The Halloween Debacle

Halloween? Oh, I do this just for fun...

Note: I am an un-trained professional and you definitely should not try this at home.

Halloween is my favorite holiday. I get dressed up and get crazy at whatever party/club that lets me and my cohorts in. This year was a special year. I dressed very steampunk/Moulin Rouge with a silver mask. AND I had a VIP ticket for the Artists Bacchanal at the Redline Gallery the Friday before Halloween.

Now, at that moment in time, I was texting back and forth with Schuyler. I met him the week before after going to the symphony. He seemed interested in me but hadn’t put out an offer for a date after a week. He seemed nice enough and he is my type of addiction: blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin. I decided I was only going to let so many more days of texting happen before giving up the idea of a date.

So…Friday night comes along. I get all tarted up. Phillip, the best partner in crime, joins me for a first drink of the night (6:30pm). We head down to Beatrice and Woodsley to get our drink on with a Manhattan for him and a Hendrix and tonic for me. He voices he wished he had a ticket to the Artists Bacchanal. Being the evil kid that I am, I text my friend who offered the VIP ticket to me with the “hint hint nudge nudge” if there’s an extra ticket I know someone who wants it. Within 5 minutes, SCORE!! We guzzle our drinks and head to his house so he can put a tux on and grab his mask.

We arrive at the Artists Bacchanal and start off with a Moscow mule. Which quickly turns into 2. After a bit of elbow rubbing and a Ballet Nouveau Colorado performance, I decide to start drinking some honey wine from Dithyramb Winery. Yeah…gin, vodka, and now honey wine. Can you see where this is going? The elbow rubbing continues along with consumption of some food…oh wait…I didn’t eat dinner. I’ll tell you now, hors d’oeuvres do not make a good dinner for a night of drinking. Glass #2 of honey wine…glass #3…I think there was a glass #4 but I know I didn’t finish it if I actually had it. This is because the party changed venues.

Not the Bacchanal’s location, just my personal party. The crew of us at the Bacchanal went our separate ways and I ended up catching a ride to Stoney’s since it’s close to Bar Standard (which was to be my last location of the evening to catch Phillip and a ride to his couch). This is where things get a bit blurry.

Upon arrival at Stoney’s, my friend and I promptly order water. It felt like 5 minutes later but we order a round of beer (yup, add one more to the mix) and she goes outside to smoke. I stay inside where it’s warm and being left to my own devices start to drunk text. Schuyler answers me and the next thing I know he’s at the bar ordering a drink. From looking at my texts the morning after, he was playing poker and decided to meet me. After the initial beer, he asks what I want to do. The Forbidden Plant Party at Bar Standard of course!

If you don’t know what the Forbbiden Plant Party is, it’s a Burner Halloween party that is off the hook fun. Crazy decorations, amazing DJs, and wicked fun people. It’s hard to not have a good time.

I don’t remember walking there but I do remember being inside the party. I was playing with someone’s laser gun…gin and tonic…multiple friends come up to say hi…another gin and tonic…the music was really good…there goes Phillip with Chelese…another gin and tonic…was that a jellyfish that just walked by that knew my name?…

LIGHTS! It’s 2am and all the revelers are being kicked out of the club. Somehow Phillip finds Schuyler and I and we make our way towards the door and coat check. As we all spill out of the club, I remember saying something, gods only know what to Schuyler, give him a kiss on the check and I think even a *pat pat* (that’s a bad sign from me…it’s the “oh dear, you’re so cute but you have no clue”) and then proceed to wander down the street with Phillip to catch a cab. How we arrived back at his place is a mystery to me.

The next morning: Phillip rehashes my behavior and all the interesting things I said in the cab and in his car on the way to his place. Note: alcohol really IS truth serum along with “get naked” juice. From what I gather, I was blackout drunk when we arrived at Phillip’s yet speaking without a slur and confessing to to bunch of things. Then I proceeded to strip down to my under-roos (not unusual for me especially after a few drinks but I do vaguely remember taking my corset off in the living room) and crawl around on the floor (definitely unusual) until he persuades me to go to sleep. Phillip gets perfect gentleman of the year.

