The logistics of moving to a new state are more extensive than I initially anticipated. The details, both large and small, are still catching up to me. Every day there’s something else weird that I haven’t yet dealt with, and then there are things I knew would be an issue (like CA drivers, or my face).
Stating a fact, without the rant
I figured, eventually, I would need to get a new license for this state. I did not, however, think my new employer would require me to have one. So now I’m a California driver (not in my soul, but technically I am), and I’m registered to vote. I think that makes me official. The rant on California drivers is impending.
A world away
I find myself systematically unsubscribing from updates about Colorado-specific things after weeks of just deleting the emails absently. Ads from my dentist office, for example, even though I never really liked them anyway. My ExpressToll account—a prepaid pass for a toll road which I’ll likely never travel again in my car—which had a $26.25 credit I almost missed out on. Most heartbreaking of all, my Fuzzy’s Tacos Rewards statement. I fucking love that place, and a quick search informed me the closest one is in Las Vegas. RIP Tacos.
Furnishing an apartment
I knew I would need furniture, but didn’t realize how hard it is to live without it. It took three weeks, but I finally managed to get it sorted. I’ve been playing video games and eating meals on the living room floor this whole time, and my hips are thanking my for doing this solid adulty thing.
I want to give a shoutout to the painting shown above the kitchen table, for surviving 1,100 miles in the back of my car while a box threatened to punch a hole through the canvas the entire time.
Not pictured is a bed frame, because it’s not assembled. Because we have no mattress. We’re still rockin an AeroBed for a minute longer, and if we level-up again soon we’ll graduate to a real bed.
What is wrong with my face
I totally called it in my pre-moving post: my skin hates the climate. I get all the makeup done and it looks great, but as soon as I step outside it’s like the California air just sucks the life out of my primer and my entire face melts off/into my lines. What. The. Fuck. I’m about to walk into Sephora in tears, begging for guidance and a stiff drink.
But really though, what the hell is wrong with my face? It’s like it doesn’t want to be on the same team as the rest of my body. It’s just off doing its own thing, not giving a single shit about what I might like it to do. I’m hoping I figure this part out soon.