Sick! Been wantin’ to write to y’all, but I’ve feel like I’m recovering from being hit by a bus… A bus that makes me sweat, then freeze, have the most fun delirious thoughts, not eat, and hate everything.
What better time to write?! Stuck in bed and looooopy!
Jeeze, Beatrice needs extra postivity today because I’ve told her, “I hate everything…. I hate everyone except you….” about 75 times in the last 4 days.
I’ve been fightin’ the funk for 2 weeks. ACV every day. Garlic every day. Vitamins, good diet, and Zyrtec every day. Plenty of physical activity. But I think this past week of hellacious children just wore me down. Tuesday night my shoulders were hunched up to my earholes and I was achy. Wednesday night I couldn’t sleep, and I sweat like a pig. Thursday was the Thunder game.
Damn. I was excited about this. I bought a ticket the day they went on sale. Just knew I’d have a crew.
I love basketball. I love OK. It shoulda been awesome.
But it was just okay.
Everyone had their own plans, and I was the tagalong.
I felt like shit all day and after school, so it took me a long time to finally push my ass out the door and all the effort I could muster to hail a cab.
My seat was solo, and I needed more Thunder fans around me (for protection). Luckily, the lackofinterest from last summer was there with his new (official) girlfriend. YEA! And they invited me to sit with them! NEAT!
I had a fever by this point, and was texting the gusband, “I hate everything!”
Regardless, I played musical chairs for a while, and I had an okay time, but I really felt like THEshit and was dreading the 7 am school day looming ahead.
The school day was pretty good on Friday until the last period.
It was a group I’ve had before that were so terrible I refused to sub for them again the following day. The sub they ended up having also refused to ever sub for them again. They are embarrassing to their entire grade level.
Also, it was a math class (I don’t count so good), and the teacher was unexpectedly ill; so there were no plans… total chaos.
I told them at the beginning, “This is your chance to redeem yourself, transform my 1st impression of you, change your reputation. I’ve got some worksheets for you. Just do them quietly and chill out. I don’t feel well, and I’m not raising my voice. Please.”
I barely got the words out before kids were shouting, “I’m not doin’ shit,” and “We don’t have a bad reputation,” and “What time is class over?”
They were insanely loud and ridiculous. Not all, of course, but most.
Class is always over at 2:47, so at 2:46 I packed my computer, walked toward the door, turned off the lights, and left.
Stunned teenagers shrieked. And I just walked.
Now, that was NOT my best moment. That is NOT what I should’ve done. But we’re not in KansasOklahoma anymore, and my co-workers and administration support me. I technically did nothing wrong. And this class needs a clue.
So… then I coached a pretty good cheer practice (yep, I’m doing that again, and it requires its own post).
And I came home…
And just flopped.
I went straight to bed with the Bea. I sent some texts saying I would be sitting out St. Pat’s and the entire weekend.
Slept and sweat from 8:30 pm to 8:30 am.
Bathed in ACV and hot water until I was freezing? So weird.
Fell asleep at 5:30 pm. Awoke at 5:30 am to close my bedroom window because a group of people were seemingly having a laughing contest outside.
Slept until 8:30 am and actually felt okay enough to walk Beatrice.
I still haven’t eaten anything since yesterday’s bagel with almond butter at 1:30 (over 24 hours ago), but I do believe I’m on the mend.
Attempting some gentle yoga today with no inversions to release a lil’ more stress in my chest and back.
***
Luck! I think I may have actually had it this year. Sure, yesterday when I hated everyone except Beatrice, I thought, “Man, St. Pat’s sucks!”
And then again, this exact time last year I was on my way to Salida for some good bandluck… (Jesus, the fever-induced delirious dreams are NOT letting me forget that)
But ya know what? I didn’t spend a dime all weekend. I didn’t drink empty calories. I didn’t make bad decisions. And my fridge is fully stocked for the week ahead because I didn’t eat anything! Pretty good timing considering I’m a lil’ nervous about the next paycheck.
It’s like I got a free pass for the weekend for being a hermit in hibernation!
But…………. I still had internet access.
And I discovered that the only real boyfriend I had in my 20s, the only other real boyfriend I’ve ever had besides this one, got married yesterday.
This was a bad relationship. I was in it because someone wanted to be my boyfriend. And call himself my “boyfriend.” And it lasted over 4 years. But it was bad after 4 months. It was the longest relationship I had ever had at 6 months. It was not good, but it was what it was.
I’m not actually upset that he’s married. I am worried about the wife (I know her, and I know he’s no different than he used to be).
It just comes back to, “Why not me?”
I was never ever going to marry him. He was an alcoholic who waited 3 of those 4 years to ever say he loved me.
I feel sorry for the wife.
But why do gross people get to do this thing I want to do?
***
Funny! The high school reunion that formed in the wake of this opened my eyes and got me motivated to get out of that relationship.
We dated and lived together throughout the majority of my college career. I was a recluse for almost 5 years. The “reunion” put me in my social element without him. It put me around people I hadn’t seen in years. It put me back in high school, but now looking better (with eyebrows and good hair), around all of the “upper classmen.”
Guys noticed me. And I liked it. They had jobs and weren’t alcoholics.
It’s like the curse was broken. And (albeit 6 months later) I broke up with the dude dud.
The problem that I’m dealing with is that I keep meeting the wrong men/men like him.
2 boyfriends in 30 years?
Okay. That’s fine. But I’m ready to meet the boyfriend who wants to date me for the next 30 years.
Let’s get this party started.
If it doesn’t happen soon (i.e. 7 years), I’m gonna have to have a baby with a platonic life-partner, and that’s gonna be really hard to explain to my family.
(And now I’m in an even more foul mood because I’m retyping this post that somefuckinghow deleted)
I’m sad about leaving Colorado in 21 days.
I’ve met a new interest.
I’ve been eating nonsense.
I’ve haven’t heard any news from the NOLA job.
