In Florida, a typical weekend morning goes one of two ways. Either, you get out of the house as early as possible before it gets hot as balls (read: 9 AM) in a mad dash to get any errands complete before the sun or traffic catches up with you, or you just eschew any plans you have and spend the day at the beach drinking coronas (another big difference here!) baking in the sun. I mean if you're going have sweat drip down your balls like the Ying Yang Twins always seemed to have an issue with, then it may as well be in a place where you can wash it off with saltwater right? I guess that's the logic.
In Colorado, winter sadness precedes winter by a couple months (people hide their depression in the heady foam of Pumpkin Spice Lattes, which I hear may even have pumpkin in them soon!) Winter, which seems to break sometime around March, and then goes through a bi-polar attitude of sun and snow every other day until some time in May, which then makes way for "Hail Season", the few months of true sunny Summer are celebrated. Then the challenge seems to be, how much of my duties today can be set aside so I can spend every sunny minute outside. And when the heat factor can be mitigated by a trip up to the mountains, there really is no excuse to lay on the couch all day. In fact if you live in Colorado and are having a lazy summer day, I implore you to find a picture from your last snowed in day at home, when two inches of ice lay hidden away under 6 inches of snow, and the temperature ranged from frigid to holy crap why'd I leave Florida!? Its with that attitude, I push myself every weekend of the summer to just.....do something....Whether it's pulling weeds, to simulating that Miami Beach day at the pool, I work my way towards skin cancer more and more....which at least you can, of all the cancers, I'm proud of how I got this. I mean...pancreatic cancer? Not much you can really applaud there.
And so I spent last weekend, in all its melanomic magnificence, in the great outdoors. (Let's be honest, I still didn't leave Stapleton. I'm institutionalized now.)
After work Friday, I had drinks and dinner at Station 26 Brewing Company. The brewery, which is tucked away in the near by neighborhood of Not-Stapleton, is a popular place for the Stapleton crowd looking to really get away from the neighborhood vibe. They do that by going less than 1 mile from their house, and are surrounded by pretty much their neighbors. In fact, it's rare to go there and NOT see somebody from my neighborhood. It's the only brewery that has more stroller parking than bicycle parking, which is saying something for Denver. Most nights, I go to this brewery for the steady and consistent rotation of food trucks, which has always been the highlight for me. But Friday proved a great surprise as their beer game has also improved, as has their increased patio space, which seems dumb that they only just now did since it's basically winter tomorrow. I also appreciate that they've started coming up with beer names that provide you absolutely no information on the beer you're drinking. How am I supposed to know that Intergalactic Dingo is an American Pale Ale?! To be fair though, I won't ever forget that name!
On Saturday, in a desparate effort to be outside even by a few inches of my garage, I washed and vacuumed my car. Mostly, this was an excuse to sweat enough that I could justify drinking beer at the pool pretty much the rest of the day. And so I did. But as I alluded to before, it wasn't coronoa. It was a selection of IPAs, which if you don't drink IPAs, you're basically not a Coloradan. It was only after sitting in CU Stadium, after having run the Bolder Boulder that I developed a taste for this beer. Or as I usually say, I became indoctrinated into what being a Coloradan means, and my genetics changed accordingly. Don't be surprised to hear me talking about shredding back bowls and fresh pow pow this winter. I still don't know what that means, but I assume it has something to do with diarrhea.
After the pool, I came home, exhausted, with only one desire. To watch the movie Instinct. This is an older movie with Anthony Hopkins and Cuba Gooding Jr. It's a great movie despite how horrible Cuba Gooding Jr. is in everything (much less controversial than my hatred for Don Cheadle). Also, the only place you can watch it apparently is on YouTube, which has the whole movie uninterrupted. Well, except for a few Matrix like skips that make you question everything....
Also thank god I ate here earlier in the day, so dinner could just be a shmorgasbord of leftovers from there.
I don't want to oversell it, but this might be the great dim sum ever to dim in any sum.
I don't remember much else about Saturday because of the food coma I was in. But I do recall waking up to see this werewolf inducing monster lurking outside the night sky.
I hoped against hope that one of the great horned owls that are nesting in my neighborhood might have flown by the moon in it's Super Moon state, and then I would have known for sure that I was going to Hogwarts. Speaking of that, I wonder why Hogwarts didn't have some sort of Adult GED program?
Sunday I decided to go for my first real bike ride after buying this bad boy:
Bought purely for its looks and having done no research what so ever, I was surprised by how much I like this bike. Yesterday, I took down to the gym, and after realizing I didn't bring my key for the bike lock, over to the farmer's market. Immediately upon taking this bicycle into "real" traffic, I became this guy:
Every Person with a Bicycle
I mean seriously....I never realized how much people just completely ignore cyclists at intersections where they clearly have the right of way. I almost got hit twice. Although that might because the brakes on this bike aren't the greatest so if they hadn't stopped, I suppose I'd be dead right now. Which reminds me, I need to buy a better helmet.... (Like I said....I did very little research.)
Part of the problem of taking your cycle to the farmer's market is that you're restricted by whatever bag you bring for hte amount of produce you can buy. Apparently 5 lbs of potatoes was my limit, which resulted in an overstuffed shoulder bag and no room for my bike lock. As I sat along the benches in the shade contemplating my situation, some friends who live in my neighborhood walked by and offered to take as much as I wanted home with them, so I could ride my bike back without trying to balance things on the handle bars on my way to an inevitable death. I guess on the tombstone they could write, "He avoided several cars, only to die by loose potato."
|At the Farmer's Market, contemplating if potatoes are worth dying for.|
The rest of the day was a blur. I ate smoked ribs and mashed some potatoes. I made jokes that my friend's Malaysian mother appreciated. Mothers love me. That's just a fact. I see no point in continuing this post after that sentence. BOOM.