October 2006 Archives

The trees are bright, the sky is blue. It's supposed to snow on Wednesday, but if there's one thing the weather people here love, it's predicting snow that may or may not happen.

We went up to the mountains over the weekend to visit with some family friends who have a condo in a ski town. J loves these kinds of towns because they look like what he always envisioned Denver looking like before he got here: nestled in the mountains with little wooden structures and lots of shops selling fudge and southwestern art. (He found the real Denver to be more like New Jersey than anything else. "There are so many strip malls!") We stopped into one store because I couldn't believe my eyes from the street. It looked like they were selling a cookie that consisted of chocolate chip cookie dough sandwiched between two chocolate chip cookies. I saw it and my head exploded. The description alone has you saying the word "cookie" three times and "chocolate" twice. Fried coke, I'd recently discovered, tested my outermost limit for comprehending the real definition of decadence, but I think we have a new winner. (This Rachael Ray recipe is up there, too. Butter, oil, cream, blue cheese, and bacon. Served with steak.)

Also this weekend, I discovered what might be the ultimate irony. Like irony squared. Okay, you know those "Mr. Bubble" and "Thumb Wrestling Champion" type shirts that Urban Outfitter sells? It turns out when they have an overstock on merchandise, a lot of clothing and accessories get donated to Good Will. So a hipster could technically really buy a "Ithaca is Gorges" shirt at a thrift store and think they hit the mother lode.

Also, I'm loving television. What did I ever do in my life without this fall lineup? Heroes? Studio 60? 30 Rock? And I'm dying a little in anticipation of the Project Runway finale. Where are you weighing in about the alleged cheating? I actually think I believe him.

I am very excited to announce that I am one employed lady in Denver. Not too bad for arriving less than two weeks ago! J is on his way towards steady paychecks, too, and is doing an exciting-sounding temp gig at a gallery next week. Next step: find an apartment. And a car. Ug. Hey, do you have a free car you'd like to give us?

Being so busy with getting settled in, I haven't really had the chance to visit with my friends here as much as I would have liked. Part of it, I'm sure, is the feeling of permanence, a feeling that we're here for the long run and don't have a rushed schedule, so there's no reason to cram a bunch of visiting into a couple days, like we usually have to. But at the same time, I know now I'll have to make more of an effort to get out and seek people out. Because otherwise that's how people become locked up recluses, right?

I had a big bought of missing New York last week. I realized I left all my really close lady friends on the east coast (and one on the west coast, but she technically left me), and got pretty sad. That plus being unemployed in your parents' basement on a weekday isn't the most cheering scenario. But luckily, some friends called and we ended up trolling the streets of Denver during their big First Friday celebration. All these little galleries open up along a big stretch, and tons of people come out and have a big arty party. It was good to see the city come to life.

You know how we lived in Sunset Park and our whole neighborhood was nothing but little rolling carts of ladies selling tamales, shrimp chips, and ladling horchata out of murky buckets? We lived there a whole year and a half and never bought any of that horchata, mostly because it looked very much like something you shouldn't be ordering out of a big dirty bucket on the street. But let me tell you something: we were so wrong. So, so wrong. I've already had horchata twice since arriving here, and I can't believe a beautiful drink like this has been absent from my life thus far. The moral of the story is weird bucket juice is sometimes delicious.

Hmm, that seemed really random, but we did, in fact, drink some horchata after looking at all the galleries that night. The next day we continued our artsy ambitions and checked out the opening of the new Denver Art Museum. It's a really interesting building, though I felt a bit dizzy the whole time I was inside. From the outside, it looks like a big ship; from the inside, a monochromatic Escher painting come to life.

So, we're still here. Not in New York, where little planes are still finding their way into buildings, which terrifies me. On the news, Brian Williams started by saying, "We're here in New York..." and for the first time in a long time, I realized it was he that was in New York, not "we" anymore.

My parents definitely have little personality quirks, most of which I have to be careful about harping on because you never know how genetics is out to screw you later in life. I know I've already developed a hatred of television commercials, which they instilled in me at an early age. When a show I'm watching goes to commercial, I'm likely to flip to another channel and watch two minutes of another show before flipping back. I've developed a highly attuned sense of the span of most commercial breaks, so I rarely miss getting back to the right show on time. I wouldn't say this is J's favorite behavior of mine, but he lives with it. But now, NOW he sees from whence the habit sprung, and he understands I have but a diluted version of the true potential of the television neuroses. My parents like to mute the commercials, and sometimes the flip the channel. But if you really want to see a quiet freaking play out on J's face, you should really go for the triple whammy that my mom pulled last night: turn the television to the Food Network, mute it, and leave the room. During the Lost premiere.

