Go Obama!

This afternoon as I was walking back to the office from the gym (yes - I had to put that in there. It was my first day back in over 3 weeks. O.k. a month) I started thinking about the cheesey high school senior photos of me my parents STILL have up in their upstairs hallway. Why, I don’t know. But it suddenly struck me that only in a matter of a few years I will look at those photos and think to myself, “Gosh, that was 20 years ago.” And then I thought, “Sweet Jesus, I am old. I am GETTING old.”

Here’s the problem - I am not getting any older mentally. I mean, I think I stopped somewhere around 16 or something. I still laugh at farts. I still say words like “beeyatch”, “word” and “sweet.” I still go to live music shows at divey bars. I still drink beer like it’s going out of style. And I still have a stupid secret fantasy of traveling to New York and L.A. and being “discovered.”  Oh, and I still collect tons of tiki paraphenalia. Won’t this eventually pose a problem when I’m, like, 60? Can you imagine a 60-year-old saying, “beeyatch?”

What am I getting at here? Well, in a nutshell, when does this mature thing start kicking in? And is there any way to escape it? Because I don’t really want to start acting 33, or 45, or even 68. I don’t want to stop laughing at farts. Ever. (On a sidenote: my grandparents on my Dad’s side NEVER acknowledged farts - even their own. Many times I sat in their kitchen and witnessed them rip a few, without so much as a “whoops” or “excuse me.” It’s like it never happened. THAT really made me sad. Where’s the immature chortelling? Or the over-exaggerated hand wave in front of the nose? Or the revered “Better check your pants” comment? Nothing.) If I had my way, I would stay 16 forever. The funny thing is, is that mentally, I DO have my way. Physically however, gravity is starting to make me its bitch.

My grandfather used to say that California drivers were the worst in the country. After living here in Denver for (yikes) 15 years, I have to say that I totally disagree with Gramps. Denver drivers have to be the WORST in the nation. Maybe it’s the high altitude, or the thin air, or the over-saturation of professional sports events. Whatever it is, it makes my everyday commute highly entertaining, if not harrowing. Keep in mind though, that yes - it is Denver and our little traffic problems are nothing in comparison to L.A. or other big cities. But that doesn’t make it any less annoying.
You’ve heard of the “California stop,” right? For those who haven’t, basically it’s when you make a half-ass stop at a stop sign. You know, when you kind of just nod toward the sign and then take off. Well here in Denver, we have a few of our own signature driving moves. Here’s some that I’ve noticed over the years:

1. The “Marking My Territory” Move
This has to be a Denver classic. You’ve turned your blinker on. You’re getting ready to merge into the next lane. There’s plenty of room between the car ahead of you and behind you in the next lane. You start to make your move. Suddenly, the car behind you in the next lane speeds up in an attempt to block you from merging into “his” lane. Honking and swearing usually follows.
2. I-25 North Tailgating
Anyone who’s made the drive up to Fort Collins from Denver knows what this one is about. Once you’ve past Broomfield, suddenly the speed limit jumps to 80. And if you’re not hauling ass in the far left lane, expect to have numerous commuters all up in your junk. If you don’t get over into the right lane ASAP, you will be relentlessly tailgated until you succumb.
3. Turn Signals are for Chumps
This maneuver involves the driver switching lanes without turning on his or her blinker. However, as I write this, I’m beginning to wonder if it has anything to do with #1. Hmm….
4. Yellowtail
In essence, hauling ass when the light is yellow rather than slowing to a stop. This may actually be more of a nationwide phenomenon. Nevertheless, this driving tactic is pretty much the norm around these parts. God knows I’ve added it to my driving repertoire.
5. Intersection Loafing
If you pull into the middle of an intersection and sit in anticipation of turning left, you’re guilty of this Denver doozy. When I first moved into town and noticed this move, it bowled me over. Now that I’ve practiced it a billion times myself, it only makes sense.
6. The Sunnyside Crawl
This one is a favorite. My hubby and I used to live in what’s considered the “Sunnyside Neighborhood,” which is off of 38th/Park Ave. in the Highland area here in Denver. If you’re driving west on Park Ave. from downtown, prepare yourself for the Sunnyside Crawl once you go under the train track overpass when Park Ave. becomes 38th. Suddenly traffic slows to the pace of a herd of cottonheads. It’s like the overpass zaps cars and makes them only capable of moving at 25 mph. This was always fun to deal with on the way home from work.
7. Denver Daredevils, aka “I’m THIS close to being a human pancake.”
Does this happen in any other cities across the U.S.? Because if it does, I want to hear about it. This is when pedestrians – usually ones that appear to have not finished schooling past the elementary level – either start walking super slow or come to a complete halt in front of a car in the middle of a busy street, when the car has the right of way, where there’s no designated pedestrian walk. Essentially, the pedestrian dares the driver to mow him/her over. What I’m really trying to say here is that it’s a pissing contest. Michael and I both agree that the rules of Deathrace 2000
should come into play during this situation. 300 points for the guy in the Avalanche jersey!