I need to save money.
The new interest is from Oklahoma.
I’ve been walking and biking more.
And no news is better than bad news.
I have to remember that moving is the only option.
I have to forget compliments like, “You remind me of royalty.”
I have to be completely conscious of what I’m consuming.
I have to Seecret this job into being, and continue with the emails and calls.
Sad, sad, sadness….
I just can’t believe I won’t be here in a month…….
Oh, and Z’s in town with his girlfriend.
Gross.
Good, good, goodness?
Yes. The camping trip was ahhhhh-mazing.
I made new friends (and no, none of them are the new interest).
Beatrice didn’t get eaten.
I ate 20 roasted marshmallows.
I could’ve had a snowball fight on the 4th of July (but time did not allow for it).
I went kayaking for the first time, and while I thought I might die/drown/get really cold and wet, I survived, and I’m so glad I did it. I used muscles I forgot that I had.
People were shooting guns across a hiking trail for 12 hours, so I couldn’t hike, and the noise was incredibly annoying, but all-in-all, it was pretty spectacular.
Wednesday night, one of my favorite neighborhood bars kicked-off its movie night with The Thin Man (that’s the name of the bar too). I love that film because it’s set in the 30s, it’s funny, and it portrays a very modern couple with an egalitarian dynamic.
I made a hairpiece that I had created in my mind a month ago. I had all of the supplies, but I just hadn’t gotten around to making it because I couldn’t really imagine ever wearing it. Since I was going to see a film from the 30s, I decided to do 30s-inspired hair.
It was easy and fun, and I didn’t look like a weirdo.
I asked my friend Cade, his beau, and the new interest to join me.
He looks like this
And we would look like this
It was a magical night, and the only drawback was that new interest’s dog destroyed my brand-new-handmade-hairpiece………… Glad I got pics!
The next day, Cade and I had a balcony day-date. We watched one of the many rain storms that rolled into Denver this week. All of this was accompanied by the sounds from a Victrola which was our only source of music since his jerkass landlord forgot to pay the electric bill for the building. No bother, the balcony provided plenty of entertainment.
Rain, rain, go away. Let me go drink wine in the park with Cry-bab-ay……..
I headed back towards Boulder to pick up lil’ Bea and turn directly around only to drive on the same road back to Conifer. It was around 2pm, and I looked foward to passing through the magnificent mountains in full sunlight.
I was tired and riding high on the night before, so I was moving slowly. It was a nice feeling, but I had to talk myself into going to the party. I arrived in Boulder, gave Bea some lovin’, ate a snack, cleaned up, and headed out. I was glad I had made the much longer drive to Salida the night before because I was familiar with route, and I was even able to locate the tricky turnout to “The Resort.”
About 5 people all live in this house on a hill in the mountains. It’s surrounded by trees, and occasionally black bears make an appearance around the place. They have a large deck and gazebo.
Here's a view from the deck
This going away party was filled with all types of people, many of whom I had met before. My connection to this group and the Cookin’ boys is my friends the Shockleys. I met all of these ColoRADo kids when I attended the Shockleys’ wedding 3 years ago. Oddly, the Shockleys did not attend this going away party; so it was my first, real “welcome to the group” function.
Due to the friends I’ve known for years before moving to CO, I’ve made many new friends through them. Most of the people I hang out with regularly now are people I’ve met through my long-time friends. It’s neat that I’ve developed these relationships enough that we can hang out on our own, without the original connection.
But the party was a little different. Every one was either there with someone, or they’ve been part of the group for so long that it didn’t matter.
Luckily, when I first arrived, I needed to begin prep-work on the food I brought to grill and share. That allowed me the perfect opportunity to say my hellos and meet new people while becoming comfortable in my environment. Also, since I was preparing sweet potato fries to share, lots of people were interested in the process.
That’s how I ended up meeting Annie. She was overly excited about the fries. “I just love ’em!” she said. A lot.
Once I was ready to get the fries on the grill, I ran in to Annie again on the deck. She was smoking a cig and loading a bowl. “Okay,” I thought, “she might be overly chatty, but we like at least 3 of the same things. . .”
She introduced me to her husband, Nick, and the 3 of us were fairly inseparable all night. They weren’t particularly intriguing or anything but we were kind of in the same boat: they were at the party because Nick works with one of the house’s residents. They knew less people there than I did.
They had intended to camp out, as did I; so we discussed setting up our tents next to each other since they had a lantern, and I couldn’t find my flashlight. Around beer #3, I suggested we get the tents up before the night progressed. Jokingly, I suggested we set them up on the deck. They loved the idea, and so did every one else.
It was the perfect place to watch the SuperMoon! Did y’all see that?!? Beautiful! It seemed to have an irridescent cloud around it at first (“rainbow cloud” I called it), but then I realized that I think it was just the extreme light from the moon creating what looked like clouds in an otherwise clear sky. Being high in the mountains was the best place to witness this sight. I do think, however, that it could have caused a little chaos.
Every one (except me, Annie, Nick, and about 4 others) seemed really on edge. Most of the couples were arguing all night, and there was just a sense of tension in the air.
Overall, I felt a little uncomfortable.
Oooh. Then the wind picked up, and I headed for my tent. Problem is I didn’t plan for wind. I planned for cold but not wind. You’d think it’d be the same thing, but it’s not. Since I was only camping for the night, alone, I couldn’t really weigh down the tent with my supplies (lack thereof) or my body, and since I had the brilliant idea of putting the tents on the deck, we weren’t anchored down into the ground.
I put Beatrice in the sleeping bag because she was freezing, but then I couldn’t move. I became concerned with the thought that I might suffocate my dog. The tent, meanwhile, was sliding around and blowing up all around me. Less people were staying the night at “The Resort” than we all had assumed; so I rolled up my mat and sleeping bag and moved inside to sleep on the living room floor. Bea was happy, but I was still uncomfortable.
