Sometimes coming early is a good thing

This past Saturday, I had the honor of attending a wedding here in Vail of two good friends. Rarely do I get to attend very many weddings here, because most of my friends here are “transplants”.  They come from Wisconsin to Carolina to Chicago to New Mexico to Georgia…..you get the point.  Plus, most of Dave’s friends from growing up live in Chicago and my friends span from west to east coast.  So, needless to say I was “pumped” for the occasion.  And by “pumped” I mean ready to jam out with my clam out.

I really dig my friendships in Vail.  Vail gets a bum rap for being a transient community but if you stay here long enough, you can find some kick ass friends.  So when you are invited to a shindig where most of your friends will gather in one location, and couple that with complimentary food and booze, I say “Booya”.  I don’t know how Webster defines “Booya” , but I like to think it should be defined as “The euphoric climax of awesomeness.”  Call it a more high powered version of “rad”.

The cermony started at 3:00 pm.  This is fine, but not a start time to which I am accustomed to.  Most of the weddings in Chi-town start after sundown for religious reasons and for whatever other reasons, most of my friends wedding are around 5:00 pm or later. 

After the cermony, the bride and groom took off for pictures and we took off for the bar.  For a progression of the drunkeness, here is a lovely picture during the early stages of the cocktail hour:

Gorgeous.  Everyone looks happy and coherant.  Please notice the beer I am holding in my hand.  This reminds me of something I thoroughly enjoyed about this wedding.  The keg was self-serve.  That sentence has two of my favorite words (I also like “albiet” and “beaver”). Whenever my beer would get low, I filled that sucker up faster than you can say “Thirsty midgets like bong water.” Yep, I already had a beer.

So the night progressed with few hitches.   One hitch was my friend Griff, who on rare occasions, gets a wee bit violent when he drinks.  The good part is he doesn’t even remember it.  The even better part is that he is blacking out by 7:00 pm.  See, he doesn’t even remember this picture:

Notice it is only dusk out.  I would find him later in the night out by the fence.  I didn’t ask what he was doing, but my imagination involves a deep discussion about the 28 day cycles of the moon and Griff getting angry and pushing the fence. 

After many more beverages and much debate with the DJ about music selections, he finally conceeded to hip hop and rap.  Hey, I can’t say I am the biggest fan in the world of main stream rap, but at a wedding there really is no other way to go.  It brings out the inner and outer whiteness of my dancing abilities.  If I ever saw myself dancing on a video camera, I am pretty sure I would throw up a little bit in my mouth. 

Overall, the wedding celebration can be summed up in this math equation:

Self-serve keg + whiskey shots + DJ + friends =

And this:

And this:

All very frightening, I know. 

BUT, I do have a point to this running dairy of Saturday night.  As you can see from the evidence above, we were all quite intoxicated.  Once we felt the night had ran its course, we decided to head home.  You can imagine our surprise that it was really only a hair past 11:00 pm at this time.  I remember saying to someone, “Geez, in college we would just be heading to the bars.”  That reminds me, at what point is it just sad to relate to your college days? I am pretty sure it is approaching.

Dave was passed out in bed by midnight (with an unflattering twig and berries display I might add…sorry for the visual kids).  I was not too far afterwards.  We were meeting our friends for breakfast at 9:30 am, so we were up by 8:15 am.  In most day after wedding scenarios, this would be postively dreadful.  But, when you are passed out by midnight, that is a solid 8 hours to sleep it off.  Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want to get up and I was fearful of the hangover, but it never really materialized.  I chalked this one up as a win. Eat it hangover.

So, to the happy couple Joe and Becky, I say thank you.  Not only was your wedding beautiful, but my lack of hangover thanks to your thoughtful early day wedding planning made me feel young again.  For once in my late twenties, I was victorious………

Cheers Joe and Becky!

Thanks to D-Snax for the photos…….I am too lazy to bring my camera.