It’s been about a month and a half since I’ve heard from Schuyler. I had written him off as one of the many men I’ve scared and/or scarred. He texted me the other day with “Sexy woman”. Um yeah…no. He doesn’t know it yet but he’s about to get the “WTF…are you for real?” response. Seriously, I’m a classy broad with standards. That behavior just won’t do.

Too Many Days

The idea of writing everyday or every other seemed like a good idea. Oddly, too much happens to do that. It’s like trying to write about sex when your shagging in a elevator.

Sleep? We’re in Prague!

For the past two nights, Amber and I have been burning more than just the midnight oil. Last night’s bedtime: 3:00am. Night before last: 5:30am (for me, Amber’s was 7am) Prague doesn’t really sleep and neither have we.
Friday night: Sitting outside the Czech Inn having a smoky treat, these two guys start talking to me and ask if Amber and I would like to go to Acropolis Club. They try to ply us with Brazilian guys going to the club too (one was French, the other an American mutt) which just made us laugh. I mean, really, like Brazilians make EVERY adventure better? Our clubbing group became much larger with 2 French girls and 2 Canadians, making total of 10 strangers on a search for beer, dancing, and fun. Amber almost dropped out to go back to Cross Club but I convinced her that we could club hop. Prague doesn’t sleep, so why not?
Thibault, the Frenchman, was leading our pack with Amber speaking French with him. Omar…well he was definitely hitting on me but 19 year olds definitely do not float my boat. Our little group navigates the streets around the tv tower(this is a weird tower. Huge with big ass babies crawling all over it). Once there, we descend into the club, obtain drinks, and check the place out. Two small rooms (small for a club)hold a reggae band and a DJ. I’m a bit of a techno snob but eventually I get dancing and Thibault proves to be more than a white man wiggle kind of guy. As the night progresses, we get so into dancing together that we end up unintentionally clearing a space on the floor and receive claps and hoots and hollers of approval. Wow! I don’t blush often, but I think that was one of those moments.
Amber had wanted to leave before the metro stopped at 1am but found the time to be 12:54am. No Cross Club for us since we were not interested in paying for a cab. So the night wore on with dancing and getting to know the other travelers in our group. It had been awhile since I had seen Amber, so I went looking. Nowhere. She was nowhere. I started to feel bit uneasy but I figured I probably just missed her somewhere. So Thibault and I keep dancing. We take a beer break and I look for Amber again. Nowhere. We bump into Omar and he conveys Amber’s message that she’s outside trying to talk with a Czech guy. Feeling relieved, I head out there. No Amber. I go back in, interrogate Omar who says she was just outside, I check the club again and get worried.
No Amber.
Thibault can see the concern on my face so he offers to go walk around a few blocks with me to try to find her. We walk quickly and at every corner I do a “Whoop! Whoop!” (we learned it from Denver Cruisers:-) and wait to hear a return call.
Nothing.
Yes, I know Amber is a big girl and can take care of herself, but we’re in a foreign country and she didn’t say she was taking off. She’s good at disappearing on me in the States. Here, it made me very uneasy. Thibault and I go back to the club and take another look. No Amber. We go back outside for a smoke in hopes that maybe she comes around the corner or out of the club. We wait for about 30 minutes which makes our happy adrenaline rushes from dancing fade. Thibault suggests we head back to the hostel. I agree, thinking maybe Amber had enough and went back for some sleep.
Upon arrival, I check her bed. No Amber. Damnit woman! Where the hell are you?!? I head back down to the lobby, still worried. Thibault decides to keep me company while I sit and hope that Amber walks through the doors.
4:00am: No Amber
4:30am: No Amber
5:00am: Still no Amber
5:20am: Too tired to stay up, I decide to head to my room.
Thibault asks what will I do if she doesn’t return later in the morning. Call the police. All my mind can think about is if Amber’s dead in a gutter, her mom is totally going to kill me. I climb into bed, trying to figure out what time I should wake up if I do need to call the police, when the door swings open.
Amber!
Where the hell were you?!?!? She apologizes and says, “I’m so sorry, I hope you weren’t freaking out too much. I just had the most awesome night ever! But someone is waiting for me so I have to go…”
Jeezy Chrizy, woman. Let me say, I slept like the dead.