It sounds super cheesy, but I miss Michael already. Some of you (whoever you are) may not know this, but my hubby and I work together in the same department and see each other pretty much 24 hrs. a day, every day. This probably sounds completely frightening to some people, but somehow we’ve gotten used to it and are able to stay married without killing each other. My point here is that since I’m so used to seeing him every second of the day, it’s going to be hard to, uh, not see him every second of the day.

However, fear not dear readers (whoever you are): I have not one furry friend at home to comfort me, but two. I am watching Jme’s dog Ella (otherwise known as Beans) while he’s away on tour with Khale. She is super cute - big ears that stand on end. Plus she’s some kind of herding dog. I know this because every time I run around outside with her, she nips at my ankles. She’s either a herding dog, or thinks I look like a total dufus when I run. Keep in mind both of these options are possible. But also keep in mind that I have extra bones in my feet which aids in my looking like a total dufus when I run.

Anywho, I will miss the hubbs a lot over the course of the next few weeks, but look forward to our Skype chats and more ankle biting from my house-guest. Baxter, my pug, is undoubtedly beside himself at the prospect of not being the complete center of attention for the next 3 weeks. Suck it up, poopypants.

Below are some photos I took at recent gigs here in Denver that my hubby’s band performed at. And yes, I ended that sentence with a preposition.

Forgot to mention that we had KILLER seats at the show - Steve outdid himself. Thanks Steve! We were 5 rows from the stage and could easily see Jemaine’s chest hair. Yessss…

Below are some photos I took from the show. For a great review, go to Reverb and read John Wenzel’s write up. He is da Boom King.

In keeping with the theme, here are some unsavory salad toppings you may want to rethink before using:

• Pork Chops
• Refried Beans
• M&M’s
• Cream of Mushroom Soup
• Dandilions (trust me, they’re NOT edible)
• Pie
• Spaghetti
• Spaghetti Pie
• and of course, Ketchup

During these past weeks, a lot has happened. For one, my good buddy Dave’s baby daughter Hadley contracted Infant Botulism, which can be life-threatening. Things were extremely scary for Dave and his wife Christy for a couple days as they and doctors were struggling to figure out what was wrong with Hadley. After several grueling tests (including a spinal tap), test revealed that Hadley, 4 months old, did in fact have Botulism, which is an incredibly rare disease that only 100 kids per year contract. Treatments immediately began, including an INSANELY expensive serum that most likely won’t be covered by Hadley’s insurance. Yet another shining example of our fantastic health care system. Thankfully, Hadley has recovered over the past week and is doing really well. So well, in fact, that Dave and Christy took her home from the hospital yesterday. Go Hadley!

On a lighter note, I’ve managed to catch some pretty fun shows in the Denver area over the past weeks. My hubby’s new band, Khale, had their first show at the Hi-Dive, followed by their second at the Meadowlark. Both were great, though I have to say their first show was better. Sidenote: they’re covering a Bjork song for their shows - “Hyper-ballad.” It sounds AWESOME.

Wed. night I joined fellow music lovers (my hubby, my boss, Darren, Steve, Matt B. and Nate) for a night of efficient German techno at the Kraftwerk show at the Fillmore. Fantastic! It was really, really fun. And you think it wouldn’t be, with four totally nerdy Germans dressed entirely in black standing completely still on stage for 3 hours. But the music was infectious. And holy God, was there a lot of pot there. I can still smell it.

Here’s to the weekend.

As you can deduce from the lingering leprechaun-themed site banner, I’m totally in over my head with various other crapola. However I have been hoping to start posting again. Once this special section at work is put to bed and heavily sedated, I will be back at it.

For now, please to enjoy this:

I love spring, for all of the expected reasons. Just like everyone else, the promise of sunlight and new flowers makes me giddy. The return of green grass and merrily chirping birds. However, there’s one thing I simply dread about spring - trying to figure out what to freaking wear.

I like to think of myself as somewhat of a mild fashionista. In the sense that I’m willing to take some risks with my wardrobe selections. But ever since I can remember, I just have this thing about trying to dress myself in the springtime. I just can’t figure it out. It’s too chilly for short sleeved tops & button ups, and too warm for the tried and true turtleneck (more suited for fall in my opinion). Long sleeved poplins? Probably, but then by noon I’m sweltering. Cardigans? Again, the same issue. What then? What??

The only thing I’m certain of in springtime, besides malted chocolate eggs, are skirts. I know that my legs have had enough of hibernating inside of pants (which I will of course continue to wear no matter the season because, as you know, I LOVE PANTS) and that if they don’t start getting color soon, I’ll be laughing stock of the Berkeley Park Community Center pool. And my neighbors, for that matter. No, there’s simply no questioning the importance of the skirt, preferably knee-length, at spring.

So, I look to the oncoming season with fear once again - not knowing if it will ever be safe to leave the house in my snap button cardigan, or pastel blue turtleneck. Maybe no one will notice me until summer. With my almost see-through pale white complexion, this is next to impossible.

Bring it on.