The next morning I awoke around 8 and began cleaning up the kitchen with one of the residents of the house. This guy is from Oklahoma, but I never knew him there. We’ve only recently gotten to know each other, and he’s a real nice guy. The wind was blowing again, and we were making coffee, when Tiddy (the party’s star) emerged.
There I sat on Sunday morning with two other Okies talking about the uncharacteristic wind we’ve been experiencing lately (and still are). These OK transplants have lived here much longer than I, and although none of us knew each other while living in OK, we still have a deeper bond. Tiddy said something to the effect of, “We moved here to get away from that awful wind!” And the 3 of us shared a laugh and continued discussing the beauty that surrounded us.
We came here for a reason. We see it more clearly than others who grew up in this place. We don’t take the awe-inspiring beauty for granted.
Yes. I do believe so…. After all, we’re all just passing through…
St. Patty’s day was well celebrated but really low-key. I got up early-ish Friday morn with no plan other than to prepare for a road trip/2-day mini-vaca. I knew I’d be in the mountains, so that’s how I packed. Then, I looked up hotels in Salida, called the cheapest ones to check for vacancies and directions, but I didn’t make a reservation. M.L. was set to leave Denver at 5, and I needed to be en route to or already in Boulder to drop off Bea around 5, if I was going to Salida.
At 4 o’clock, I flipped a coin. Best 2 out of 3.
Heads = no Salida
Tails = Salida
Tails!
Heads
Tails!
Shit. One more for good measure…..
Tails…..
Salida.
I went. I saw. I conquered! It was great! It was a blast! It was a blur… Well, some of it.
This was my official theme song for Friday:
Half-crazed, I was doin’ this thang! Now, I had a plan. I know how to play this game: I’m going to Salida to see a band. I will get my own hotel room if necessary. Didn’t have anything better to do, so I just made a beautifully scenic 3-hour drive. I will be so cool and aloof.
Honestly, though, Z and the boys made me think I could quite possibly have a free place to stay, and I didn’t want to waste money (of which I have lil’ to spare) on a room I wouldn’t be occupying. So before I got too deep in the “no cell reception” mountains, I sent Z a text to let him know I was on my way. I figured, even if the hotel front-desk closed at 10, I’d get in by 9, and surely, by then I’d know if I was covered.
So I hit the road just in time to witness the ENTIRE sun setting. Driving southwest, I got to see an Okie-esque sky of purples, pinks, and oranges accented by rocky mountain tops. Mypod shuffle was clearly synced with my mood, and I literally drove off into the glorious sunset, excited but anxious. Then, the full moon was up and so bright. I was thankful for the extra light since there were deer and rams hanging out on and around the winding, mountain road. This drive wasn’t as terrifying as they tend to be. The roads were clear of snow and ice. It was so nice.
When I was 10 minutes from Salida, I called Kimmie, who was sweet enough to Bea-sit and guide me through this whole thing. I had to talk out my fear of losing a cheap room or losing money. I needed practicality in this fit of spontaneity. Since it was now 9 o’clock, we agreed that I should send Z another text saying that I was in town and about to make a reservation. I found the venue, which was only a mile from the hotel, and waited for a reply.
Ugh! Exactly what I was afraid of.
Oh, well. Ima big girl! I called the cheap hotel, reserved my room, and arrived to the cutest momNpop place. I threw my stuff in the room, downed a beer, and spruced up for the show. I still hadn’t heard from Z and was beginning to worry if I’d even be on the list.
Cool. And. Aloof! Damn it.
I was lookin’ pretty good and feelin’ pretty proud of just kickin’ out and goin’ for it. I had to feel confidence at this moment.
I walked into The V, showed the door-guy my ID, and said in the sweetest, cutest, nicest way possible, “Um. I might be on the list.”
Nothing will ever beat the look on a door-guy’s face when a blonde girl sweetly says she’s on the list AND SHE ACTUALLY IS.
Something like incredulity turned embarrassment… It will never get old! Ha!
Tip: while you’re being cool and aloof and all that shit in order to meet/greet/etc a band/celebrity/etc, always, always, ALWAYS be congenial (not flirtatious). Just be a lovable sweetheart. That way, you’re never the dick if you are or aren’t on the list.
So, dude gave me “the look,” checked my ID, the list, and lo and behold, “Yep! You sure are!”
Hand stamped. In.
I went straight to the bar, inquired about their milk-stout selection, and didn’t even survey the room. The kind bartender suggested I taste the various brews, and he helped me find the perfect one. I ordered and suddenly was hugged from behind. “How was the drive?” Z asked. (woo…be cool) I explained how picturesque and peaceful it all was, and then my beer arrived, so I turned back to the bar and kinda gave Z the ol’ shoulder.
He walked off, and I went to find a spot to post up. I saw the “roadie,” JD, I mentioned in an earlier post (JD, by the way, is not a roadie… silly me), and he motioned for me to come sit with him in front of the stage. We got to talking about the tour and whatnot. He’s a real sweet dude. He asked where I was staying and was bummed I wasn’t staying at The V (which is a tavern; more on that later). I explained that I had called earlier, but there were no vacancies. JD suggested I still hangout after the show. Damn. I knew I was going to lose that money. Just then, Z walked over to the table and held out a key to me. “I got you a room.”
“What?!”
“Yeah.”
“Did you not get my messages earlier?”
“Yeah. Well, I just got them.”
“God damn it.”
“What?!”
“I just got a room!”
“Cancel it.”
“They close in 10 minutes. Think I can do it?”
“Totally!”
“God damn it. God damn it!”
“What? You’re cursing the guy who got you a room?! Ha! Oh yea, but it is haunted,” I hear as I’m running out of the bar and calling the precious, old man working the front-desk at the Budget Inn.
In all of 15 minutes, I fly from the venue to the hotel, pull out my shit, get my refund, and arrive back at the venue.