Quack Your Tail Feather

We are just about a month away from college football.  I just read that line again and got some butterflies in my stomach.  Seriously.  No, I am not lying, I really do love college football.  What is not to love?  It is played in the fall, which might be one of the best seasons on the year.  College athletes routinely “bring it”, unlike the pros where I feel like 50% phone it in and collect a paycheck three time the size of Michael Moore’s chins.  Also, there is always the unexpected.  Hell, these guys are in their late teens or early twenties (unless you play for BYU, then you might, just might, be pushing 30. Not that there is anything wrong with that) and are constantly  screwing up plays, attempting to showboat or just have good ole stage fright.   Anything can happen.  Case in point: Last year’s Fiesta Bowl.  I do not think I have been that excited since Dave told me Tokyo Joe’s is going to open a branch in the Vail Valley.  Would any of those overtime plays work in the pros?  No.  Is that a bad thing?  Yes.   That shit is exciting.  (Suck it Sooners)

If the above isn’t convincing enough, maybe this will sway you my way: Beer.  It is perfectly acceptable to meet at a bar at 10 am (earlier if you want to use the excuse of watching Lee Corso make crazy predictions, or if you live on the West Coast), watch a myriad of tvs, and drink.  You can drink until the evening.  It is glorious.

Listen, I don’t know everything about every team.  I don’t even know everything about MY team.  But I don’t care.  Almost everyone you know has some college to cheer for, and something to talk about Monday at work.  There are only three bad things about college football:

1) The BCS crap

2) The terrible bowl schedule that extends to Valentine’s Day

3) The older I get, they stay the same age

The BCS sucks.  It always evokes controversy and has never worked.  If there could be something similar to March Madness, I would be all of that.

Why is the National Championship played around January 8th?  And why are the New Years Day games routinely getting worse?  On January 1, I am hungover, hungry, tired, confused and I just want to have the voids filled by high caliber bowl games.  At this rate, we are going to be watching more bowls on this day like the San Diego County Credit Union Ponsettia Bowl (crap, I just checked out the website and a Pac 10 team is going to be invited to this bowl….I think I just jinx the Ducks…It is all my fault).

Finally, every year I find myself saying, “Damn, that kid is 10 years younger than me.”  This year it will be 11 years.  Next year will be the tipping point when I realize the most of the incoming freshman class was born in 1990.  I full on remember that year.  Lordy.

Overall I am stoked.  My team will probably start out hot and end .500 if I am lucky.  In between, there will be a lot of smack talk, a lot of SportsCenter, a lot of beer and a lot predictions.  Bring it, biatches.

2007 Oregon Ducks Football Schedule:

http://sports.espn.go.com/ncf/teamsched?teamId=2483

Quack Quack

If I Was a Rich Girl

You know, if I was rich and famous, had a suspended license and hell bent on liquoring and coking it up every night, why wouldn’t you just hire a driver?   

I really should be a counselor to the stars. 

Gloss my Cover

You know, I think everyone should have a professional stylist, make up artist, hair stylist, photographer and photoshopper for one day and be able to do a magazine layout.  Then when you look at magazines and see how “pretty” all of the celebs and models look, you will feel better about yourself because you will know that it takes a TON of work and most likely is not what most people look like in real life, save maybe David Beckham (side note:  I watched Victoria Beckham: Coming to America last night and while I was stunned by how entertaining it was, I was even more stunned at how funny I thought she was) .  I think the biggest delimma would be choosing your background/ layout.  I personally think I would choose a giant ping pong table with beer cups hapazardly set around me.  Ping pong balls would be flying all around me, with two guys giving a high five in the background.  Oh, and maybe a monkey in the background eating a banana.  Yeah, I think that would be classy.

Editor’s Note: After happily spending a few quiet moments reflecting on the joys of Beer Pong and coming to the revelation that I have not played nearly enough of the sport in my day, I recalled some beautiful photographs taken in Winter Park last February.  After scrolling through images, I have found that my friend D-Snax has already laid claim to my magazine layout:

Minus the Monkey, I would say she pulls this off flawlessly.  Kudos to you D-Snax.

Today I am thankful for….