Botanic Gardens, Two Bottles of Wine, and a First Date

This is on my brother's fridge. Apropos for my Saturday night.

As I sit on my couch and recount this tale, I will say this is a warning. Do NOT do this on a first date. I am a trained professional at making an ass of myself. With Gershwin and a cup of coffee I will retell my tale of laughter and accidental drunkeness with Hollywood (you know I don’t give names!).

“So…um…would you like to go out on a date with me sometime?”

It was just so endearing. He did the adult version of kicking the dirt with his feet. How could I possibly say no? I had been coming into the store where Hollywood worked for weeks in a row. I never really lead on that I thought he was handsome but perhaps it was stopping to have extended conversations with him that did it. Or maybe it was my comment in this particular meeting that I’m a pagan and well…I’m going on a camping trip and we get a bit crazy with Dionysus. Who knows? Either way, he got the balls up to ask.

This past Saturday night we met on the playing field of the first date. A Denver Botanic Gardens membership, bottle of red, bottle of white, a pack of smokes, and two strangers that have an attraction. GAME ON!

Many events happen at the Gardens on a summer Saturday night such as weddings, charity events, anniversary parties, you get the gist. I show up on my bike and am waiting only a few minutes when I see Hollywood. He navigates through the throng of wedding attendants, regular patrons and random passers-by to my perch on the bike rack wall. He hides the bottle of red I brought in his backpack. We make our way into the Gardens with the contraband wine, walk around a bit while he tells a tale of his grandfather (he invented Spring Break…hilarious!), and as it starts to rain on our 2 person parade, we find a cozy little spot that hides us in a bunch of pine trees.

Hollywood takes out the chilled bottle of white. A Gewürztraminer from the Willamette Valley in Oregon! Brownie points for him! Then 2 wine glasses follow. Actual glass. More brownie points for style. Good wine, interesting conversation, out in nature, and then he asks if I mind if he smokes. I only mind if you don’t give me one. Talk about bad kids breaking the rules! Bottle number one is down for the count and we start on bottle number two but not without an intermission, aka a potty break. Since we’re so far back in the Gardens, we have no clue where the nearest bathroom is so we do a little bushwacking to where Cheeseman Park butts up to the property line. I pop a squat and he’s looking at me, “AHEM! Be a gentleman and turn around!”. I think he was so stunned that I didn’t say we should try to find the bathrooms he forgot all his manners. Of course, that really didn’t matter to me. His job was to watch for any pedestrians coming our way, not watch me.

As the deed is done, we hear people coming our way so I do what I’ve been taught to do in the movies…pretend you’re making out to serve as a distraction and cover up. What can I say? It does actually work. Silly Americans and your adversity to public displays of affection.

We decide to walk the Gardens a bit more (flip flops off which was so nice to do) and end up, again, at the back in the Japanese  section on a very long bench. We continue drinking the red wine, having a wonderful conversation, feeling the moist earth under our feet as night time falls on us. The Gardens are becoming more quite as the Christmas lights in the trees become brighter. I love the Gardens at night. It makes me want to put my fairy wings on and go running around and climbing trees. I’m not really sure how it happened, but he kissed me. It started out as one of those passionately tender kisses, the kind that make you melt and rile up all those butterflies in your stomach. Then it became the kind of kiss that grabs you in the primal parts of your body and soul and nothing else exists except the two of you. I was aware that a few people started to walk the path where we were, then an ‘Oh!’ was heard and the steps went away.