I imagine this was Z’s official theme song on Friday (this is actually him and the boys, FYI):
Makin’ me feel right…….. Right at home for sure.
I was “with the band” apparently. At least that’s what I was told by about 12 different random people. Jeeeze, I could finally take a deep breath.
Z was still setting up, so JD showed me to my room. I had to ask, “So did Z say this place is haunted? That’s cool!” JD explained that The V was built over 100 years ago, and the rooms we were occupying used to house prostitutes. Yep. I was staying the night in a haunted whorehouse. But man! Did it have charm?! Sure, there were only two toilets and one sink/shower room for us all, but the interior exposed brick and original tin ceilings made up for it. My room is supposedly the most haunted.
Go to TripTutor (dot com) for great travel info!
Notice the door behind my bed; the rooms are usually connected in brothels.
My room
Hallway towards the bathrooms
I quickly settled my stuff into my room and headed back towards the venue. I decided to check out the WC on my way downstairs, but all 4 of our rooms were in the same hallway, so I ran in to JerseyMike, the drummer, who was practicing in his room. This guy is, in fact, such a soul-warmer. We chatted it up, and he explained that the previous night’s show in T-ride was kind of a disaster. Apparently,there were sound issues, no one was at the show, and they almost didn’t get paid, all because the bar did no promotion, and it was even St. Patty’s (WTF). I got a lil’ nervous because the crowd wasn’t great when I had been in the bar earlier.
So when I got back downstairs, JD and I finished our beers that we had ordered so much earlier. Z was mixin’ up some old 90s hip-hop by himself as an attempt to get the crowd movin’ before JerseyMike hit the drums. JD refilled our beers. I stood up and made it my job to recruit JD to dance like a fool with me in order to entice others to join (none of those people ever gonna see us again). I told JD we needed something guaranteed to make people get on the floor. I ran up to Z and said, “Nate Dog.”
That’s all it took! People hit the floor, and stayed put for 3 hours.
JerseyMike got on the drums. JD and I danced our asses off and drank beer after beer (maybe a Jager shot). Of course, I also rolled my ankle but surprisingly did NOT fall down (BONUS). Still hurt like hell, damn it.
Tearin' it up
At some point, the show was over. I was d-runk. Funny thing is, I didn’t think I was. But I know I was because now I can’t recall what really happened between the end of the show and the after party in my room. I remember kind of wandering around outside. I remember changing my shirt (why, I have no idea, other than the new shirt was warmer). I remember a bunch of people coming up to my room, all real nice. I remember smokin’ a lot and drinking a few more beers. I remember Z bringing his computer in and playing “Try a Little Tenderness,” and I sang. A lot. (Fuck, some of these memories are embarrassing.) I remember noticing JerseyMike’s finger was cut up and bleeding from accidentally hitting the high-hat. I remember doctoring up JerseyMike’s finger, insisting he wash it before I disinfect and bandage it. I remember playing DJ on Z’s computer and picking all my favorite songs. I remember meeting a talkative girl named Stephanie, and JD and I laughing (too much) because he had called me Stephanie by accident earlier. I remember JD wearing my feather-crystal-necklace and breaking it. I remember trying to put it back together and being rather successful. I remember walking to the bathroom and seeing JD and Z. I remember being talked into taking Molly at 5am (just a really tiny amount).
I kinda remember taking these pictures.
M and JD
JerseyMike
I kinda remember walking into Z’s room where he was laying down in the dark. I kinda remember him telling me he had a girlfriend. I kinda remember saying, “Damn it.” I kinda remember kissing him, then crawling over him, saying, “God damn it,” then laying down next to him.
Z and Me
Sadly, I don’t really remember the “good” parts, if any (sorry Kristen).
See, I woke up (super hungover) in my bed. Alone. Topless. Bra on. Shirt off.
I’m neither a sleepwalker nor a sleepstripper. Any time I’ve ever changed my sleeping location, I’ve remembered it. Any time I’ve ever taken my clothes off, I’ve remembered it (whether sleeping or otherwise).
Now that we were on neutral ground, who knows what happened. I was wasted. I truly have no clue what occurred in those few hours between plopping down on his bed and waking up in my own. I suppose there is a chance that the ghost of a dead hooker helped me out of my shirt and led me back to my room. I’m mostly freaked out by the idea that I was roaming the halls topless.
Although this was floating through my aching head, I managed to find a shirt, some ibuprofen, a can of soda, and a little more sleep. Once I began to roll around again, this time headache free, Z walked into my room saying, “Good morning,” and gathered his computer and whatnot. Then, he went back to his room, and after a few minutes, came back with my boots, smiling. I was surprised to discover that I had shed other clothing items; so I asked, “Hey, see a shirt in there? I woke up topless. . .”
Z quickly popped back into my room, “Topless?”
“Yeah. . . I don’t know,” I said without making eye contact.
I got up to survey the damage to my room
My trashed room the next morning.
Z walked back in my room with my shirt and handed it to me.
I asked him if we should clean up the room, and he agreed that we probably should. So we tidied up the place without speaking, yet it wasn’t at all awkward.
I saw JerseyMike hanging out in the park across the street from The V; so I loaded out my stuff and went to chill with him for a bit. We shared curry flavored granola and just enjoyed the beautiful mountain day. He teaches drumming and has just published a fabulous book, and we talked about writing and teaching. He is really something else.
We toyed with the idea of getting lunch. Z suggested I drink coffee and play pinball in the bar while he and JerseyMike loaded out their equipment from the night before. No one had heard from JD; so we just kind of took our time. When they were fairly finished, I was becoming concerned about JD, and Z asked me to check upstairs again. The woman cleaning the other rooms told me which one he was in, and I knocked gently reminding him that it was nearly 2pm.
He opened the door while still in bed and did not believe that it was really that late. I reminded him that we took drugs at 5am, and that I wasn’t believing much at this point either. . . other than that it really was 2pm and we all needed to hit the road.