Ok, I know it isn’t Thanksgiving.  If it were, then I would be fasting in preparation for a delicious feast.  That reminds me, why are all of the good eating holidays lumped so closely together?  In our house, we go from Yom Kippur, to Turkey Day to Christmas with barely 60 days passing.  Then what?  Oh yeah, I forgot New Years “Eat Greasy Apps to Thwart Hangover and Watch Football with Multiple Naps In Between” Day.  I like that day.  But really, then what?  Nothing of a feast really comes until when….Easter?  I guess there is a brunch or something, but it I still feel it pales in comparison. Everything else is a BBQ…..Memorial Day, the 4th and Labor Day.  Not that there is anything wrong with that, but I am talking food of such epic porportions it requires not only a special table, but a grazing table beforehand.  I love grazing.

Um, so I got a little of track.  Anyway, I realized something yesterday early in the morn.  My typical routine has me arriving at work around 9 am, give or take a few.  I usually stroll to my desk, then to the fridge to carefully pick a shelf for my delicious lunch, head back to my desk, grab my water bottle, chit chat with various co-workers and head to the water cooler.  I like this routine.  I shaves a good 15 minutes off of the first hour of the day and it brings me that much closer to lunch.  Also, I like to catch up on the everyone’s previous evenings, particularly when it includes a funny story about a light night of drinking that has gone horribly awry.  All in all, good times.

However yesterday when I was at the tail end of my routine, let’s call it minute 11, things came to an abrupt halt.  As I strolled to the water cooler and pressed the blue lever, nothing came out.

Crap.

Now mind you, in my previous place of work we did not have a water cooler and I was forced to resort to a drinking fountain.  However, prior to that office I was blessed, and cursed, with a water cooler.  Memories of that previous water cooler came flooding (pardon the pun) back.  I would drag, with an awkward rolling techinque, the new, FULL jug across the floor.  I would look uncoordinated and I would start to sweat.  Then came the difficult part….the lift.  I NEVER mastered this.  I would undo the plastic on the jug, lift and then disaster.  Like the trailer for Evan Almightly, flooding water did not ensue hilarity.  Typically the end of the jug would just miss the hole (a lifelong issue perhaps?) and fresh water would splash on the wall and it would be a mad rush to secure the jug before more water hit the floor.  Some of it would hit my shoes and leg and by the time the ordeal was completed, I would be tired, sweaty, partially soaked and only 3/4 of the water would be left back in the jug. 

Water Cooler:1, Me: 0.  This was always the final score.

So you can see why this seemingly minor hitch in my morning routine yesterday was more than meets the eye.  To make matters worse, my work is a public place and the potential for witnesses was at an all time high.  I took a deep breath, thought out a game plan and prepared for humiliation.

I began the “roll”.  I placed the full jug next the the demon cooler base.  “Devil woman,” I whispered. I took one final breath, leaned down and then it happened……

“Hey, let me get that for you.”

YES!  How could I forget that I predominently work with males? Never again would I have to struggle with the cooler.  Never again would I feel the pain that is water cooler defeat. Never again. I felt glorious.

Like my mom once said (and I think this came from my grandma) “Like fixing cars, some things are just better left to men.”  I always thought this statement seemed archaic, but as of yesterday, I now understand what she was getting at.  Smart lady.

This is what I am thankful for today (oh yeah, also Wheel of Fortune…I love that show).

Boner in the Wind

I write this post with heavy heart.  This past weekend it was made official that the Vail Valley would be losing an outstanding citizen to the lures of the city life.  My good friend Boner has officially moved to Denver.  I cursed the skies above the E-Town bar deck a few weeks ago when he made his fateful announcement.  “Why?”  I asked myself and looked away so he couldn’t see my pain. He must of sensed my sadness (or he simply heard my curse) and offered the answer used by 65% of males that decide to make the move.  Simply stated, “There are no chicks here.”  How can I argue with science?

