Archive for November, 2011
Birthday Smirk-Day
Yep, it’s my birthday this week – or as most women in their 30s call this glorious day…”Holy heck…one year closer to 40.”
Not that I’m afraid of 40. I mean 40 is like the new 21….or so say all those celebrities, fashion designers, and Real Hoochey-mama Housewives. Right? Except the fact you have wrinkles, a mortgage payment, a ticking clock (even the GYNO agrees), a year’s supply glucosamine in your medicine cabinet, and every time you look at a photo of yourself you think…”I look like my mother!” Chances are — if you haven’t splurged on Botox, you’ve at least spent HOURS looking at “before and after” photos online until your eyes glaze over. And suddenly exercise is not something you do JUST for the endorphins… it’s something you do to “keep up with all those trashy 20 year-olds who are stealing your men!”
I admit I’m not in my mid-flirty30s anymore….I’m in my late-flirty30s…I turn 38…GULP… tomorrow. But I guess the important thing is – I don’t feel late 30s. (And I don’t think I look it.) I feel….maybe ….Hmmm….27.
Still – despite my youthful feeling…You know you’re a few years away from 40 when:
- You’re overdosing on sunscreen, even during a tsunami.
- You’re obsessed with eating healthy and only buy foods that are dark green or bright purple (Although this does not apply to late-night Taco Bell or gas station doughnuts).
- You’ve accepted the fact you can’t wear high heels every day and have been caught sneaking into the Crocs store at Cherry Creek mall.
- You’ve already investigated fertility acupuncture even though you have: A. No husband B. No boyfriend C. No upcoming dates
- You’ve fibbed about your age at least once…or at least…you’ve been “very vague” and kept some guy guessing who was probably younger than your younger brother!
But there is comfort in all of this. My grandmother told me years ago…”You know Lisa, your mind doesn’t age…only your body does.” I wasn’t sure what she met by this until five years ago. What she means is that our emotions don’t disappear along with the progression of the calendar. We still experience the “ah-hah” moment of newfound love, the angst of a job change, the sadness when we are betrayed, and the “jumping up and down” joy when we reach a goal. (Ask my co-workers – I jumped up and down between cubicles when I found out the seller accepted my offer on my new condo.)
It’s AS IF we are still 17 or 27…somewhere in our psyche. And I find this extremely comforting as I age gracefully.
Since my birthday always falls around Thanksgiving…I’d like to reflect on my blessings – or in reality — what I survived this last year… because honestly…it was a doozey.
- Finding “one of the loves” of my life…throwing my heart into it…then realizing it was time to let go…(wretched heartache)
- Politely demanding a raise, not receiving the raise initially, playing tough (so very awkward for Lisa), then coming to an agreement in my favor (Who knew Lisa had balls?!)
- Managing three family weddings – and thankfully no funerals (My own personal episode of “Relatives Gone Wild”)
- Surviving a Denver winter with only a mini-cooper to my name (those miniature snow tires rock!)
- Tackling the beautiful Colorado ski slopes for 13 sporadic ski days – without injuring myself, innocent children, old people, or punk snowboarders
- Traveling to Europe – and encountering delayed flights, bus schedules I never undersood, a bitchy, jealous ex-boyfriend’s mother (so so painful), yet thankfully — stunning scenery, amazing food, and loving company
- Camping with four other girls outside Aspen for a long weekend and somehow not killing each other…because after all…hot coals, bears, and two gallons of red wine don’t mix.
- Buying a condo…if I ever have to hunt down that many paycheck stubs, W-2 forms, or tax forms again…I may move to Canada and live in a tent.
- Surviving the holidays…
- Oh wait…they’re not over yet?? Damn.
This big list makes me wonder…. What will I survive next year? Who will I meet? Where will my job take me? What blessings are just around the corner?
I only know one thing….my emotional and wish-list bags are packed…ready to hop onboard this thing called life.
No, I’m not wearing “mom jeans” (maybe one day) ….but I’m comfortable in my designer jeans…marketed to women not a day over 40.
One of my achievements - becoming a homeowner.... Home Depot here I come!
Pre-Birthday Celebration with the Girls
A Single Gal’s Gusto…to Rent or to Buy?
Decisions…decisions…especially in the wake of a breakup. I mean…what’s a girl to do when she’s desperate to “move on” in more than one area of her life?
OK…here’s the skinny: I currently rent a duplex in Denver’s “nose-in-the-air” neighborhood, Cherry Creek North. When I first moved to the mile-high city, it was the perfect find because my dad knew the “ghetto” was far, far away…and the criminals – even further. And I admit…this set-up HAS been convenient. I safely stroll to trendy restaurants, shops, and bars. My dog sniffs butts with Denver’s finest pooches. In this utopia, everyone has automatic sprinklers, a lawn boy, and not one…but TWO Land Rovers.