I came back outside and heard a girl’s voice yell my name. Totally confused, I turned around to find Stephanie and her friends from the night before. Her talkative ass took another 30 minutes, and we all decided to forgo lunch, say our goodbyes, and get on the road.
Good long hugs, thank yous all around, and promises to keep in contact. Ah. . . Summer Camp. . .
On Sunday, when I knew they were on the road out of Colorado, I sent Z a text just to wrap up the whole experience.
“Have a safe journey home!”
“Thanks girl.”
“Sorry if I was less than lady-like at any point Friday night……..”
“It’s all good.”
“It was so great to see you!”
“Great hanging.”
I really do love that he was on my turf in Denver because now I have those memories, and I enjoyed whatever the fuck we had in Salida because that was a “safe zone,” but all of CO is really Z’s turf. He’s lived here much longer than me, even if he doesn’t reside here now.
It’s most likely true that because I’ve never inhabited the same space as Z for more than a week, he is more appealing. That unattainability and our ability to occasionally pass through each other’s lives and souls makes it all more attractive.
I’m happy with the whole thing. If I think about it too much, it’s ruined. Really, it was a lot of fun and no love was lost.
There is a charming gardener making my happy soul blossom, and I’m quite grateful.
Now, is that necessarily good and right?
Don’t ask me!
Due to the lack of feedback, I’ve been left to fester with my thoughts……
Thoughts that are urging me towards……..
Salida.
Everything that I encountered today pushed me in this direction.
Conversations with Z, he posted all the pics, I’m on the list for tomorrow’s show, the Tarot cards said to go…..
Also, two years ago, Z was only three hours away (just like this time), and I didn’t go…. Always wondered what if….
Shit.
It’s midnight here…. And I’m quite sure that this time tomorrow, I’ll be in Salida. Don’t know where I’m gonna stay….. Don’t know what’ll happen…… But in the next 13-18 hours, I’ve got a lot to do and decide.
Not only is this rendezvous an option, I was also invited to a free weekend in Winter Park by my new girlfriend M.L. And I’ve got this party in Conifer as a possibility….. Man! When it rains, it pours! For better or worse……
Regardless of what I decide, I’m playing in the mountains this weekend. I’ve got a Bea-bee-sitter, and mama’s goin’ get in to somethin’! Dunno what yet…..
Seriously, do any of you out there have any advice?
I’d be much obliged 🙂
I mean, look at these guys! Don't you wanna hang out with them?
Still playing with the ideas, but I also have other things that need my attention. Honestly, if I go to Salida on Friday, it will be spontaneous. I’m still on the fence…..
The goddesses of fate and whatnot are tryin’ to tempt me to keep ponderin’ Z, and there’s a long list ahead to occupy my mind, but right now I’m thinking about luck this St. Pat’s Day, and I’m lovin’ the quote/theme for this post: be thankful for good fortune, forget the ick, take time for natural wonders, and don’t be a dick. I like it.
I may not have a pot o’ gold, but I’ve got a lil’ green bowl o’ pot 🙂
It’s the little things really.
***
Smellydog smellydog! What will I feed you?
-Beatrice needs a bath and new food. The bath is #1 on the list because (scroll down if you’re easily disgusted) she was constipated today and now has a poopbuttsupreme.
Gimme gimme food!
-On a whim, I bought mussels (on sale) and linguine. Very excited to try this easy, fancy meal. According to my freezer, it’s time to make a few more meals; so I’ll be reporting new kitchen creations soon.
Guess who’s coming to dinner?
-I’m getting annoyed making meals for one. I love to host. I need dinner guests! And maybe I’ll have some soon. Some of my comedian friends from OKC are (hopefully) coming to visit sometime this month. One’s dealing with a divorce, so it’s all up in the air. Still, I’m excited to (possibly) host friends in my new city! It sucks that I’m kinda backing out of the stand-up game, but we’ll have a good time.
I need a job, damn it.
-No news, no word, no nothing. At least I’m sittin’ pretty for the time being. Very excited about the tax return. And by the end of the month (likely much sooner), I’ll have my computer back up and runnin’!
I gotz my hrrr did, grrrl!
-And it looks great! I get a mini-partial highlight about 3 times a year, and it looks so natural that I have to find the right stylist who uses the right products. I refuse to go back to the days of all-over color nightmares! Luckily, a chick I know named Tiddy works at a salon a mile from my APT and she uses Goldwell. I got notes from my previous stylist, and the results were perfect. Sadly, Tiddy is moving to Crested Butte to open her own salon at the end of the month.
And I’m attending her going away party this Saturday in Conifer!
-I only know Tiddy through mutual friends in CO, but she’s an Okie with whom I have many different mutual friends in OK. Plus, she’s totally rad and down to earth. Crested Butte is one of the most magically delicious places I’ve ever been, so I definitely let her know that if she needs a receptionist at the new salon, I’d probably jump on the opportunity (her boyf is opening a tattoo shop there as well, so there’s another job prospect)! The party in Conifer this weekend is occurring at the same time as the Supermoon!!!! I went to this locale in Conifer last August and was overcome by how beautiful our friends’ place really is. They call it “The Resort” because it seems fitting: 3 bedroom house hidden on the side of a hill surrounded by trees with a huge covered deck in the back. We’ll grill, hunt JelloShotEasterEggs (Tiddy’s special request), and camp out under the stars AND THE SUPERMOON!!!! Supermoon’s are said to cause chaos….. I’m glad I’ll be in good hands. I may need a buddy to tag along! Any takers?
-St. Patrick’s Day
On this day in 2006, my friends’ dad passed away. Casey and Callie and I went to the same high school (Fighting Irish) where both of our dads taught. They shared an office, and their classrooms were next door to each other. They we’re each other’s work-husbands.