So last Friday we toasted our glasses to Boner at E-Town, as it was his favorite Friday hang out for the 2 months it has been opened.  My fond memories of Boner flipped through my head like a grainy video similar to The Wonder Years opening, with a cheesy song by The Fray playing the background.  Actually, that is a lie and I was slightly drunk and more intent on play bar football with a triangular folded $20 than reminiscing, but I can tell you that I am bummed to see him leave.  Actually, I am sad when most boners leave, but this one was very special.  My only comfort is that maybe, just maybe, the excitement of skiing and rafting will blow the wind to the west and blazing over the mighty Rockies, with an IPod in one hand and a Wii in the other, Boner will once again rise with the sun in the Vail Valley.  But hey, at least I have a new floor to crash on when in Denver.

I leave you with two of my favorite pictures of Boner.  Damn, he made the best Bill Lumberg ever……

No, Cheers to you Boner.

Monkey on my Back

I love monkeys.  If you are ever having a bad day or if you generally enjoy monkeys, I do not think it really gets any better than this….enjoy:

Round a boot

With July 4th in the rearview mirror, the Vail Valley is now bustling with 2nd homeonwers and tourists.   I am in my 8th summer in valley and I have always been a big fan of the roundabouts.  They keep traffic flowing, thus keeping me from being late for work.  I tell you, if I had 6 more traffic lights to take on instead of the roundabouts, the unkown factor of light delays would routinely add at least 5 minutes onto my commute and let’s be honest, I would never make it to work on time (I am within 1 minute plus or minus a day as it is). 

However, despite this fanfare I have to tell you….drivers are getting worse.  Way worse.  Maybe it’s because Vail is a tourist destinations and people forget how to drive on vacation.  Maybe the roundabouts are too intimidating and therefore you should stop in the middle of them.  I don’t know.  But what I do know is this:

1. The outside lane of a roundabout is an exit lane.  This means you must exit by the next pull out (snicker).  If you continue to stay in the outside lane, be prepared for honks or some t-bone action.
2. Once you are in the roundabout, for all that is good in life (read: kittens, peppermint patties, Matthew McConaughey 5 years ago pre-nude bongo drums episode) do not stop in the middle.  And do not look at me bewildered as I passionately wave you on.  I am not happy.  Really, I am not.
3. It is always counterclockwise here.  Always.  Very Important.
4. If you are even 1% unsure on how to use them, please drop the cell phone.  I am begging you.  Papa Joe or your “bestie” can wait a few minutes to talk to you.
5. Finally, just as there is more than one way to make a fantastic margarita, there is most likely more than one lane in the roundabout.  Pick it and run the line.  Don’t swerve like grandma on her way to the bathroom after 5 glasses of wine. 

Listen, I don’t like to rant, it is not my nature.  Let’s just say my cat Toonces drives better than most (and plays the bongos better than McConaughey):

7/7/07

It became blazingly clear to me on Saturday , um actually Sunday morning, that I am no longer the early 20s drinker I once was.  I think everyone who has ever been a drinker(or gone to college) can identify with this.  Quite frankly, it would be somewhat sad if I still could drink like I have an unhinged jaw and a bottomless barrel of a stomach.  Alas, the vivid facts as to why I can no longer drink because:

A) I work.

B) It makes me fat.  If I were fatter, or should we say “college weight” there would be more sponge for the soaking.

Anywho, such is life.  However, in a very early 20s sort of way, I was quite proud of myself Saturday.  Was it my best performace ever?  A resonding NO.  Was it the best performance I have put up in the last 2-3 years?  Quite possibly YES.

So here was the deal.  7 couples met at 7 o’clock to head to 7 bars to have at least 7 drinks throughout the night.  I am not going to lie, I was nervous.  First off, the inevitable hangover that would pummel me like two chicks from Flavor of Love: Charm School on Sunday scared to mojo out of me.  Secondly, I really did not know a majority of the couples.  This is fine in most circumstances, but not in a sure fire drunken debachery that would ensue.  Would I be inappopriate?(probably)  Would I pass out first in a bar?(Dave had already touted that I would not be the first female down) Would Dave dance in front of other people? (Crapshoot)

Well, off we went.  I even wore heels, which are not common within Vail Village and can be tough to maneuvor.  There was a schedule to try and keep us on track.  I won’t blabber about the technicalities of the evening, but I will highlight them by bar:

Bully Ranch

Drinks: Mudslide, Dunkel Beer

Overall Feeling: Slightly Buzzed, Hungry

Items Left at Bar: None

La Bottega

Drinks: 7 & 7, Shot of Patron

Feeling: I should have grabbed another slice of pizza.  Already regretting shot.