I have no clue how long we were there kissing. It had been such a long time since I had felt such overwhelming passion and lust from just kissing, I didn’t care who saw us. Except when you realize there’s a flashlight on you and a guy saying, “The Gardens are closing. Make your way to the gate, please.”

Seriously, I felt like we were two teenagers making out minus the embarrassment of getting caught.

We make our way towards the main gate with a detour to the bathrooms. On the way, we walk through what looks like a separate event from the wedding that happened earlier. After our potty break, Hollywood gets the slim idea of seeing if they’d give us some wine. Man after my own heart….they give us two PINT glasses filled with white wine! Whoa! Hey, what’s over there? A big tent with soft lights on the lawn…perfect for dancing under. So of course we set the wine down and try our hand at the waltz. I’m laughing my ass off because we’re totally not doing the waltz (I’ve had dope training in waltz, foxtrot, and salsa), there’s no music, and we’re barefoot in the grass. As we’re laughing and dancing, the SAME GUY comes by and says EXACTLY the same thing. He’s apparently very into his job.

We finally make it to the main gate. My wine had taken a spill in the grass so my cup had maybe 3oz in it. Hollywood had about half a cup left. We drained our cups and made our way out onto the street. It was a beautiful night so we sat on the wall by my bike for a bit. We had started this date at 6pm and it was quite late now especially since we both had to work the next day. We started kissing again and the world went away. And then suddenly it came crashing back as we both tumbled about 2 feet off the wall into some pretty tough long grass. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t find my sunglasses! He helped me up, then bent over the wall and like magic they were in his hands. I decided that some water might be a good idea even though I was feeling pretty good, just a little dehydrated. I took a big sip. We kept kissing.

And it happened.

In no more than 2 minutes did my stomach protest the ingestion of something besides wine. The world started to spin and I said, “I don’t think the wine is mixing with the water very well…” and my brain said to my conscience, “Hey, I think we forgot to eat dinner before this date…” Whoops.

New guideline for living: Eat dinner before you meet a date for drinks. Yakking not fun on a first date.

Old guideline re-instated: Do not mix your drinks, i.e. white wine, then red wine, then champagne, then 2 shots of vodka…you get the idea. That was on a night about 4.5 years ago. Stick to what you start with.

We ended up laying down by the bike rack together, hidden from the sidewalk and road by a row of plants and a 2 foot wall. My head was on his chest, I could hear his heartbeat and feel him breathe. I love that. It’s just so relaxing for me to hear a heartbeat with the warmth of a chest under my cheek. Little to our knowledge, the Moonlight Ride was happening on the other side of the wall. We heard bells and peaked up over our man-made fox hole. Hundreds of bikers, young and old, passing by us and going into the parking garage. Great. I am Teresa’s sense of “Oh Shite, I hope no one recognizes me”.

Apparently Hollywood had dinner along with a better tolerance to wine (the tannins get me every freaking time) so he loaded up my bike in his car and drove me the 8 blocks home. Those were the 8 longest blocks in history. For all the fun it was, I was sure that this was going to be the first and last date. I fortified my senses, ready for the blow of “Yeah, I’ll call you later this week…” Translation: I am so totally not calling you ever again. Hollywood pulls up in front of my building, pulls my bike out, kisses me good night and asks if I would want to go on another date. What? For real?

Tonight: The Second Date

Wish me luck. We’re going for sushi.

Wine, Camping, and Radio Flyer Wagons: Part I

This past week, I was at a private festival that celebrates wine and the Greek god Dionysus. It’s a yearly event for me and it has this odd way of resetting my sanity and perception of the world. Many of us come from different parts of the country to this event, sometimes being the only time we see each other during the course of the year. We laugh, we cry, we do rituals, we teach workshops, we dance around a bonfire to the sound of drums, and we fall asleep to the sound of other people having sex or having a good laugh. It’s a magical time of introspection, of extraversion, of being able to be who you really are in the safety of the people who accept you for the real you. It’s the best time of just letting go. Letting go of everything. Especially since there is no cell phone service.

