Cat mom, lover of pop psychology, freelance content creator. Find me on zuliewrites.com.
I fell into my first serious relationship when I’d just turned eighteen. Fresh in my first year of college, living abroad in England, I hadn’t even started classes when I met my future boyfriend.
Freelancers don’t have the luxury of waged jobs. At my old 9–5, I put in 40 hours a week and received a stable salary. If I had a productive week and worked 55 hours, I earned the same amount. If I focused on emails and had no client calls, it didn’t affect my income at all.
As a successful blogger, one of my most frequently asked questions is how to promote a blog post on social media. And until recently, my answer was “I literally have no idea,” because I’d never done it.
My kitten Astrid was about six months old when I took her to the vets to be spayed. As I write this, however, she’s yowling right in my ear because she’s in heat, which may give you a clue as to how the surgery turned out.
My name is Zulie and my cats are more famous than I am. I use the word “famous” a little leniently here. They have 15K followers on Instagram, but they’re not being recognized on the street or anything. Aside from the people in apartment 7c, who always point at the weird lady walking her cats. Thanks for that.
Six years, two months and 28 days after I met him, I applied for a marriage license to wed my partner. It cost $66. There was no waiting period. The event took 45 minutes, including the obligatory selfie outside the courthouse with our license.
One of the most jarring memories from my teen years is when my best friend was being cheated on by her boyfriend. The whole time, he made her feel like she was the distrustful, unloyal, misbehaving one. Night after night, he’d have this or that story about what he’d been up to, why he hadn’t come to that study session, why he was late to dates.
Being a bi woman is weird because it’s all too easy to traverse a good part of your life without realizing that odd, burning feeling you have towards other women isn’t jealousy, envy, admiration, or any other feeling other than pure, unadulterated attraction.