Aside from endangering unsuspecting citizens with my rusty (at best) driving, the highlight was DFC's wedding, at which I encountered good friends and former mortal enemies alike and managed, somehow, to stay sober. The bride and the weather were both gorgeous, DFC was charmingly nervous, the crowd dressed waaaaaaaaay down. (I've lived in NY for long enough that "casual," to me, means "sans pantyhose." In Colorado, it still means "jeans acceptable." Whoops. But hey, I looked good in that little black David Meister dress, dammit. Fuck it.) Overall, though, a huge success. I'm not even that upset about selling off my Elvis ticket to go. (Okay, that's pretty much a total lie.)
My second favorite bit was hearing Gogolbordello on the radio. In Denver! I almost crashed the goddamn car.
My CO friends, with whom I had an absolutely fucking swell time, are pretty much all "in relationships" now, i.e. getting married and/or shacked up. I'm happy for them. Really I am. I was the ninth or eleventh wheel for much of the time, though, which tends to be both tedious and a tad disheartening. I think part of the draw to Denver comes from the growing awareness that love is much harder for a chubby shrimp such as myself to come by in New York City, Land of Supermodels. But hey...whatever. That's what my shower massager's for.
The trip, then, was fairly great. Until, of course, The Parents became involved. I won't comment on that, except to say that my therapist was thrilled to find out that I'll definitely be funding her Central and South American vacations for at least the next twenty years or so. Birth control, people: use it.
Between the Parental Incident, the three hours worth of flight delays (thanks United!) that got me home at 2:30 AM yesterday, and the fact that I stayed up all night watching episodes of Oz on DVD again, I'm effin' whupped. Too whupped for the Giraffes/Fresh Kills/Twenty-Twos show at Ace of Clubs tonight, even. Sad, I know. I'll console myself with...well, still more Oz on DVD. Can't...stop...myself...