This year was a me year. No significant other tailing me. Not even a “benefits” friend. Just lil’ ole me. It was perfect.

I have broken something every year I’ve been going. The previous years I broke hearts except for last year. Last year I broke a tent (it was tied to my car to keep it from flying away….whoops…). This year I broke NOTHING! Oh wait, I did break something. My perception of myself and where I’m going. But that’s coming. Just wait.

Tuesday and Wednesday I couldn’t stay during the day yet still journeyed to the festival in the evening for revelries and slumber. There’s nothing like sleeping outdoors especially when one has a memory foam topper for their queen size air mattress and a king size down comforter to keep them warm.

Tuesday Night: After a torrential downpour and almost getting stuck on a mud road, I arrive at the festival for the first night. I am greeted by a variety of people, yet looking for where my cohort (Amber) had placed our encampment. Before I can find her, I am whisked off to the opening for the main dome.  The couple who put this event together are good friends of mine. As the rules of this plush, foam padded, multi-pillowed, fake fur lined dome are explained to the participants who are there, I am playing a game of foot wrestling with the wife. After the rules are explained, I hear a shout for Greco-Roman wrestling and suddenly I am tumbling around on the squishy floor, the wife and I laughing hysterically. It was a good way to start the night.

Note: Last year, my friend Jason and I got into a really good match. He does a lot of martial arts training. It was a proud moment for me to give him a run for his money. I am like an Altoid: curiously strong.

After hanging in the dome for awhile, I head a few paces away to the other dome which was being called the nipple (due to its shape) by the end of the festival. The nipple had blow-up recliners and couches. AWESOME! After listening to (and participating in) some conversations about giving head and anal sex, I strike a question to Spanky. I’ve known Spanky for years and know the person he is. I’ve met his wife once (I think) so I asked how things have been between them. He waves the question off a bit saying he could use my advice on love. A comment that I don’t exactly remember was chimed in, something to the tune that I was jaded on love. The most surprising thing came out of Spanky’s mouth…she still believes in love or else she wouldn’t be here.

Do I still believe in love? Of course I do. As much as it breaks my heart, I am a romantic. I still believe after so many failed relationships and a divorce that there is someone out there for me. There’s a lot of someones’ that fill/will fill the gap until I finally bump into him, but he’s out there. Somewhere. He’s waiting for me too. Ok, I hope he’s out there waiting for me.

Realization #1: I had become so grumpy about the lack of good men, actual dateable MEN (not boys or guys) that are around my age, I had come off as jaded about love. How sad! Now, how to fix that?!

Don’t get me wrong, there’s some good guys out there that will make amazing partners from some woman. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit different. It’s hard finding a guy that willing to put up with me, my crazy friends, AND who isn’t a wall flower. I’m a force of nature. I need someone just as strong and open-minded. Geez, that felt like a speed dating intro.

Next: Wednesday and the arrival of Greylin

This is my happy place. Ok...one of my happy places.

Utica Club

Tonight is another Denver Cruiser Ride night. I am dressed in my finest white trash trailer park clothes with rollers, shower cap, and racially different babies in tow. If you didn’t guess, that’s the theme. Now that I’m out of work, I’m sitting at The Interstate Bar waiting for Phillip (aka the best partner in crime for me ever that is totally platonic) drinking a Utica Club and munching on deviled eggs and a pulled pork slider.

If you’ve never had a Utica Club, well…you’re not missing much. It’s a NY state thing that stays mostly upstate, aka Central New York (CNY). So to find it in Denver, almost 2000 miles away from the city (Utica) that had the 4th worst municipal water in the United States at one time, feels like a hug from a stranger in an elevator.

