Travel Recaps: Boulder, CO

Before I tell you about my time in Boulder, CO, I'd like to tell you about its closest airport: Denver. The Denver International Airport is as lovely an airport as any, whatever Douglas Adams may say. And as one departs from it, one is treated to a rare vision of sculpted art. And by rare I mean terrifying and by vision I mean specter.

This is the enormous stallion sculpture that greets visitors. It seems relatively harmless from a distance, until you come around and see the demonic glowing eyes, which are yellow in the day and red in the night. For a more versatile horror experience, obviously.

Good Fucking Christ.

And you hear that it killed its creator. I am not making this up: the scultpure fell on the sculptor and killed him. It is the spawn of Satan.

Aside from the terrifying welcoming committee, Boulder was fantastic. It's a great city, and I left feeling rejuvanated, inspired and ready to take on anything. Except, as it turns out, a 24-hour schlep to Germany with an 8 hour time difference that wiped the floor with me. But more on that later.

Ostensibly, I was there to run the Bolder Boulder 10K. If anyone is looking for a good starter race, this one is great. It feels like a parade where the crowds run by the floats instead of vice versa. It's relaxed, fun, and doesn't involve any terrifying fund raising. And once I was acclimated to the altitude, Boulder is perfect place to run. The natural splendor is a great alternative to a stairmaster, and the city seems to revolve around fitness. Everything is organic, there are more yoga studios than you can shake a stick at, and no one will judge you if you stand around shaking sticks at yoga studios. Maybe it's all that medical marijuana.

In reality, I was there to see my oldest friend in the world. Not oldest age-wise, obviously. In fact, she kicked my ass to keep running for the last .5 kilometers which, she cheerfully pointed out, only went halfway up an enormous hill. She also didn't judge me when I mumble-wheezed something profane in response.

She didn't even make fun of me when I forgot my running shoes, God bless her. Leading up to the race, when we weren't doing yoga, this was pretty much our life:

Not pictured: beer.

It was the perfect end to a long year. Next year, we're going to run in costume. More on that later.

NOTE: for more on the race, and how I trained, click here.

Shoes, shoes & doing good

I love this organization.

I love its name: Soles for Souls.

And I love my beautiful friend, Kim, who has been doing amazing work for them in LA. So you should follow her on Twitter, ask her how you can help and do what you can.

Feminine Wiles Mean Nothing to a Man With a Plow

or The 22 Hour Day

Some of you may have noticed that it snowed yesterday. Like, a shit-ton. It turned New York into a beautiful, dreamy winter wonderland and was a raging pain in my ass. 

Image courtesy of Miss Pink Slip

It started out so innocently. Early morning tufts of snow in my red snow boots. A stray bit of ice in the collar of my coat.

Then....45 minutes to drive 8 miles. A closed parking garage and a delayed train seriously jeopardizing my audition (I made it on time, though, which proves that I can only be punctual when I've given up all hope).

Thankfully, the snow didn't interfere with my dinner at Lure Fishbar* or drinks afterwards (where I told several humiliating stories that will not be making it onto the blog).

This is Alec Baldwin waiting for a table at Lure. That means he and I have eaten at the same restaurant (not on the same night...yet).

As my friends and I emerged, we blinked in wonder at the empty streets and late night wanderers throwing snowballs. I hoped that it wouldn't interfere with me getting home, har har har.

A two-hour train ride later, I finally made it to the car.  I slid and slipped to the highway....which wasn't plowed. The teeny back rode near the Dunkin Donuts** is clean as the Queen's throne but the major interstate is covered in two feet of snow.

So, a few creative turns later and I'm almost home. Of course, I'm also totally stuck in a snowbank.

Just as I was about to get really discouraged three good Samaritans came and started shovelling me out with anything we could find- feet, a stray bumper, etc. Plow after plow passed us and ignored our pleas and waving for help.  Although, to be honest, I was just so touched at these strangers stopping to help a stranger in a snowstorm at 3 in the morning (oh, did I not mention it was 3 in the fucking morning?) that I didn't care.

Two of these lovely people even came and made sure I made it home safe. Home at last, right? Wrong. Snow, snow everywhere and not a place to park.

Let me paint you a picture: I have been awake for 20 hours, I've spent the last hour pushing my car out of the snow, and I am now facing at least an hour of shovelling. One of the Samaritans suggested I use my feminine wiles to flag down a plow. I smiled and sent her on her way with some hot chocolate and many thanks. Now, if I learned anything from this entire experience it is this:

Feminie wiles mean nothing to a man with a plow.

 Bed has never felt so good as it did at 5:00am after a 22 hour day of rushing, pushing and shovelling. 

Image courtesy of This is Glamorous

 So, if you need me, I will be reading, resting and doing nothing unpleasant today.

Image courtesy of Sacramento Street

If you see him, tell him I could use his assistance.

You have been a very bad man, Baldwin. Spanking, my room, 10 minutes.

Have a very happy snow day, everyone.

  
*which I highly recommend visiting during Restaurant Week, and not just because Alec Baldwin once ate there. Did I mention Alec Baldwin ate there once? 

**have you tried their caramel hot chocolate? It is liquid crack.

Head for the hills!

So this weekend I headed for the hills. With two of my NYC friends in tow (having a car makes me popular) I trucked up to the wilds of Western Massachusetts.

This was a nice place to grow up.

Unbeknownst to me, 15 other former Western Mass residents were embarking on a similiar voyage. Now, what would make 15 self-respecting adults (and me) leave their lives behind for a whole weekend to go somewhere that doesn't have any cell phone reception?

............a high school play...........

No, really.

Of course, it wasn't just any high school play. It was OUR high school's play. And it was Richard III. And it was amazing.

It should be noted that our high school was.... rather small. As in, 100 students (grades 7-12). And rather tight knit. As in, I've known my Glamourous High School friend for 10 years now and we still speak our own language, especially in the presence of the rest of our high school gaggle. This picture is old, but time has only made us sassier.

Also, I met The Boy there*.

The play was amazing- maybe the best yet. I know I'm biased, but I think that's saying something. And the lead actor was extra-amazing- maybe the best yet. And I don't think I'm biased when I say that's really saying something. Our drama department produced some really spectacular talent.

Just as exciting as the play is the formal dinner they throw for the past and present students afterwards.

The table was festooned with shiny things. I really like shiny things.


The director and his daughter aka my Glamourous High School Friend.

Almost all of these dinners (and any get-together with these people, actually) results in singing.

Of course, Richard III is about 3 1/2 hours long, not including intermission. And the dinners tend to drag on in the very best way. And our high school is in the middle of nowhere, which meant a long drive to my residence for the night. As in, we got back at 4:49am.

It was rather hard to get up Sunday morning. I was in dire need of caffeine and bacon.
Lucky for me, I found the perfect place. But more on that later.

*Yes, we are high school sweethearts. Yes, that is silly and a little embarrassing. But I love him a lot so I'm taking it on the chin.

Cheerful Things

So. Rue had to go to the vet today which has put me into a very. grouchy. mood. No one is safe- fellow drivers on the road, my mother's facebook friends, anyone. So I've decided to list things that cheer me up in order to distract myself and get some perspective.

I present, in no particular order:

Tropical Nights

Mountains

Dancing

Late night city adventures in odd bars

And, most of all:

Childhood best friends, pretty dresses


Artistic friends, birds


Far-away friends, Boston


Good friends, warm places


Old friends, familiar places


Blurry friends, champagne


Boyfriends, beer

I feel better. Nothing can get me down now; not broken eggs, stubbed toes, sick cats or Christina Aguilera's crippling addiction to self-tanner.