So, it's Tuesday. I've made it out on the other side of the long weekend safely, and with my liver mostly intact. It's been a busy weekend full of adventures!
Friday 4/25
I had a spectacular interview and was feeling great, ready to kick off the weekend with energy and pizzaz! I decided to forgo my usual evening yoga class in favor of a celebratory trip to the Renegade Food Truck Fair. Money is hard to come by these days, but I wasn't feeling too anxious as admission was free and where I come from, cart food is cheap. In New York you can get a bagel and coffee for $1.25 or you can get a phenomenal falafel for $3. In Denver, you can get cheese fries for $7 or a mini pizza for $10. I did not see one thing on the menu that was under $6-except the cupcake, which was a mere $4- so I decided to indulge in the dinner of champions. My boyfriend and I split a disappointing side of green chili cheese fries and each had a few beers, trading off who bought the next round. Despite the ill success of the culinary aspect of the evening, we still had a wonderful time enjoying eachother's company and the warmth of the summer night, inhaling the smell of kitchen grease, and watching the Rockies game on the big screen. Even if I wasn't able to make out like a bandit with some of Stubens fried brussel sprouts (side note: should toats be on the mobile food truck menu!) the evening was a blast.
Saturday 4/26
Uneventful day at children's birthday party.
Sunday 4/27
This was an interesting day. It began nicely enough, doing some yard work around the house and battling hoards of flesh hungry ants. Then the time had come. The dreaded and appointed hour. We had been invited to a house party for a friend of ours from high school who had also recently moved and was celebrating his one year anniversary of life in the 303. Did I mention that also in attendance at this party was an ex-boyfriend of mine who I hadn't seen or spoken to since our not-so-pretty breakup Senior year of high school? Um, yeah. The level of awkwardness cannot be overstated here, ladies and gents. When I was able to restrain my contempt to a socially acceptable level, we briefly exchanged polite niceties before quickly parting ways again, which was fine by me as in my belief Ex's are to be treated as The Doctor would treat a Dalek (for you non Who nerds that means to be kept at a distance with minimal contact and regarded with general distrust). I was slightly disappointed that I didn't walk away having made a slew of new friends as I had hoped. It was however, nice to see our friend and get out of the house a bit. And, I learned that I can't keep expecting that everyone I meet will magically, instantaneously become my new closest friend who will go on shopping trips with me or spend Thursday nights eating Ben and Jerry's from the carton with while watching old SATC re-runs with me. Maybe, just this once I need to stop expecting so much of everyone around me, just let go, and enjoy the ride....
Monday 4/28
More yard work, followed by an afternoon in Wash Park. I had organized my first Denver get-together and was a bit anxious as to how it would turn out. The turnout was small, as most everyone was still recovering from their partying the night before. I broke the bank at Whole Foods for some picnic snacks, we grabbed the sun shade (best invention ever!) blanket, and headed out. As usual, the park was packed! But, this time we knew where to go and were able to get a good spot by the nets, where we eventually ended up playing volleyball with a few nice random strangers who hit it off with some members of our group. While the motley crue that did turn out wasn't quite what I expected, we still enjoyed a lovely day in the grass under the shade, played a few rounds of ball, and had some good food. So, not a total bust. Again, the Universe seemed to be telling me that the more I resisted and insisted on some preconceived notion of perfection, the farther things would drift from that ideal. I am in charge of my own happiness, and the best way to get there is to let go! Relax, and don't hold on so tight.
So, there we are. That was the weekend in a nutshell. Blog fodder at least! I know it's not that interesting, but these are my adventures as I have sworn to document them: with humor, humility and honesty.
About Me
- Sara
- Denver, CO, United States
- Adventurer, wanderer, explorer extraordinaire. I love travel, yoga, photography, and cooking. I often pretend like I'm crafty, have a black rescue cat. This is the chronicling of my life from recent college grad with a degree in my pocket (with honors, thank you very much) and no immediate job prospects on the horizon--That little tidbit could be due to the fact that my boyfriend and I recently decided one day over cereal, "Hey! You know what would be a good idea? How about we uproot our stable lives, quit our jobs and move to Denver?!" And so we did. Just like that. We left the comfort of our 1100sq ft home and all our friends, ceremoniously quit our jobs and hit the road. One U-Haul, two cars, and one storage unit later, here we are! Livin' the dream in a cousin's basement and trolling the interwebs for employment in search for a better life in the Mile High City--To present day where we are living the dream in West Wash Park and planning our wedding after 3 wonderful and eventful years, in the 303.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Flea Market Flop
On Sunday, I explored the Mile High Market.