I’m drinking it mostly for the novelty tonight. It speaks to me of bonfires, trucks, and lots of laughter. It is brewed by The West End Brewing Company in Utica, NY. Their mascots are Schultz and Dooley, beer steins of a German and an Irishman thus showing the influence of these immigrants to the area. On the can it says, “First beer sold in the United States after prohibition”. From all my memory, I count this as true since the brewery survived that horrible period by making soda instead. Don’t trust me on that. I did the tour once when I was 5 years old and then at 25. This beer has been in my memory since day one. Even though its not exceptional by any means, it’s one I will drink with very fond memories.

Pain and Pleasure

Pain is a way our bodies tell us there is a stimulus affecting us.

Pleasure is another way our bodies tell us there is a stimulus affecting us.

Sometimes the lines between these get blurred and we get to choose an outcome. Pain or pleasure? Why not both? Can pain cause pleasure and vice versa?

Yes.

When one stimulus overrides another, we tend to feel the stronger. Yet, what if you were to train your mind to be able to switch that stronger stimulus into something else? How cool would that be? It would be like having a super power! Which, I’m already a super heroine so here’s my spiel:

When a little child falls down, they’re on the brink of tears. They feel pain. Child looks at you for confirmation of pain and permission to cry therefore getting attention. Some of us do the “shake it off…you’re ok” which can work pretty well. Even using it on an adult works really well. This weekend, I was the subject of such an event.

Denver Cruisers is an event where people go cruising around the town en masse on their bicycles stopping at designated bars and the ever fun Circle of Death. Oh yes! It’s high speed bicycling fun in a large circle and people try to cross it to get to the action in the middle. It’s like a tornado of bikes. Rides happen on Wednesdays and Sundays. Wednesdays are the themed nights where you can dress up and this week’s is cops and robbers. Sundays are more mellow and more focused on longer rides. This past Sunday was my first time attending the Sunday ride. Little did I know what awaited me.

Which just so happened to be a speed skater who knocked me off my bike.

As I started to fall, I knew it was going to hurt. Falling always hurts, no matter what speed you’re going. My left shoulder and knee took the brunt of it and my hands got scrapped up but not too bad (I was going to buy biking gloves that day but decided to not. Doh!). The 50 other Cruisers stopped and asked if I was ok. Shocked and bleeding, I moved my ankles and arms, felt my body a bit and decided there was nothing broken. Score! The skater was a man in his 50′s. He pushed his way through the crowd and said, ” Are you ok? You should look behind you when you bike…” and then walked away. Wow…what a butt wipe.

My only thoughts were:

• “Ouch, my body hurts…”
• “What a douche! He’s lucky I wasn’t one of the millions of little kids playing in this park.”
• “Shake it off, T.”

Which I did shake it off, get on my bike, and ride with everyone else to our last destination. Everyone at the ride was super nice and supportive, getting the confirmation that I’m a true Denver Cruiser now because I spilled some of my blood on the ride. I could still feel aches settling in and after an hour of hanging out I decided to head home for a hot shower and the impending pain of cleaning wounds.

I won’t bore you with details, but I did end up doing something quite naughty before hitting the shower. Let me just say, when you can’t be with the one you lust, you can still do it over video chat on Skype! It was just what the doctor should have ordered. As things got more heated, the more I didn’t notice the pain. Even afterwards, as I jumped in the shower, warm water burning my abrasions with a rainbow of pain, I chose to feel the ecstasy of an orgasm come and gone. Even though I wanted to yell in pain, I wanted to moan in pleasure more, so I did neither (at midnight, I don’t think my neighbor would have appreciated it). I chose pleasure over pain and the pain just heightened the pleasure.

I let go.

I'm such a bad ass in a plaid bra!

The Blake Street Vault And Bad Behavior

Perhaps a bad choice after a night of drinking?