Precip & Pig & Postcards

The rain.  The rain.  The rain.

 Will it ever end?

 Apparently, no.

Despite the rain, Bobaloo and I went to a party last Saturday.

There was a pig roast.  I'm a vegetarian and tried to avoid eye contact.

 

Aside from the pig there was music, bubbles, tye-dye, and plenty of tom-foolery.  We had a good time.  Pikes Peak is in the picture below but you can't see it because of the weather.

I started Postcrossing again and forgot how much I missed it.  I got my first postcard with the Eiffel Tower on it yesterday.

À la prochaine!

September 04

If you could take three months off from your current life and do anything in the world, what would you do?

 

Three months?  That sounds like a dream.  

 

You know how I am a tad obsessed with alpacas?  Well, I am also really into puffins.  Yep, puffins.

via

And since Iceland is their breeding ground, I would pack up Bobaloo and the pup and spend three months hanging out in Iceland.  Chilling with the birds isn't all there is to do, here are some other ways I'd spend my time...

1.  Northern Lights / 2.  Blue Lagoon Geothermal Spa / 3.  Icelandic Horses / 4.  Glacier Tours / 5.  Whale Watching /
6.  Hiking in Landmannalaugar / 7.  Gullfoss (Golden Falls) / 8.  Capital City, Reykjavik


 If you had three months off, would you stay home or travel somewhere exciting?

 

America

A couple of years ago, Bobaloo and I went to a small blues jam in Greeley, Colorado that takes place every June.  On our way into town we stopped at a liquor store to stock up on some beer.  We were tailgating in the dusty dirt parking lot when we opened the case of Budweiser to find a new and awesome patriotic beer can design.  Maybe a little over the top design-wise?

I don't know why this can struck us so funny.  Maybe because we were going to a blues festival in a cow-town.  Maybe it was Bobaloo's patriotic farmer tan (red arms, white body, blue jeans).  Maybe a combination of all of this.  Whatever it was, we got the giggles and somewhere I have a picture of Bobaloo tailgating that day that he will be very happy I didn't put on the internet.  Here's a different picture of him:

Back to the beer can.  Ever since then, I have found myself starting quite a collection of very American can koozies.

"Land of the free, courtesy of the brave"

This and That

I recently learned how chickens lay eggs without needing a rooster.  This was the most confusing, yet informative tidbit of widely known knowledge I have received in a while.

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I found my iPhone intact in the yard right after I hit up AT&T for a cheapie replacement.  I dropped the phone when I was chasing after the dog.  This is my favorite picture on the camera roll:

That’s my bro, his gal, and I rocking out in my parent's living room.  Bro is consistently awesome when choosing tunes, whether it be at home or on a jukebox.  It’s a great quality to have and I love him for it.  When he was born I wanted to name him Elvis, I wonder if his life trajectory would have been different had my parents agreed.

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Speaking of the trip back to the frozen North, I was nicely surprised when I ordered a bloody mary and it came with a snit.  Remember that whole deal?

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I enjoy a good tourist trap. And gift shop.  Ooh, I am a sucker for a good gift shop.  I am trying to think of some new ones to visit over the summer.  I desperately want to make it to Dollywood one of these days.

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I recently read an article on tinybuddha.com (which I can’t find now) about simply adding the word meditation to the end of your frustration.  Frustrated in line at the grocery store?  Take a deep breath and practice your grocery line meditation.  Frustrated and stuck in traffic?  Take a deep breath and practice your traffic meditation.  Weirdly, it works.  Bobaloo and I have been having fun with it.  At this very moment I am practicing my I-forgot-my-breakfast-and-could-eat-the-north-side-of-a-horse-going-south meditation.

Om.

Trippin' on Travelin'

I am scared of flying.  Not so much of the heights, I find the airplane so darn claustrophobic.  This is why I prefer window seats.  The trip is more peaceful when looking at the plots of land and how they’re divided.  A few wispy clouds are alright too.  Truth be told, I still take a Clonazepam if it’s a morning flight or a couple of cocktails if the flight is after noon.  Friday’s flight is at 10:15 am.  I might just consider that close enough to noon.

Not being in control scares me the most.  When the plane is preparing to land, I slam my foot down on the imaginary brake in front of me to help out.  You’re welcome other passengers.

I try to not make a big deal about the actual flying part; I don’t really need to add to my neuroses.  I have a routine and that seems to help.  I guess routines would make a lot of things in my life easier, but I just find them so…routine.

I have started to make my bed every day, so I guess there’s that.

Bobaloo won’t just drop me off at the airport, he actually walks in with me and watches me go through the security checkpoint and waves goodbye when I go down the escalator to the tram.  Sometimes before that, we’ll sit at the bar and have a couple of farewell beers.

I touch the outside of the plane before I get in and pray for a safe trip.  I buckle up and get settled in my window seat and usually don’t make small talk with the person next to me.  If it’s a turbulent flight, I try not to make other people nervous.  I do not leave my seat, ever.  I have never been in an airplane bathroom.

I put my headphones on and read a book.  Usually, I can’t focus enough to read for real.  So I pretend to read a book.  Pretending to read is relaxing too.  I downloaded some new tunes for this trip.

It takes me an hour and a half to get where I am going. 

