In two days, the weather changed from about 67 degrees, sunny, warm, and wonderful, to this:
According to my phone, it is currently 23 degrees outside. 23 mother-flippin' degrees after such a warm and wonderful weekend just a few days ago. Stupid Denver weather. 300 days of sunshine my ass!
But, in just a few short days, I will be in Florida, where the beer flows like that ensure drink, or something else old people consume. The temperatures on Sunday for when I land look to be at a balmy 80 degrees. And while my first thought as I empty off the plane and get use of my legs back will be, "oh god, it's Soooo humid", I hope to adjust immediately back to my hometown. Not just weather, but in terms of avoiding the high level of red neckery that abounds in that town, and the lack of quality beer...or bars that serve beer, or bars that are open late enough to when I want said beer.
Now some of you reading this are like, "oh this guy...acting like his shit don't stink." Well they don't call me the FLORIDA Omlette, do they?! It's the Denver Omlette, and shut up about how I spell omlette.
But since I'll be gone now for over two weeks, some of you may be coming to the realization of what that means. It means there will be no blog updates after today for a full 18 days! To capture the full emotion you must be feeling, I want you think of a 15 year old Denver Omlette, working at his first official job. The 2 weeks he worked under the table at the Lighthouse Grille before he got fired just because doesn't count. But his first job after that was a fry cook at Wings N' Things, where, if the burns he got on from the hot oil on his arms and once even on an eye lid weren't bad enough, or the people he worked with weren't white trashy enough, every evening, shirt covered in grease, he would clean the restaurant to the soundtrack of 1996's best soft rock jams of the year playing on some shitty radio he couldn't reach. One song that always played was Jewel's "Who Will Save Your Soul", which was depressing enough to hear night after night. But another song that always seemed to accompany that one was Jimmy Buffet's Jamaica Mistaica. A tongue in cheek song referencing his plane being shot at when landing in Jamaica, the melody is actually quite haunting. And at 15, hearing two hauntingly depressing songs was enough to send you over the edge. It made me think that working there, amongst those people, listening to these songs, was the very bitter end for me. That after only 15 years of life, I was stuck in this horrible rut, and that I hade made terrible life decisions. Maybe the feeling of just giving up at that point is what steered me into the career I have now....hard to ever really know.
But to put what my absence will mean to you in that same frame of mind, I give you.....
I know these Friday posts are supposed to be uplifting and happy, fist pumping into the air. But I'll miss you faceless, comment-less readers more than you know. So with the bitterness of leaving you until the new year, I leave you with this....the saddest fist pump friday of 2013. Happy Merry!