In 2006, I was teaching at the only other Catholic high school in OKC, and my students were set to play baseball against my alma mater on St. Pat’s day. It seemed like a cute, Irish tradition to begin, and it’s still going on to this day.
I was supposed to attend the game, but instead, I decided to go out drinking. My dad, of course, was at the game (every game) and called to give me updates all day. I answered the phone, by this time rather annoyed, to hear my dad’s feeble voice say, “Joe’s gone.”
“Where?” I ask.
“Where are you?”
“About to get out of the car and walk in to a party. What’s going on?”
“Joe had a heart-attack on 3rd base. I tried…..”
“What?”
“I was the first responder…. I tried….. but I couldn’t…… I couldn’t help….. He’s gone…. It should’ve been—”
“No. Don’t go there.”
“The paramedics arrived and continued CPR in the ambulance. I followed them to the hospital, but………. My work-best friend…….”
The following week was like a high school reunion. Casey’s friends and Callie’s friends, 4 years apart, met every night to reminisce. We discussed how ironic it was that this well-known baseball coach with 20+ years at an Irish school fell on an Irish holiday.
We held memorial vigils on the baseball diamond (which continued for years after) where former students and players would come to lay flowers, visit, and mourn in the dugout. When I heard the kids were there the day following Joe’s death, my first thought was, “What can I do for my friends?” And I was reminded of my favorite Dad and Joe story that I believe formed my friendship with Casey and Callie because we always loved telling it.
Joe had cancer back when Casey was a freshman and Callie and I weren’t yet at BMCHS. Not many people at school knew about Joe’s upcoming surgery, and Casey was taking it hard. He went to see my dad one day after school and cried discussing it. My dad wanted to visit his friend, but didn’t know what to bring a guy as a “get well” gift. He asked Casey if he could stop by the house and drop something off, and Casey told him that Joe probably wouldn’t come to the door but Callie could take it.
So my dad gathered his guy-appropriate gift, and knocked on the door. A pre-teen Callie was then handed a bouquet of beers: two 6-packs of 12 different dark brews with a balloon hovering above each handle. Her eyes lit up. “Don’t drink it all!” he told her, “Let your dad have at least one!”
So as I drove down Western Ave., tears in my eyes, I stopped at the exact same liquor store my dad had used so long ago, selected 12 different beers, and assembled them in two, cardboard 6-packs. I walked into the dugout to find Casey and Callie (who were not expecting me), and their eyes lit up as I handed a bouquet of beers to each of them and said, “Don’t drink it all. Let your dad have at least one.”
This title was a friend’s status update 2 nights ago, and I couldn’t get over how it perfectly expressed my current state of mind…
Remember yesterday’s post? Well, I’m thinking about its theme again….
“The heart has its reasons that reason ignores completely.”
Story of my fucking life!
I might make a 3 hour trek and spend $$ on a hotel room in Salida this Friday night. I might, instead, get my computer fixed (found a place willing to do it for $50 less right around the corner from my APT). I might go crazy and do both.
“What’s in Salida?” you ask. Well, my friends’ band is touring Colorado this week. Their first stop was in Denver last Friday night.
I had planned to stay in that evening as I had had a full day picnicking in the park’s warm sun, and on my way home, I was called to act quickly and assist a man who had fallen asleep at a stop sign (with his car running). Of course, I initially gave him the benefit of the doubt, assumed he was diabetic, directed traffic around him, checked his pulse, turned off the car, and called 911 (3 times, mind you, before anyone answered), only to discover he was WASTED and had passed out. Regardless, I’m glad he got off the road safely. So, needless to say, I was D-O-N-E for the day.
That is, until I started reading FaceSpace status updates from the day….
I read, “Playing at C’s in Denver tonight @ 9pm. Where my Colorado folks at?” -at 1:25pm
I respond, “WHAT?!?! I’m so there!” -at 4:54pm
I knew they’d tour here in the Spring, I just thought I’d actually pay attention to their progress and remember that March is Spring! Ooops.
So I rallied and made plans to get out and support the boys!
This act of spontaneity, however, was fueled by more than friendship.
***
I’m in love with a celebrity.
No. Not really. While I have many a tale of celebrity encounters and rendezvous, I’ve never connected with one like I have with this unattainable man.
He’s NOT really a celebrity. Too an extent, however, it really feels like it sometimes.
Problem is (well, one of the problems is) this is unhealthy. Unreachable goals are not options for this practical gal. Apparently, women with “daddy issues” tend to have this problem. I’ve seen it all too often, and I usually scoff at it. It makes one constantly ask “what if” and flip-flop over really great men/women due to thinking, “I might have a chance with X, Y, or Z.” Unattainable men, whether they be famous, married, in a different area code, or worse, all of the above, are simply dangerous attractions that must be avoided. Hell, while we’re at it, let’s throw musicians and alcoholics in the mix.
So, okay. I need to avoid men with substance abuse problems, who are unattainable, and might have the potential for stardom.
Easy, right?
Well, not really….
***
I met Z in 2008, and as cheesy as it sounds, we literally gravitated towards each other and were inseparable, mentally and physically attached for the next 3 days. During that time, we found many commonalities and agreed that distance (1600-ish miles) was the glitch keeping us apart. It wasn’t like we were professing our star-crossed love for each other, but there was ‘something’ between us that couldn’t be denied.
Over the past 3 years, we’ve kept in touch.
Last July, I saw Z for the first time since 2008. I was sure he was in a relationship, but we were friendly and acknowledged the chemistry without acting upon it. I think we were both taken aback with being in each other’s presence again, sharing the same airspace, finally. All this time, all we had were calls that dwindled to texts that lessened to an occasional MyBookFaceSpace greeting.
Now, we were in real-time, flesh and bone. Soon, we would only have 1100-ish miles between us.
We kept up minor communication after last July. Again, I am fairly sure he’s in a relationship, yet he still occupies a small place in my mind and heart. Thoughts like, “I was here first,” and “What if,” and “Damn it to hell, why didn’t I move here 10 years ago?” torment me relentlessly. It’s neither fair nor healthy, but it is what it is.