My dad picks me up and takes me straight to the bar for a couple of drinks before heading back to the house where my mom is waiting.

This post makes me sound like an alcoholic.  I’m not.  I just really don’t like flying.

California Dreamin'

I have never lived alone before and can say for certain that I am not digging it. On the one hand, I am proud to have accomplished many "grown-up" tasks by myself, on the other hand it sucks. Bobaloo is in Colorado for a couple of weeks and I am here in California. I found an apartment yesterday and moved in today. It's going to be a long two weeks. Let me paint a picture. Me on an air mattress in the living room huddled around the computer eating cheese and crackers and drinking a coke. An empty apartment aside from a few clothes, a shower liner, and some food. I bought a CD player clock radio because I didn't think to bring a TV. Boy, is it quiet around here. Aah. The Californian dream. I love the palm trees, but miss my husband. Hopefully the work week will keep my mind busy so time flies by.

Dwellings

I am feeling a wave of anxiety with the start of a new week. It is the last week in Denver.

Yesterday, Bobaloo and I went to say goodbye to Boulder. It is where we started in Colorado. When I look back at me when we first came here, I was so scared of everything and everyone. There have been many changes. I was able to find the closest Target on the third day of living in Boulder, for the next two weeks everywhere I went I mapped out by its proximity to Target. Now, I can find any Target in a twenty-mile radius.

It was the first time we lived together, my first home without my parents, and the start of many fine adventures. I will miss Pearl Street and the 470 square foot apartment we shared, called “The Shoebox.” Our first summer was filled with afternoons with Gary the Squirrel, grilling, and we started what would become a three and a half year Yahtzee tournament.

We lived in the “Chicken Coop” after Boulder. It has been torn down along with all the bad memories of the place that could do no right. We met many great neighbors in this place. We were able to walk around downtown Golden whether to see the creek or get a beer and play air hockey. I look back at that time and remember how excited I was to start school and Bobaloo finally got the hang of fly-fishing. This was the year my brother went to Iraq for the first time, I became an aunt, and we went and saw John Prine for my birthday.

The place we live in now is my favorite and I will miss it a lot. The apartment has no name yet. I love the two patios, especially the one overlooking the pool. We are minutes from Red Rocks where we have seen Widespread Panic every summer. There is a lot of sunlight in the windows. It is the first place we unpacked every box and decorated. We have the proximity of the mountains and the city. This apartment has seen us check out the Denver scene, learn to snowshoe, host our first Christmas, and get married. We have made excellent friends at the local watering hole, and have had great neighbors, aside from the yapping dog.

Goodbye Colorado. Not forever, just for now.

Endings and Beginnings

I accepted the job in San Diego and in two and half weeks will be living there. Everything has been such a whirlwind. The hardest part was giving two weeks notice to a job that I really enjoy most days. It made me sick to my stomach to say farewell. Goodbyes are hard. I prefer them to be quick and painless, not long and drawn out.

It is hard to believe that I have two weeks to say goodbye to everyone and everything that has been so wonderful in Denver. However, it is real. The apartment is already loaded with boxes and planning has commenced.

I am excited to stay with my sister-in-law and nephew and have the opportunity to get to know them better. I am bummed and a little nervous to be away from my husband for a short time. I am jazzed about the new job and meeting new people and sad to leave such good friends behind.

What a mix of emotions.

From The Bar To The Grave

Glenwood Springs is by all accounts a stunning city tucked away in the mountains. A gigantic golden canyon welcomes visitors. Rest stops are plentiful along the snaking paved road so one can peek at the beautiful scenery at their leisure. After entering into the town of Glenwood Springs it easy to be taken aback by the quaint and modest main street. Tourists and townies mill about in no hurry. The downtown is dotted with restaurants, specialty shops, and a few bars. Most notably, Doc Holliday’s. Doc Holliday’s is easily visible as it sits next to the crossing bridge to get to the hot sulfur springs.

Upon entering the bar, you can see it is pocket-sized, yet immaculate. The bar, stools, and low tables are all made of a dark and rich wood that adds to the vibe. Doc’s is a cozy joint that caters to a motley crowd. The drinks are made stiff and the bartenders are both pleasant and warmhearted. After a few cordial drinks, it is not out of the ordinary to have the locals strike up curious conversation. At this point, it is highly suggested to inquire about the celebrated Doc Holliday.

There are varying different versions, but one will soon learn that the Doc is buried in the Linwood Cemetery on the way out of town. There are just enough signs for the gravesite that it piques one’s curiosity. So, bring some hiking shoes, as the cemetery is a quarter of a mile up a hill. This is not a bad idea if you quit drinking the night before. However, the more you drink at Doc Holliday’s the more friends you make and the later you stay out. This makes the next day’s hike excruciating. A daring and dehydrated walk up the hill becomes a bitter disappointment when coming across a sign that informs tourists that there is a good chance that good old Doc is not buried there.

What the hell? Why did I just walk up this hill then?

San Diego, German For "A Whale's Vagina"

Well, I am off to San Diego for a few days to see this awesome little guy:

I also get to visit with my sister-in-law and mom. I am pretty jazzed.

I am bringing along my notebook in case of any blogworthy material. The airport always provides some good old fashioned fodder. I am hoping to bump in to Ron Burgundy. I'll let you know how that goes.