Sunday, April 27, 2008

Turning 25 Denver Style

A quarter of a century? Are you fucking kidding me? When did this happen? I feel like my age doesn't match my actions or my feelings. Sometimes when I'm at work, I literally feel like a six year old playing "office" like when I was actually six and I'd bust out my mom's old electric typewriter and bat glasses from Halloween, make a faux name plate out of construction paper that read "Ms. So-and-so" and play "secretary."
Remember when you were eight and 25 was so old? I thought I'd be prancing around in business suits as a business executive, married to Ken (screw Barbie, this is my fantasy) and a mother of two by the age of 25, but somewhere in there, the childhood fantasy faded into the reality that 25 is actually just the tiniest step up from childhood for most people. Your mom may not wipe your ass anymore, but you still need her to hold your hand from time to time — or in my case — every other day. Yeah, I know I'm awesome.
And, in celebration of my young age of 25, my ladies Kate and Lacey hopped on a plane with me to visit our friend Whitney in Denver.
We attempted to be all "naturey" by driving to Colorado Springs and visiting Seven Falls and Cave of the Winds the first full day we were there. Ha! We were MADE for the wilderness...
Seven Falls: Hiking up about 200 million stairs, asses burning, to find the trail was closed, deciding that our puny Kansas lungs had altitude poisoning, holding back the urge to freak out as we decended the giant staircase and chalking our wildlife count up to two - a couple of ducks and two scroungy ass looking deer we saw on the side of the road while driving out of the park. We were really hoping for a Yeti. However, the guy at the gate did have the most killer handlebar 'stache I've ever seen and the gift shop had an abundance of stupid shit to take pictures with - bonus.
Cave of the Winds: At least three unique and breathtaking photo opportunities ensued - Kate and I riding a giant bear sculpture, me sitting on a mechanical pony for children in the lobby that proudly displayed a giant barrel marked "Tequila" (now kiddies, remember, tequila makes you have sex with inappropriate people...) and the four of us once again running rampant in the gift shop. I was more amused by the fact that the stalactites were extremely phallic-like than the fact that I was in an underground cave explored by pioneers for centuries. During the tour we stopped at this piece of plexiglass protecting a huge pile of pennies, chains, paperclips and bobby pins and the tour guide told us that a couple of unmarried women ages 20 and 21 - apparently old maids in the 1800s - left their hairpins on that same ledge. A year later when they came back, the hairpins were still there, they had found husbands and were happy. We tossed our pennies over the glass and nothing fell off the ledge, so apparently, according to the legend, our 25-year-old, old maid asses will be married in a year - ick, please say that's not true...
That night we met some of Whitney's friends and explored downtown Denver nightlife hitting The Tavern and Theorie - the old Real World house that is now a martini bar. After meeting some douchebaggy men, which made me feel right at home, we got back to Whitney's apartment somehow, passed out and woke up to a heinous hangover. And, just as we arrived at Washington Park for a barbeque that afternoon, we were greeted by snow flurries, which turned into a full on cold ass snowstorm. As we sat hovering over the fire Whitney's boyfriend Gene had made in one of the park grills like a group of bums, Lacey declared that "we are not fucking doing this" and we packed it up and headed to a nearby restaurant. Whitney promptly puked up her hamburger in true delayed hangover fashion when we got back to her place spawning the quote of the trip, "I threw up my hamburger in a hamburger shape."
But, by the time dinner time rolled around, the hamburger barfing had subsided and we were all ready to go out and celebrate my 25 years of awesomeness on this planet. I donned my fabulous black and green tube dress (purchased at Britches - found only in Kansas and Missouri - try not to be jealous now L.A.) and a pair of new oh-my-god-I'm-going-to-break-my-ankle-or-my-feet-are-going-to-bleed-and-fall-off sky high heels. We went deaf while eating dinner at Lime downtown because of the ear piercing techno happy DJ, but I was happy to dance in our booth while stuffing my face with the best quesadillas and margaritas ever.
We got the special Lime birthday poster taped up next to our table on the wall attracting the attention of a group of men, who lined up to give me birthday kisses. They weren't half bad reassuring me that sometimes you get lucky enough to run into somebody of the opposite sex that you can actually stand hanging out with for a night - maybe it was just birthday luck. We took advantage of VIP and danced on tables before hitting up a few more places and walking the six blocks back to the parking garage where my baby toes fell off as I cried and peeled my feet out of my montrous heels.
Our second attempt at a barbeque in the park the next day was a success - almost too successful in fact since it was 90 degrees. The guys from the night before even showed up including the one the girls deemed "Birthday Boyfriend Bobby." How cute.
We reluctantly hopped on a plane that night and headed back to reality, but it was a birthday that couldn't have come at a better time. Thanks girls - I needed that.

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