Excited by the prospect of of sifting through vintage chic treasures and scoring the season's first organic morels and local goat cheese, I set off to Henderson, a tad worried that my 11am departure meant I would miss out on the best baguette.
Boy, was I wrong! I arrived and paid $6 to park ($3 in admission fees and $3 in ATM fees to get cash money to pay for said admission fee). My first clue about my misadventure should have been in the parking lot when I pulled in next to a truck who's paint job made me feel like I was idling next to an amusement park ride in all it's glittery mauve glory. Hey, if you've got it...flaunt it?
Afterwards, I strode through the gates ready to begin my buying adventure! I wish I'd had my real camera, My shiny expensive $500 Canon D5 that makes me look like a real photographer and not some artsy poser clutching an Instagram cell phone, because maybe then people would take me seriously while I photographed the Marachi leader in the Yankee cap, or the booth of wigs and plastic Virgin de Guadelupes. (though, as it turns out, the only person I needed to be taken seriously by was myself. Or perhaps, to take myself less seriously.) This was not at all what I expected. Vendors hawked fleece Raiders blankets and Playboy paraphernalia. Plastic AK47's hung next to inflatable Spider Man mallets and shiny "designer" shoes and sunglasses... What is this place?! In the farmer's market section, I was dismayed to find only a dubious selection of fruit and chili. I wandered aimlessly for 30 minutes or so, attempting to stumble on some kernel, some oasis, of what it was I had hoped to find. No such luck.
Later, empty handed and stuck in traffic on I-225, I had to wonder...was this some version of the new American dream? Instead of nostalgia laden trinkets and yuppie farm to table produce, I had found something entirely different. Not a flirtation with the past, but a staunch declaration of the shiny new now. ..I won't get much further into this tangled tangent on shifting socioeconomics or racial politics, but I will explore something related: ideas of fear and courage.
It has come to my attention what a walking contradiction I am. While I apparently have no qualms about uprooting my life and moving to a new state where I have no immediate social or employment prospects, or cold e-mailing companies my resume- things that I'm sure would terrify any normal human-I do apparently lack the courage to declare myself an artist without the proof in hand. Instead of walking up to Mr. Mariachi and saying, "you have such an interesting face. Do you mind if I take your photo?" I silently slink by, ingraining his image to memory and disparaging my lack of preparedness. I bet Christiane Amanpour doesn't ask herself for permission to be brave! It takes courage to embrace your inner artist. You'd think I would have figured this out by now, coming from a family of artists! And, while I seem to be perfectly capable of handling rejection in every other aspect of my life, it appears I have yet to master the realm of artistic rejection. Even when the only one doing the rejection is myself. So, perhaps in this regard, the market wasn't a flop after all... in an effort to become yourself, you first have to believe in yourself.
Moral of the story: Sometimes the biggest bully we have to stand up to, is ourselves. Stop waiting for permission to be the intrepid artist and as Nike would say, "Just do it".
Excited by the prospect of of sifting through vintage chic treasures and scoring the season's first organic morels and local goat cheese, I set off to Henderson, a tad worried that my 11am departure meant I would miss out on the best baguette.
Boy, was I wrong! I arrived and paid $6 to park ($3 in admission fees and $3 in ATM fees to get cash money to pay for said admission fee). My first clue about my misadventure should have been in the parking lot when I pulled in next to a truck who's paint job made me feel like I was idling next to an amusement park ride in all it's glittery mauve glory. Hey, if you've got it...flaunt it?
Afterwards, I strode through the gates ready to begin my buying adventure! I wish I'd had my real camera, My shiny expensive $500 Canon D5 that makes me look like a real photographer and not some artsy poser clutching an Instagram cell phone, because maybe then people would take me seriously while I photographed the Marachi leader in the Yankee cap, or the booth of wigs and plastic Virgin de Guadelupes. (though, as it turns out, the only person I needed to be taken seriously by was myself. Or perhaps, to take myself less seriously.) This was not at all what I expected. Vendors hawked fleece Raiders blankets and Playboy paraphernalia. Plastic AK47's hung next to inflatable Spider Man mallets and shiny "designer" shoes and sunglasses... What is this place?! In the farmer's market section, I was dismayed to find only a dubious selection of fruit and chili. I wandered aimlessly for 30 minutes or so, attempting to stumble on some kernel, some oasis, of what it was I had hoped to find. No such luck.
