Still New York

Ok, yeah yeah, this song is super cheesy and the only video I could find for it was probably made by a child... BUT I just had the best 4 and a half days in New York and this dumb song speaks to me.


The Printer Incident

There's a man at my office with jet black hair who is a foot shorter than me and at least 2 decades older than me. He works in the finance department, and I don't know how it happened but we became buds. His name is Fred.

Fred and I often chat in the office kitchenette or in passing while one of us is filling a coffee cup. There is nothing about Fred or our friendship that is creepy or inappropriate, and that is what makes what I'll refer to as "the printer incident" a harmless anecdote about my day and not something I need to report to HR.

One day Fred and I both printed something to the same printer. I said, "Printer party! Who's will come first--yours or mine?" Then we watched as the printer spit out papers.

Fred said, "You're below me!"
I said, "No, I'm on top!"
Fred said, "Maybe I'm in between you!"
(He was in between me... I mean his papers!)

Then Fred and I each grabbed our papers and walked away. I had BIG EYES as I walked back to my desk, and I didn't look back at Fred's to see if he had also realized what we had just said. I think we're still friends, but now that I think about it, I haven't seen him in the kitchenette since.


My Non-Nose Job Nose Job

Last week I had my very first surgery! I wish I could say it was a regular surgery like getting my appendix taken out or a bad ass surgery like repairing a torn ACL, but it wasn't boring or interesting--more embarrassing than anything else. I got a nose job. I mean, not really. I didn't get a cosmetic rhinoplasty like the kind that movie stars get and then lie about. I had an open septorhinoplasty with bilateral spreader grafts, bilateral lateral crural extension grafts and caudal septal reset, which basically equals same nose, bigger nostrils, better breathing. Hopefully.

I've been home for a week recovering, with some help and companionship from my mom and other CO loves. I've had such lofty goals set for myself this week--almost none of which I accomplished. I had planned to finish 2 books I have started and stalled, write every day, organize my closet, and many more apartment projects. Instead, I took pain killers, drank soup, and mustered up enough ambition to shower, twice. So now on the eve of my return back to work, I'm forcing myself to write, now, for just a little bit before I go to bed. I need to cross something off my list.

This is weird thing to say, but being a patient was so fun! I think it's because I work in healthcare and with physicians daily, but I generally don't get to interact with patients so being one was sooo interesting. My being thoroughly fascinated with the entire experience came out in the form of uncontrollable ear-to-ear grinning, which I just couldn't help! I liken it to the time that I served on a jury in Brooklyn and I couldn't stop BEAMING WITH JOY while this poor man testified about getting in a horrible car accident. I just like to learn and experience new things, OK?! Anyway, I don't think most people going into surgery are usually as psyched so hopefully my care team found my enthusiasm refreshing?

I'll gloss over the specifics of my first week post-op. There was "mustache gauze" and Richard Nixon jowl level swelling, and I'll leave it at that. I watched the Quincy Jones doc on Netflix, some very old episodes of Law and Order SVU, and I snuck in some CNN because I have a problem. I didn't clean, create, organize, or plan. Instead I sat and swelled.

Yesterday EH drove me to my 1-week post-op appointment to have my bandages, splints, and stitches removed and for my new (same) nose to be revealed. When the surgeon was finished, he stood back, crossed his arms, cocked his head to one side and said, "Wow! You really are more swollen than most. Sorry about that." I felt like he was taking a mental image of his new record for "biggest nose" post-op. At least I left an impression. Afterward, EH and I went to Sonic where we shared tator tots and a Sonic Blast, and she tried to convince me that it really didn't look "that bad." God love her.

My week of recovery is now officially over and all I'm left with is an unaccomplished list of goals and one very big nose. And I guess, this blog post. Good night.



“Part of me loves and respects men so desperately, and part of me thinks they are so embarrassingly incompetent at life and in love. You have to teach them the very basics of emotional literacy. You have to teach them how to be there for you, and part of me feels tender toward them and gentle, and part of me is so afraid of them, afraid of any more violation.”