The problem is…I live in the token “dump” on the block. You know…the big eyesore — the one where the neighbors pray the elderly landlords will die quickly…so their money-hungry kids can kick me out, bulldoze the lot, then sell it to someone who will erect yet another McMansion. (Think Stepford Wives ambiance.)
Yes, my 1940s place does have historic charm, but it also has the original single-pane windows, a Pepto-Bismol pink toilet and sink, and I’m convinced – NO INSULATION. At night, I feel the breeze…through the CLOSED window. If I run my hairdryer, portable dishwasher, and microwave at the same time…I find myself in the dark, groping for the electrical panel. And every night I pray carbon monoxide doesn’t kill me — as my decrepit furnace coughs and sputters.
A few months ago I realized — the time had come to slink into a 30-year relationship with a random mortgage company and give the old “heave-ho” to my money-squandering landlord. I considered the “good” of condo ownership (a place to call my “own” and all that sentimental crap), the “bad,” (nosy neighbors who never leave), and the “ugly.” (the toilet that clogs up on Christmas Eve and I have to pay someone’s ass to come fix it) I also gulped at the reality I would venture into this alone…minus “Mr. Right.” Yes, while I felt empowered …there was small pity party brewing — knowing my name would be the only name on the deed.
So alas, my search began. I knew my budget wasn’t huge….but I knew it wasn’t spare change either!
I started my quest with the enthusiasm of a college-bound girl shopping for dorm room accessories. Quickly though, I felt I was perusing at the Goodwill. Every condo I looked at was either A) dumpy and depressing B) full of creepy middle aged men –OR- C) full of old people carting oxygen tanks on shoulder straps (I kid you not). The duplexes weren’t much better. They all sported damp “Freddie Cougar” basements, cubicle sized kitchens, and “sketchy” neighbors. I did fall in love with one condo, but as I evaluated the closets, I spotted two cats sleeping on a pile of sweaters…then my eyes rested on a picture of the SINGLE, 45-year old female seller. I sprinted out of that place in 2.5 seconds….almost in tears, vowing I would never turn into “that woman.” I took a moment in my car and thought, “Is this really all my money is worth? Have my hard earned savings come down to living in a building with twice as many cats as people??”
I freaked out. I THEN decided to stick with renting. I mean…I’m a free sprit…I didn’t want to be tied down!
Over the next month I looked at over a dozen “expensive yet bland” rentals listed on craigslist and apartments.com. I couldn’t believe $1150 wouldn’t even get you a covered parking spot much less a dishwasher! Nothing was the right fit. All the leasing agents acted annoyed that I owned a dog. I mean, this is Denver…the dog capitol of the United States! I was so confused and discouraged…I didn’t know what to do. All I knew…was that I COULDN’T spend another winter freezing my ass off in my current rental.
So switched my mind AGAIN…and returned to looking at properties for sale. Taking a friend’s advice, I also wrote down a description of my “perfect place”…then tucked the piece of paper in a safe place. (Hey, if you write things down, you’ll make it happen.) I also made the best business decision ever and “broke up” with my realtor. He was a friend of a friend…and honestly…he was unorganized from the beginning. I didn’t need his dead weight…or his blank stares when I asked him simple financing questions. It was time to play tough…and he was clearly too wimpy to stay in my game.
Around that same time, my co-worker paired me with an awesome realtor ironically named Lisa. We hit it off from the beginning. I confided in her as if she was my therapist. I told her, “I just went through a painful breakup (the ex-boyfriend, not the realtor) and I’m on the fence about renting or buying. I want to make sure if I buy a property, I will love it now…but also I need to be able to rent it in the future…even in a few years. I’m actively trying to meet someone special at this stage in my life, and I don’t want a property that ties me down.”
Lisa digested this information…and then got to work quicker than a McDonalds drive-thru. Within one week, I started looking at properties with REAL potential. Our next meeting, we looked at five units…both condos and townhouses. I fell in love with the first property – a sunny 2 bedroom/1 bath condo located in the hip historic Baker neighborhood — one block from the funky shops, restaurants and bars of South Broadway. For the first time in over two and half months, a REAL smile appeared on my face. In the aftermath of my breakup, I had become the master of the “fake smile”…this one, however, was genuine and heartfelt. I called my dad with the news.
Things rolled into place after that. I saw the property on a Sunday, made my offer on Tuesday….and “low and behold” the seller accepted my final offer late Thursday afternoon. Within a span of 60 hours, I went from the heartbroken evil American ex-girlfriend (EAG) to the hot, available, single homeowner.
I am lovin’ this new title change!
In just a few short weeks, I move in. I feel positive, invigorated, and most importantly — at peace. This little condo is perfect for my “present”…and provides a solid investment for my “future.”
Who knew a girl could get so excited over double pane windows, a WHITE toilet, and a furnace covered by a warranty?