Later, empty handed and stuck in traffic on I-225, I had to wonder...was this some version of the new American dream? Instead of nostalgia laden trinkets and yuppie farm to table produce, I had found something entirely different. Not a flirtation with the past, but a staunch declaration of the shiny new now. ..I won't get much further into this tangled tangent on shifting socioeconomics or racial politics, but I will explore something related: ideas of fear and courage.
It has come to my attention what a walking contradiction I am. While I apparently have no qualms about uprooting my life and moving to a new state where I have no immediate social or employment prospects, or cold e-mailing companies my resume- things that I'm sure would terrify any normal human-I do apparently lack the courage to declare myself an artist without the proof in hand. Instead of walking up to Mr. Mariachi and saying, "you have such an interesting face. Do you mind if I take your photo?" I silently slink by, ingraining his image to memory and disparaging my lack of preparedness. I bet Christiane Amanpour doesn't ask herself for permission to be brave! It takes courage to embrace your inner artist. You'd think I would have figured this out by now, coming from a family of artists! And, while I seem to be perfectly capable of handling rejection in every other aspect of my life, it appears I have yet to master the realm of artistic rejection. Even when the only one doing the rejection is myself. So, perhaps in this regard, the market wasn't a flop after all... in an effort to become yourself, you first have to believe in yourself.
Moral of the story: Sometimes the biggest bully we have to stand up to, is ourselves. Stop waiting for permission to be the intrepid artist and as Nike would say, "Just do it".
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Cinco de Mojito
Ok, the guilt of not having posted fro 2 weeks is crushing me, so here goes the brain jumble that has been the last several weeks. If I'm keeping this blog strictly about my adventures in wonderland, then my first move should be to tell you all about our Cinco de Mayo festivities.
We went to Washington Park, which is like the Central Park of Denver. It was amazing! I was so impressed by the size of the park, all the little areas: the lake, the croquet field, the hedge maze, the volleyball park....and how many people were out! Everyone had dogs, and kids, and was barbecuing and toasting with frosty adult beverages. Everyone had pinatas and it was just so....awesome! Like an idyllic scene out of a Noxema commercial. We drank mojitos, and beat the shit out of a defenseless neon paper mache donkey, we played volleyball and I had a hot dog for the first time since I was 5yrs old. Well, Mojito me did. Regular me wouldn't go near one of those god forsaken nitrate bombs. So, I guess you could say it was karma for my carnivorous misdemeanor that the volleyball pole fell on my foot giving me a massive bruise and prompting many compliments on my fashion forward makeshift ice pack made from a Glad bag elegantly entwined around my ankle like the daintiest of gladiator sandals. Very McQueen.
Word of advice to my lady readers out there: Fake tans, much like fake nails, fake boobs and fake LV are always a bad idea. In preparation for my summertime debut, I caved and bought some bronzer so as not to blind innocent bystanders with the startling white of my casper like legs. So, I arrived at the park in all my freaky streaky Snooki like glory. And, try as I might, there really is no covering up that unmistakable smell. I should add, for those of you living under a rock, that Saturday was also the day of the Kentucky Derby. I have waited all my girlish little life to be invited to a Derby party (attempts at hosting my own never being successful). The day finally arrived, and lo, my giddy heart to finally be able to wear my big floppy sun hat and do my best Duchess of Cambridge! And then imagine, immediately ensuing, my massive disappointment when I realized that my fabulous hat -in a moment of what was no doubt once considered a stroke of genius- had been misplaced somewhere along the move and in in its place in the box wherein I believed my precious treasure was placed, were instead warm winter caps and fuzzy hats. Great. I can show up for my Derby debut in a fur lined Elmer Fudd hunting cap. It's only 94 degrees!
However, despite all the obstacles, we still had a grand old time! Life is what you make it, friends. And when life hands you limes you make yourself a good margarita.
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