-Anne Lamott, Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year


Life Without You

I saw this band perform on Sunday night at the Chautauqua Auditorium and I felt both full and empty for the whole 4 minutes and 18 seconds they played this song. I breathed slowly and blinked quickly through my favorite line, "But a life without you could never steal me now." I think of all the times I've thought that, and I wonder how many more times I will.


In my Thirty-First Year: 8/10/17-8/10/18

Alt Title: "I'm Pushing Past My Post Birthday Writer's Block"

I listened to Hillary Clinton narrate her audio book, "What Happened," and I felt both sorrow and strength in her words. While standing at a sink of dirty dishes with purple rubber gloves scrubbing coffee cups, I ugly cried when she detailed her crippling disappointment about how things turned out. I'm now buying this book for every girlfriend who's ever been dumped. We all want to understand what happened. Hearing Hillary was healing.

I traveled to Mexico City with my best travel girl, CH for an impromptu long weekend that had been previously postponed by the 7.1 magnitude earthquake in September. I never knew that I'd be so happy to be in a place that I had previously no interest in visiting. I just had no idea! I'm so glad CH brought me there and fed me tacos and made me "jaja" for four days straight. Sometime we should go somewhere other than Mexico, but on the other hand.. tacos...

I spent 5 days in a place I lived for 5 years. I went to Manhattan and drank a Manhattan; I went to Coney Island and got smooched by a sea lion; and I went to SS's backyard in Brooklyn with cheap wine and 4 best friends. I boarded a 5:50am flight still drunk on red wine and landed in Denver with a serious city hangover that was so worth it.

A few times this past year I felt a little broken. A bird broke my heart, a coffee table broke my nose, and 165, 974 miles finally broke my Jeep. But a cool thing is, I healed. My heart's still a little achey sometimes and my nose needed surgery, but I'm OK. Except for the Jeep--she was a goner.

On the first of November, I walked up to a stranger sitting at a bar wearing a Dodger's baseball cap and drinking a pink beer. That night we sat on bar stools learning about each other while watching the Dodgers lose the last game of the World Series. We've been sitting on bar stools and learning about each other basically ever since. We laugh at each other, frustrate each other, take care of each other, and most importantly chose each other. Also that pink beer is delicious!

EH, fellow surviver of both Watertown High School and Harlem, packed up her Prius and moved to Denver in the spring. She now lives less than a mile away from me, and home really feels like home now that such an old friend is a part of my day-to-day. On the night that she pulled into town, we ordered Chinese food and drank champagne on her living room floor, just like we had done 7 years before on our first night together in Harlem. Having EH in the same city again is the strongest evidence I've ever had that things really do happen for a reason. We're supposed to be here.

I took 10 round-trip flights, most of them with rewards points, to visit old friends and new cities.
I played 9 games of cup-in-hand kickball with a bunch of 23-year-old accountants (have I written about this yet? I need to).
I went to 8 shows, some at Red Rocks and some at small venues in my neighborhood, and every time I went I thought, "Why don't I do this more often??"
I made 7 new friends on a girls trip in New Orleans (not THE Girl's Trip, but close)
I traveled for 6 hours to a small German town in Minnesota to surprise my mom and aunt at an outdoor beer festival.
I dogsat 5 different dogs, ranging from a Weiner dog name Lucille to a mutt named Maggie.
I sang karaoke for 4 solid hours on St. Patrick's Day in a room with some of my best Denver buddies.
I spent 3 entire summer days on Blue Dog Lake floating on a giant rainbow unicorn.
I told 2 people that I loved them, and you know what? 1 of them said it back.

I recently saw a sign that said, "Remember when you wanted what you currently have?" and it stopped me in my tracks because--I do remember. I remember longing for a career that challenged me and a bank account that wasn't empty at the end of each month. I remember wanting an apartment of my own, a car that wouldn't spontaneously break down, and a man to see my flaws and still love me back. And I guess I got all of those things in my 31st year. But here's the BUT... even with all of those boxes checked there are still nights when I stand in the shower with suds swirling at my feet, and I cry and I don't know why. Is it wrong to admit--I want more? Maybe my 32nd year will be the one.


