Qwerty Thirty

Welcome to Qwerty Thirty!

Qwerty Thirty is a blog about my life as an newly married, travel-obsessed, ridiculously romantic 30-something-year-old who recently traded in the party girl life for step mom status. My latest adventure: preggo with a baby boy. Oh yes, between all of that and my ever-dependable emotions and vices, there’s much to be inspired by these days.

When I was younger, I thought that turning thirty would kill me. I thought I’d be old, tired, and over life by then. To put into perspective how ancient I considered this age, just know that when I was 12, I threw my mom a surprise 30^th birthday party complete with black balloons and a tombstone cake candle. I still can’t believe she didn’t throat punch me for that one.

For me, and for many women like me, turning 30 came with much resistance. The mere thought of no longer being a twenty-something girl mortified me. Possibly the biggest blow to my ego was that cramming anything but a carrot into my face suddenly had sizable consequences on my waist. And my ass. And my once carefully sculpted thighs. Even my beloved adult bevies began wreaking havoc on my physique. Oh, the horror.

What I didn’t see coming was all this confidence, fun, gratitude, and perspective. At 30 something, I spend my days living by the beach and traveling the world. I am happily married to a gorgeous and doting man, and will be the mother to his child come October 2018. Perhaps best of all, my step kids think I look “like 19 or something.”

Not only did thirty not kill me, but, and much to my surprise, it’s loads better than being twenty – but don’t tell the beer guzzling, chicken finger-eating, actually 19-year-old brats that.

About The Blogger

Hi, my name is Jamie Coppens and I’m the proud blogger of Qwerty Thirty.

I’m a journalism college-educated, thirty-year-old pizza-holic who enjoys each slice of life with a colorful manicure. All colors considered, I’m a kaleidoscope of passion; irresponsibility; enthusiasm; irrationality; wit, and random conservatism. And those are just the clash of contradictions I’m willing to admit to right now.

I’m unpredictable and I like it that way. I am fiercely loyal. I drink apple juice over ice when I’m damaged – physically or otherwise. I used to live alone and the silence petrified me. Now that I live with children I look upon those quiet times admiringly. The smell of desert rain and freshly cut grass are two of my most favorite things, but even though I have no desire to swim in its waters, I’d almost always rather be looking at the beach on a sunny day.

Self-diagnosis has concluded that I have an addictive personality so I’ve never experimented with painkillers and I don’t drink coffee. I do, however, binge watch television; over-consume champagne; purchase the same type of skinny jeans in a variety of colors; and am notorious for leaving several water bottles in every single room of the house because some secret apocalyptic part of me fears a drought. Other obsessions include elephants – I squeal with delight whenever I see one – cutoff shorts, Chap Stick, online shopping, my designer dog, and my man. You know, normal stuff.

What I don’t find normal is when people allow their server, a complete stranger, to make meal selections on their behalf. To the people who don’t wash their hands after using the public restroom: I hate you. I’m admittedly neurotic about cleanliness and germ avoidance. I’m haunted by the un-kept home I grew up in, so mine are always show-ready. And I keep hand sanitizer on standby because if travel teaches you nothing else, it’s how disgusting even the most amazing cultures can be.

Germs aside, traveling is a version of bliss. Having the privilege of saying, “I’ve seen that!” is a truly spectacular feeling; and being away always makes me happy to come home again. No matter the destination, day drinking is one of life’s greatest pleasures. In fact, drinking in general is a real joy. Vice shmice. Although a source of childhood taunting, I dig the beauty mark on my leg. Even when I’m not in a rush, I speed. Despite my frightful-looking penmanship, I write handwritten thank you notes. I pay only genuine compliments. If I don’t like you, I ignore you. Superficial people suck. I’m truly a Libra, but I wish I hadn’t gotten this tattoo expressing it so.

And if I’m really being honest, the travel-saturated life I live with my husband is the exact existence I’ve always wanted. Don’t tell my 25-year-old self this, but life really did get better, and qwerty, at thirty.