So, I saw my first snow of the season and froze my ass off at a baseball game at the beginning of October this past weekend, both of which made me rethink the possibility of moving to Denver for grad school. Every time it snows or drops below 30 degrees in Kansas City my relentless bitching can be heard for miles and that usually isn't until November or so. I just wasn't cut out for cold, plus I hate skiing. Have you ever seen the second Bridget Jones' Diary movie - "The Edge of Reason?" The scene where Bridget is on a skiing vacay with Mark Darcy - yeah, that's me, flailing helplessly down the mountain like a dumbshit. I'm usually fairly coordinated in most aspects of life what with the years of formal training and success in dance, but for some reason it all goes out the window when you add cold and snow and attach skis to my feet. It's less than flattering. I'd rather be floating on yacht or laying on the beach chugging a margarita - so sue me.
This was the first time I went to Denver with more than the goal of partying my ass off with my pal Whittah. I got in the car and drove nine hours by myself through the exquisite western half of Kansas and the even more breathtaking, if that's possible, eastern part of Colorado in a quest to answer two important questions that could impact my life greatly - 1.) Is this school - the University of Colorado-Denver - kick ass enough for me to pick up my life and move in order to reap it's educational benefits and 2.) If question No. 1 is yes, then can I feasibly live in Denver? The answers: 1.) I don't know yet and 2.) Probably. Those sound like pretty vague answers for an 18 hour round trip drive, but I have several options to weigh before making a decision. Regardless, I saw this trip as sort of a pilgrimage - a first step to changing my seemingly never ending sinking ship of a life for the better.
I won't bore you with the details of the business school open house, but after navigating my way through downtown Denver during snow flurries and rush hour by myself and paying out the ass for parking, I basically found out the school caters to people who work full time by only offering classes in the evening one or two nights a week or online. This is not the kind of lifestyle I was planning on leading while in grad school, so this is mainly what I'm struggling with. Everything else seems pretty appealing.
After I got the important stuff out of the way, I was then able to focus on the usual goal of partying my ass off with Whittah. I came back to the apartment after the open house to find it full of friends ready for dinner and "The Office" - the Jim and Pam wedding episode of course - and ready for me to reveal the present I had made for the guy Whittah is dating.
One night after a particularly drunken Rockies game, Whittah and Chris called me with a special request. Chris had seen the "True To You" bracelet I had made for Whittah and wondered if I could fashion something to be worn on the male genitalia for special occasions. I said "sure thing" and while Chris was fairly certain after waking up and thinking about the request the next morning that he had scarred Whittah's dear friend for life, Whitney just replied, "That's the thing with Lara. She doesn't think it's weird. She's going to make one and bring it." And, that, my friends, is when I added cock sock maker to my repertoire:
The girls cracked up and marveled at it's carefully constructed drawstring for maximum staying power, however the boys (excluding Chris, who didn't see his gift until Sunday) who came over later seemed quite scared and slightly disgusted by me and my creation and stayed far away. I was like, dude, this is for YOUR man part that you guys all seem to love so much. It's not like I pulled out some alternate form of menstrual flow protection and a working rubber vagina for a demonstration. And, while I'm used to people looking at me like I'm crazy, weird or at the very least, slightly odd on a nearly daily basis for the things I do, say and think, this little craft was not my idea. I mean, I'd gladly take credit for it just for the pure hilarity of it all, but it was made strictly because of Chris' request. In all actuality, during the construction process, I Google imaged "cock sock" and found that they do exist mainly in knitted form. Go do it, I dare you. Therefore, neither one of us invented this thing.
So, just because I have the ability and perhaps the knack for lovingly making a schlong coozie with my own two hands does not make me a pervert, but rather someone who likes to keep her customers happy...and happy he was:
We should all just pull the sticks out of our asses and see this for what it is - a funny novelty.
In the midst of the cock sock hype, I witnessed my first inner city talent show at one of Whittah's schools Friday afternoon - so much gyrating and gospel-like voices. Then we made our way to Oktoberfest on Friday night at Mile High Station, which involved drinking gallons of Hefeweizen, singing with an old German dude in lederhosen, assloads of pretzel necklaces, dancing and playing the alpenhorn - yes, I looked that up, just think RIIIIICOLA!