Items Left at Bar: Jean Jacket (recovered)

La Cantina

Drinks: Group pitchers of Margs

Feeling:  Better after pounding some chips and salsa.  Unimpressed by margs.

Items Left at Bar: None

Mickey’s Piano Bar-Lodge at Vail

Drinks: Cosmo

Feeling: Uncomfotable in the classy, extremely low lit lighting situation.  Enjoyed picking wasabi pieces out of the nut jar.  Quite buzzed.

Items Left at Bar: Any hope for no hangover tomorrow

Sweet Basil

Drink: 1.5 Glasses of Shiraz

Feeling: Drunk.  Need more Desserts.  Confused at “Adult Games” transpiring around us. Dave thinks I might be talking too loudly.

Items Left at Bar: Broken wine glass.  Jean Jacket again (recovered).

The Club

Drinks: Coors Light

Feeling: Happy!  There is music!  And dancing!  And a roomful of people that I sure are impressed by my moves.  Now I am sad.  We have to leave.  Wait, I just got here!

Items Left at Bar:  Heels are ditched upon exiting the bar.

Samana

Drinks:  Coors Light? Maybe?  Not Sure.

Feeling:  Pissed off.  Bouncer will not let us in for some unknown reason.  I am convinced it is because I wasn’t wearing my shoes.  Once inside, there is a weird vibe with the group.  Dave and I immediately do not want to give money to this place. 

Items Left at Bar: My pride.

Tap Room

Drinks: H2O

Feeling:  Beyond intoxicated.  I give my worst performace at PhotoHunt ever.  Ditto for Ms. Pacman.  I am done.

Items Left at Bar: My memory.

Vendettas

Drinks:  None.  Pizza, YES!

Feeling:  Tired.  Sad that I am still not drunk enough to realize how burnt my pizza is.  Confused at disrespectful slurs between tables.  Wanting my any bed.

Items Left at Bar: My attractiveness.

The night ended at a friends house where in my extreme drunkeness I kept finding her bras and putting them on my head.  I was also confused by her wide array of bathrobes.  Am I abnormal for only having one bathrobe? 

 I still don’t know if I was still drunk the next day or if the hangover was just playing hide the tip.  Either way, after a 4 hour nap and some quality snacking, I was shockingly fine.  Well certainly not spectacular, but better than I anticipated.  Spectacular would have required an Illegal Petes or Qdoba burrito….  Wow, maybe I do miss college…….

My Affair With Donuts

For those people near and dear to me….friends you may call them, my love of two foods is well known (and most likely documented).  One is a main course, the other can be any meal or snack.  One usually can cure (or at least aid) a hangover, while the other serves no purpose other than the expand my waiseline (flashback: college days).  Both, however, come in a variety of flavors and both are mighty delicious.  I speak, of course, of burritos and donuts.  My fondness toward burritos will have to wait until a later post, but I can assure you that my relationship with donuts has been brewing for decades.  From Mom and Dad buying a dozen Winchells donuts every weekend of my early childhood, to my goal of eating a donut in every country while on Semster at Sea (note: Japan=not known for donuts), I feel I am well versed on round, doughy, fatty yumminess.  Thus, a picture I stumbled across this morning brought back a very, very happy memory of a few months ago in Spain.

Although I am sad that no donut may ever reach the epic porportions of the one on the photograph below, I live knowing that I conquered this beast.  This men among boys.  Or, since I am a girl, this classy lady among dirty hoes.  I bring you, the Spanish Phenom:

Disclaimer:  Dave ate a bite or two.  This however, does not tarnish my victory.