The Mile High City did in fact welcome me with open arms. First, the mountains suddenly sprang up on the horizon then, as I ventured further into the city, a medicinal marijuana dispensary waved it's leafy hand at me, prominently displaying it's contact number which was somewhere along lines of 1-800-WEED.
Too bad I don't smoke. Yeah, I know, I'm so boring, right? Well, I do drink enough to blacken a rhinoceros' liver, so that ought to make up for it.
Anyway, after moving in, which went quite smoothly, (hire movers, I tell you!) unpacking, which went a little less smoothly since I have SO MUCH CRAP and saying goodbye to the parents (*sniff*), I've spent most of my time wandering around aimlessly, getting lost, being welcomed by interesting characters, then finding my way again.
My first night out in Denver, last Friday, my friend and roomie Whittah and Danielle went to Comedy Works to see yet another of Chelsea Handler's comedians, Josh Wolf. We sipped red wine and tried to make sure it didn't spray out of our noses at some parts.
Then we hung around the lobby for the pleasure of meeting this ornery little shit. I say that in an endearing way, btw:
One large difference between meeting Josh Wolf and meeting Chris Franjola a few months ago is that whoever took our picture this time actually knew how to operate a camera.
Saturday night, the same trio was hit on by hoards of incredibly drunk dumbshits at a nearby and loved bar. It's the same in all cities, is it not?
Sunday I spent the day on the lake at Cherry Creek State Park, however it didn't quite get interesting until I tried to find my way home. After missing about six exits on I-25, I saw a familiar name — Colfax — the longest and seediest drag through Denver. I instantly knew I was in trouble as I pulled up to the light and saw some hobo crackhead dancing around with two fingers pressed to his lips, which I can only assume is the international sign for, "got a cigarette?" This combined with air kisses got closer and closer to my car window, then he whipped out a disgustingly filthy squeegee and began to swipe it across my windshield. Andy starts barking ferociously while I yelled "GO AWAY!" from my sealed tight car. I thought about honking, but I figured it would only encourage more jittery dancing...and perhaps nudity. Finally the light changed and I escaped.
A few blocks later, as I rolled past the capitol building, another panhandler proudly displayed his sign that read, "Girlfriend kidnapped by ninjas. Need $$ for karate lessons." Like Chris Rock said, that guy isn't really homeless because real homeless people are too hungry to be funny.
Check out these interesting and welcoming characters:
This is my Tuesday night kickball team celebrating not only hat day, but a victory.
I am amazed by many things that are allowed to happen in Denver: Bed, Bath and Beyond here is like a department store and necessity store combined, complete with two stories of fine china, make-up and a floor to ceiling aisle of travel toiletries, some of which I've never seen in such tiny proportions; an entire aisle dedicated to wine in Target, yes, TARGET! and each Tuesday this fall, kegs will be tapped at 5:30 p.m. in Denver's City Park to allow young adults like myself to play kickball, otherwise known as slosh ball because a cup of beer must be in one hand at all times — fielding, running the bases, pitching etc...
I just might love this place.
I've gone from suburbia, which is not so bad, to full blown urban living. I can see the capitol building dome from my living room and bedroom windows and the skyscrapers welcome Andy and I on our daily walks through the neighborhood:
However, public transportation and me might have gotten off to a bad start. Parking prices are INSANE so driving to class or even downtown very often is out of the question for me, so I knew I had to get acquainted with this extremely foreign thing called public transportation. It's quite good in Denver as opposed to Kansas City, so I found my six block walk to the nearest light rail station pretty convenient as well as finding the right train, gliding south through downtown Denver and getting off at the correct stop at the Auraria campus.
I was feeling downright victorious as I went to the student union, found most of my books, went back to the station, hopped back onto the correct train and started my glide north through the city to my station near home. I am somewhat sheltered suburban Kansas girl turned bona fide savvy city chick, maneuvering through the streets of downtown Denver with ease.
However, that's when things went a bit sour. No, I didn't get mugged (yet) and a meteor did not fall out of the sky and crash into the train. A few stops from home, I began to hear a fat girl's ear piercing cackle over and over again. She appeared to find her fellow trashy fat girl friend who was sitting across from her quite hilarious...Hilarious enough for me to want to throw something nice and heavy at her face.
As we pulled up to my stop, non-cackling fat girl sprang from her seat and lumbered toward the exit. Then I heard a loud splashing sound and a husky, "SHIT!" escape her mouth as she rolled her fat ass off the train. I thought she had dropped her Big Gulp of Fanta Orange on the entrance/exit stairs, but then I heard her making some distinct sounds outside on the station platform and I realized what had really happened. Yep, she definitely projectile spewed all over the inside of the light rail car right in front of me.
Here is a brilliant artist rendition of the scene for clarification and your enjoyment:
People getting on the train used the opposite staircase to avoid the drippy disaster forcing me to wait to get off. When I finally made it off and just past the fat girl's puking rally, I felt a rain drop on my cheek. Then the sky opened up and I had to walk six blocks home in a drenching rain in slippery sandals that nearly flung themselves off my feet, threatening to break my ankles at each step. Perhaps I should have checked the weather before I left the apartment.
I would like to say, once again, that this sort of shit only seems to happen to me, which is probably why I can continue to write. OF COURSE, the first time I ride the light rail a girl nearly pukes on my shoes and then I have to walk home in a monsoon. How else would it go? It's so ridiculous that you have to laugh. Now, if I would have been PMSing during this fiasco, there might have been tears and a murderous rampage to follow, but thankfully I'm fully in my right mind at the moment. Fully laughable, if you will.
Other than escaping unwanted window cleanings and puddles of puke on my mode of transportation, I've been attending orientations and meet and greets for school, which starts on Monday (*Harna has slight heart attack at the mention of this*). I've meet some great people, exchanged some phone numbers and I'm ready to become a student again...preferably with a few new friends.
Perhaps in the next episode of "Harna Does Denver" you'll hear about how I tripped over my own feet while walking into a classroom on the first day of school and fell on my face or something equally as awesome and I'll post a pic of the amazing view from my rooftop deck. City and the mountains? I'm sold.