It doesn’t help, that we just spent 20+ hours together that intensified my confusion/adoration, nor does it help that he’s currently mere hours from me at this very moment.
***
I show up to Z’s venue with one of his good friends. This guy has been awesome to me and currently lives in Denver. We met at the same time I met Z. We buy our tickets and hang outside the venue. I see Z inside eating a sandwich, and I have to literally remind myself to stay cool. I get so flustered around him due to my schoolgirl crush and realwoman feelings. Sillier than when I’ve met *real* famous people…
He comes outside and greets us with……. free tickets. Damn it. Yeah, I love ya Z, but shit, I just spent $16. Oh, well…. gotta love being on “the list.”
More friends have gathered, and around that time, our wasted friend makes a comment that I am “like family” as he apologizes for calling me the wrong name again. Z gives me a look, and I can tell he’s thinking about when I first joined their “family” back in ’08.
Suddenly, the conversation switches, and they’re all talking about the new band setup (Z and his drummer have a side project separate from the regular band stuff). Z makes a random, awkward statement about how I was at their very first shows, and the conversation ends with Z and I left outside, our circle of friends has left us, seemingly on cue.
He hugs me for a while and asks what I’ve been up to. After the obligatory conversation, we stand in silence. Luckily, a car blasting rap passes and breaks the tension, and Z and I begin to discuss an idea I’ve always found amusing: one day in the not-so-distant future, little old ladies and gents will be bumpin’ jamz.
When the show begins, I’m enamored, and I quickly realize I’m standing (very obviously) in awe with a giant, shiteating grin on my face. Again, I literally remind myself to stay cool. It is at this point, however, that I remember that Z is only playing for 60 minutes, and I was unsure of his plans after the show. Would this be it?
When the show ended, I pulled some old tricks out of my “how to be cool and successfully mingle with the band at a show” handbook. I appeared occupied, aloof, and bored. I gave him time for his fans, and when the coast was clear (fearing this would be my last chance), I approached Z and thanked him for the breath of fresh air he had brought to my world.
Yeah…. I called him oxygen. Interpret as you will….
Then, I walked away. I headed out front for a smoke. “Lemme get a drag off that,” said a familiar voice from behind me. My face must have shown my delight to see Z because he blushed and winked, and my mind went back in time 3 years to that last cigarette we shared at 5 am whilst enjoying the sunrise over the lake…… I saw the same look in Z’s eyes that beckoned me to him so long ago.
So at this point, we’re officially mind-fucked. I head back inside to think while he loads his equipment into their vehicle. I get a beer, and think it’s all done. He’s gonna load out and leave. But wait. He’s at the bar ordering drinks! Back outside for me! What to do….. Shit! Z’s back outside. Now, the fans are flocking, but some of my friends are chillin’; so I stay. We all smoke a bowl. As I’m hiding behind the band’s car to clear the pipe, Z walks up and asks, “You know that old Meatloaf song, ‘You can cheat on me…. I can cheat on you’?” “Game of Love?” I say. “Yeah,” Z smiles. I stay hidden behind the car a little longer….
See, at this point, I know what’s going through both our minds, “Should we? Could we?” I, at least, have the foresight to not provoke the matter. But then, things change as I emerge from my hiding place and keep drinking.
We watch the other performances and talk in between songs. I meet the new roadie, and I’m just drunk enough to let him know that I’ve got plenty of floor space for crashing.
Z and the boys agree that this is a good offer, and they give me a ride to my place with friends following closely behind.
We had a mini-party, and I mainly concerned myself with hosting rather than whoring.
Now, Z was finally on my turf, but the excess of friends surrounding us did not allow for further revisiting of our past. Backburner.
I did, however, remind him of my favorite song, which I sent to him last July and asked for a cover/remake/mashup. He agreed that he needed to get on that and that I could expect it to be done soon, especially for me.
Z had gone to the bathroom, and he came out excitedly asking, “What is this?!?” He was referring to a necklace I had planned to wear that night, knowing Z would love it. I had just been so rushed and anxious that I forgot it on the bathroom counter.
The next morning, I made tea and oatmeal for the boys, and while showers were being taken and travel plans were being finalized, Z and I finally got some one-on-one time again. I love how truly easy our conversations are. Like we’ve known each other forever.
He insisted that he wanted to get his ears pierced. While this was the most odd request he could’ve made, I honored it, and soon we were strolling down Colfax.
Now, this really was the “end” that I had been dreading all night. He was about to be gone again. For realz. My strategy for dealing: be cute and charming. Z’s strategy: be charming and handsy. Reeeeaaaal handsy…. Sure, he asked about my stand-up stuff, asked me if piercings hurt too badly, asked about my tattoo, asked me to go on tour, asked about life in Denver. Then, when he saw that I was wearing the necklace he had raved about the night prior, he seemed to be fixated. I told him a friend had made the piece and would gladly make him one as well. Since I had shared Z’s music with her and she enjoyed and appreciated it so much, she’d be happy to custom make one free of charge. This is the exact moment that we stumbled upon a coffee-house/bar (of which Denver has many), and it was like Z’s version of Xmas morning. “Coffee AND whiskey AND I’m getting an awesome crystal-bullet necklace AND I’m getting my ears pierced?!?!!”
I just wanted to answer, “Yes. I am awesome. I live in an awesome place and have awesome friends. Sit a spell and stay a while.”
This song has always reminded me of Z because I listened to this album incessantly after we first met… It’s really quite fitting…
When we arrived at the piercing place (what are they supposed to be called?), Z thanked me for being his “hotgirl hostess/tourguide.” Um, anytime, I thought. He was clearly nervous about the tiny holes that were minutes from being punched in his ears (tiny holes that little girls have punched into their ears every day). It was cute. He asked for my help selecting the jewelry and continued to ask for my verdict on whether this whole endeavor was “gay.” Assuring him that if he wants it, it’ll be cool. He’s a musician, so it’ll be cool. And since he’s not ready for a tattoo, it’ll be cool to be able to remove these things with no regret. Really cute.