So Many Stories of Where I've Been

Last night while walking back from King Soopers with two canvas totes full of groceries (containing both a watermelon and a jar of pickles-poor planning on my part), this song came through my headphones. Though I've heard it possibly thousands of times in the past 11 years that I've been a Brandi Carlile fan, I realized that the meaning of the song has changed. And so have I. 

The lyrics, "All of these lines across my face / Tell you the story of who I am" were a little lost on the 21-year-old version of me, but hearing them yesterday revealed what I had missed before. I guess aging will do that to you. Now I hear the song as a tribute to the way that life effects us, both our skin and what's beneath it.

So today on the eve of my 32nd birthday, I'm going to try to see my imperfections, the visible signs of wear and tear on my face, as parts of my story. My laugh lines are commas, my crows feet question marks, my gray hairs the ellipses. 

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to
It's true, I was made for you


A Good Time Had By All

31 years ago this month, my dad left for work, leaving behind this note on the kitchen counter.
10 years ago this month, my dad left for work and never came home again. 

It's been a full decade now, and I've missed him and those "quiet evenings respite of angling" so much. He was right though, about that night and our time together: a good time was had by all. 

Idk why we had a Lopressor note pad lying around though.. 


Wait, June is over?? (I'm seeing a trend)

It's July now, but here are some things that happened in June..

On June 1st, I simultaneously babysat, dogsat, and did my actual job from home, proving that I can "do it all" (you know, for like 8 hours). Then I packed up a picnic dinner with CM and went to Red Rocks to see Murder by Death, The Wood Brothers, and The Devil Makes Three.  I ran into CH and TR in the parking lot, and our groups merged, collectively grooving together to the tunes all night. By 10:30, though, I could barely keep my eyes open and that's when I realized that "doing it all" is possible, but damn it's exhausting. I needed a full day to recover.

EH, Nezy, and I had a picnic in Cheeseman park, and PD and her bf joined us as the sun went down. I offered to give everyone a ride home, and EH asked to borrow PD's boyfriend's longboard to ride on the sidewalk out of the park. EH was wearing a full length white floral summer dress, and as she boarded down the hill, her long black hair and white dress fluttered in the wind. I swear to God she looked like an swan floating in the twilight, until--she wiped out. Though it appeared to be a graceful tumble, many tears, bags of ice, hours spent googling, and one MRI later revealed that EH had torn her ACL. It turns out that EH isn't a swan, and as her Orthopedic surgeon pointed out so lovingly, she's not a "spring chicken" anymore either.

TBK and her boys (husband and baby B) came to Denver for her birthday weekend, and we had the best freaking time. I feel like I have a special connection to Baby B because he came into the world the night after I threw T a baby shower (also 5 weeks before the world was expecting him); I think he did it on purpose just to meet me. 16 months later, having him in Denver to pal around with was the best. We took him to B's pool, and he scooted around in his baby floatie, accumulating adoring fans at all corners of the pool. We also took him to his first Rockies game, where I didn't know we would meet so many fellow KC fans. TBK and I had some much needed girls time together too. We got pedicures, drank wine, and stumbled upon a punk rock drag show at a brewery--you know, a regular Friday night. The weekend was full of girl talk and baby talk and it both filled me up and chilled me out.

B and I had an impromptu Friday night get-a-way in Boulder to celebrate his birthday. We stayed at the St. Julien and wore lush robes and ate great chocolate and had an 8-course meal with wine pairings that left us with satisfied taste buds and dizzy heads. Because B leaves town and returns again so often and for such unexpected lengths, I sometimes feel like our relationship is like an episode of the Bachelor (I don't watch the show--but I think this is what happens). One minute we're drinking champagne sitting first class on a flight to San Francisco and the next minute he's gone and I'm alone eating canned tuna on my couch watching old episodes of Younger. Sometimes I miss the mundane aspects of being in a relationship. I miss guessing songs on the radio and going for neighborhood strolls and drinking sour beer on my couch together. Being wined and dined is lovely, don't get me wrong, but I also sometimes crave more than what's on the menu.