In fact Logan, our sorority sister Andrea's (a.k.a. Yado) husband, danced so hard that he knocked Whittah to the ground in one fell swish of the hips and I almost pissed my pants and died laughing because like I've said before, nothing is more funny than people falling down....except when they're old with potentially fragile hips, but Whittah is young, healthy and DRUNK, so it was totally cool...
AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAA! It's still funny.
RIIIIIIICOLA! This guy said he was actually in a Ricola cough drop commercial.
They were selling these necklaces at the beginning of the night, but they had so many left over at the end that they started just throwing them around your neck. Right before we left, Logan purposely bear hugged me so hard that we heard this loud CRUNCH and watched and laughed when it rained broken pretzels all over the floor when he pulled away. The clean-up crew, who was probably watching the whole time, was surely thrilled. Damn drunk people.
We continued the dance party at the Ginn Mill downtown, which, by the way, doesn't have a dance floor. For some reason when "Devil Went Down to Georgia," came on, I felt it necessary to yell, "YEAH! GO KANSAS!" Perhaps because it was country-tastic? I don't know. Damn drunk people.
The next day, we traveled down to Colorado Springs to visit Andrea, Logan, their new house and their Corgi named Oscar, who they call, to my delight, Mr. Poopers. Look how cute:
After scraping ice off the car in OCTOBER, we headed back to Denver to watch Kansas State lose horrendously to Texas Tech - oh Wildcats, you're making my heart hurt - then met some people out for more games and vodka to drown our sorrows. We ended up at a bar called The Celtic and danced to a classic rock cover band.
At the end of the night, our three sheets to the wind asses looked like this:
In the back a cab driven by a man whose name was apparently Tupac. He told us tales of his mother in India and the crazy woman that got him to move from California to Denver. He agreed to take us through the McDonalds drive thru that took forever and we bought him an orange juice for the road. We decided it was a good idea to watch the "What's in a gin and tonic!?" episode of "How I Met Your Mother" once we got home while stuffing our faces with fries and apple pies. After Whittah's roommate and boyfriend walked in to us singing songs quite loudly, we decided to get ready for bed. Easier said than done apparently because as I was reaching into the shower to retrieve my face wash, I toppled headfirst into the tub and yanked the shower curtain and rod down on top of clumsy drunk ass. Somehow I managed to wiggle out of the tub so I could proceed to lay on the bathroom floor with Whittah and laugh hysterically about the incident for several minutes.
Despite the frigid temperatures, we braved nearly an entire Rockies game on Sunday night just to see them lose to the Phillies anyway. I learned about Rocktober, which is apparently a big deal and is now over because of said loss. I don't know. I don't give two shits about sports unless it involves lots of purple Wildcats and nice butts in tight pants.
Then, suddenly it was time to go home and I was sort of indecisive about the whole thing. On one hand I had no desire to drive nine hours back to my life in Kansas City with no job and no signs of a revival, but on the other hand, it made me realize how little time I have left with my family and my hometown before it's time to head back to school wherever that may be. It made me ask the question, "Can I do this? Can I be so far away from my family and still be happy?" I missed my little crackhead of a dog, Andy, so much. He's my constant companion and I feel a small sense of purpose in caring for him in this slump, so I felt a little lost without him for those couple of days. Of course, he'll be going with me wherever I go, so I find a little comfort in knowing that.
Of course, I arrived at my parents' house at about 10 p.m. Monday and was greeted by only Wolfie. Andy just stared at me blankly from a blanket on the couch in the living room. What the hell? I thought. Was I gone too long and now he doesn't know me? Then my mom said, "He tranquilized!" Yes, Andy was stoned out of his mind...and his right paw was all bandaged up. Apparently, one of his toenails was cut too short, but even after the bleeding was stopped, his Jack Russell Terrier ass was too spastic to stay still long enough for the clot to hold up and he ended up bucking bronco-ing blood all over the house. My dad had to tranquilize him just to keep him still to bandage him. This is proof that it takes a special person to love a JRT. They are definitely dicks, but in a good way.
To my comfort, Andy eventually staggered all slitty-eyed over to me and snuggled up into my lap. I couldn't stop laughing as he so unabashedly let his inner Cheech and Chong show through. Ahhh, there's rarely a dull moment. Perhaps this life isn't so bad. And, it will get better. I just have to keep practicing the fleeting art of patience.
The lesson learned: Drugs are not the answer, but it's damn funny to watch those who think they are.
I'm so hiiiiiiiiigh, you guys.