We were called back to get pierced, and Z handed me his camera. I hung back while he went through a comedic consultation with a very tatted up and pierced lady. “Yes, I’m 31, and no, I’ve never had my ears pierced before.” Hilarious.
Wanna know what’s not hilarious? Piercer-lady assumed we were a couple, and Z didn’t disagree! Well, neither did I, but he (with only one word) affirmed it before I could negate it.
Hrrmmmph…..
We walked towards my place, and Z stopped in to Burger King to get crowns for us after seeing kids wearing them on the street.
I got the best hug and another invite to join them on the road, but I walked away.
Z and I have talked since then, hence my thoughts on going to Salida in a few days to see him again. I told him that it’s killing me that they’re in my state, I ain’t got shit to do, and I’m not following, why?
I don’t know what I’m looking for with Z. I do think, however, that if I want to find the right man for me, I need to change my behaviors. On the other hand, I don’t want to miss a chance at something that I’ve toyed with in my head and heart for 3 fucking years. Will I regret it if I don’t try? Will I pass out at the stop sign of love with my car running? Can I find someone to be my oxygen who’s completely within my reach? Can I move on and forget about the love I feel for Z when he’s near me AND hundreds of miles away?
One more caveat, he hasn’t posted any of the pics from our outing on Saturday, yet he’s posted many other’s from the tour… Puzzling…
Okay. I’ve given you the facts. Now, here’s a quiz:
Z’s in Colorado. Why didn’t I get in the car with them and go on tour?
A) I’m an idiot.
B) I’m smart.
C) It’s still an option.
D) It would take money and energy (all kinds of energy).
Translation: The heart has its reasons that reason ignores completely.
What a fantastically fun-filled and incredibly exciting past few days…
Beginning with Fat Tuesday, which I got all “done up” for with beads and everything, I had the most interesting and (accidentally) French-inspired week.
I thought Cade and I would go out to celebrate Mardi Gras, but instead we shared a bottle of Beaujolais on his UH-MAZING balcony and read each other’s Tarot cards. Refreshing….
I was also feeling a little congested due to the temperature flux and wind and blooms, but the week was too beautiful to stay indoors blowing my nose. On the plus side, I had a very raspy sexy-voice that a French woman like Phoebe Buffay could appreciate….
On Thursday, it was 79fuckingdegress in the city!!!! Cade and I planned a picnic in the park (unbeknownst to me, a French “invention”). I took my new picnic basket I scored from Goodwill filled with cheeses, fruit, sandwiches, veggies, and berry tea, and Cade brought his guitar, a blanket, scrumptious dessert, and ginger beer. So many Denverites were lounging like us, and all I could think was, “No one would ever do this in Oklahoma…..”
Cade looked like a model
So did I. . .
Just kidding. I just wish I looked like this model… (I even took my lunch over to the park the very next day becuase I just couldn’t resist!)
After the picnic, Cade and I went to an estate sale where we made up our own story about the owners. We began outside, and discussed the “woman’s” love of gaudy crucifixes and pigs and the “man’s” affection for power tools and lawn care equipment. Then, we found ourselves in the master bedroom filled with Clay Aiken and Elton John CDs and only men’s clothing in a closet with shelves labeled “Don’s work shirts” and “Nick’s sleep-pants.” So, like ya do, Cade bought their box o’ VHS gay porn circa ’86, and all I got was a cutting board and a fedora….
Then, per my insistence, we had to stop in at a local pub for a taste of their Bombshell Blonde beer that was aged in a merlot barrel, called Dirty Blonde. There were only 3 kegs made, one for each pub, and I’m so glad I got a glass.
One day last week, I discovered one of my blog-followers has been writing her own blog! It’s fantabulous and a great encouragement/assistant for all of us who love to eat GOOD food and must move our bodies to work off said food. Check it!
That discovery led me to Kimmie’s sister’s blog. BONUS! Readers, lemme tellya, you need to read this.
This girl is living the dream in Paris and couldn’t be more wisenormalgirlnextdoory. Love her. She also is writing another blog in honor of her life which will be a very intriguing read as it progresses. Such an inspiration….
Reading Firecakes has me thinking about an old trend… Remember this phenomena?
There’s a lot of merit to the “live like a French woman” lifestyle. “In fact, the French report that only about 11% of people there are obese. That compares with about 30% of people in the USA who are 30 or more pounds over a healthy weight.”
Walking everywhere is definitely a dynamic component of the plan that must be implemented into more people’s lives, but it all makes sense. The other important ingredient is WHAT they eat, “a wide variety of fresh foods, including plenty of fruits and vegetables, but not a lot at one sitting… They value quality over quantity.” FRESH and QUALITY are the key terms. I mean, when I buy and enjoy fine cheeses and other gourmet/delicious foods, I tend to savor and save them. When it’s good (and expensive) ya relish every bit of it.
I say it a lot but I must; I am so thankful to finally live in a place that motivates people to be active and enjoy natural wonders and promotes healthy living by providing access to fresh, quality foods. I can walk, hike, ski, find fine foods with ease, experience 300+ days of sunshine (without humidity), and see awe-inspiring nature whenever necessary.
I love every bit of it.
Oh, and I’m closer to these boys who reminded me why I’m here and showed me a very eventful and entertaining 20 hours (give er take). . .
Friday night ended with one of my favorite bands crashing at my house while my friend Evangaline read Voltaire aloud to us all at 3 am…. Very French, no?
Perhaps more on that later. . .
Whit
**PS: I borrowed Kimmie’s internetmachine to add pics (YEA!)
Damned Scribbling Woman 