobs the entire time.
Got a burning Boulder question? DM @wholefoods_daddy on Instagram or email [email protected] with the subject line “Dear Whole Foods Daddy.”