They also seem adverse to throwing much of anything away that might still be of some use. The first night I was here, my mom pulled out a little tube of goat cheese from the fridge and said, "Oh, we still have this. Do you think it's any good?" People, this was some goat cheese we got for our Denver wedding reception A YEAR AGO. She only threw it away with great regret. My dad also made a point of telling me that there was a television in our bedroom. He said this in such a way as to imply a bonus, when in fact the television does not have sound. Or, it does, but only intermittently, and only if you let it sit there in silence for several hours to "warm up" (what??), and even then you have to slap it every once in a while when it goes out. It should also be noted that there are three other televisions in the house, but at my evaluation that the television was basically worthless, they both seemed a little hurt. Even though last I checked goat cheese and televisions weren't sentient beings.

J and I had interviews at the same temp agency this morning and the whole way there we joked about going in and asking what kind of Duel Action Jobs might be available to Power Team Liz and J. Then one of the first jobs they offered us was riding around together on public buses to dispense and collect surveys. Ha. I would laugh if it didn't hurt so much.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the DMV, which we escaped from just before our souls were sucked out. There's a person who checks your documents when you come in the door to make sure you have everything you need, which would seem to be very helpful (wait for it). My change of last name took a long time, but J's out-of-state license switch took even longer. When we got there, they were serving number 124, and he got 189. When I finished, an hour and a half after arriving, they were only at 139 or so. We waited. And waited. I spent a lot of time reading the little scrolling marquee they had above all the stations, which streamed interesting facts like, "The first cheeseburger was patented by a Coloradoan," and "We are only half staffed from 11am to 2pm. Thanks for your patience!!" and "We do not do photocopies" (wait for it).

Finally, an hour and a half later, at 155, I convinced J to take a walk up and down the strip mall with me. And lo! There was a cheap hair cutting place! J needed his hair cut in a bad way, but we'd packed the clippers, so we had been on the lookout for a place to get him shorn. I loved this lady right away because she draped J in a zebra print bib thing (I completely lost the name for those things). Then she got to cutting, and ended with (extra funny if you know J and his aversion to product) a blow dry and lots of gel. Twelve dollars well spent (in entertainment value for me). But when we got back to the DMV, they were only at 159.

Luckily, they pulled some out-of-state license people out of the seating pen and put them in a separate line. Just when I thought it really might be possible to die of overexposure to gray walls and florescent lighting, J was at the front of the line. Then he was next to me telling me we were leaving. Apparently they needed photocopies of his passport, which they neglected to tell us when we came in, and which they couldn't do themselves.

At this point, I believe I spontaneously, and heartfully, did a "Oh NO they di'nt." I was not about to have waited for four hours and walk away empty-handed. We busted into a car insurance place four doors down and pleaded with them to share their copier services. They helped out ($.50 a copy, they get it all the time) and let us know we'd actually need two copies. WELL THANK GOD FOR THE STRIP MALL CAR INSURANCE PLACE. We went back, and they informed J that he would also need copies of his marriage and drivers licenses. Several loud curses and another trip to the car insurance place later, we were finally free.

And I think it still went more smoothly than it would have gone in Brooklyn.

Because I started college right after high school, and then left for New York directly after college, I've never really lived in Denver on my own. I've always stayed at my parents' house, borrowed their cars, and been basically supported by them, which is appropriate given I was only ever home for short vacations. So when people ask me if it's sunk in yet that we've left New York, the answer is: not yet. I'm really looking forward to landing a job and finding an apartment, as I think that will really toss my mindset into the right place. Not to mention living with one's parents, no matter how lovely they are or how well one gets along with them, is a situation one doesn't want to be in for too long. We've been really busy applying for jobs. There's only the one computer in the house that talks to the internet, so dividing up the time between the both of us and my mom, who works from home, is a challenge as well.

Man, it's pretty here! All the trees are changing at different rates and with different colors, so the parks and streets are in Total Fall Mode. I like that. Colorado, like New York, is great for autumn.

Apparently I was so busy saying goodbye to my New York friends that I forgot to tel my Denver friends we were really for real moving back. So I keep having these moments where I'll see someone and they'll be all, "Hey! I didn't know you were in town!" and I'm all, "Oh, I live here now!" and they're all, "Whaaa? No one tells me anything." Sometimes I confuse writing about something on my blog with actually telling real live people things.

The cats are adjusting okay. Max and Pinky are completely wowed by the sun room, the various suitable napping places, the carpeted stairs, the numerous food bowls and litter boxes scattered around the house, and the velveteen chair with the giant Elmo that's perfect for curling up on.

I can't believe I have to watch the premiere of Lost and some Top Models this week without any sort of accompanying party at Krista's house. Do people even watch television in Denver? IT JUST WON'T BE THE SAME!

Speaking of Krista, we're desperately trying to get out to Chattanooga for the big Krystal Square Off. We're hoping this move west for me can mean extended competitive eating coverage instead of less, but we'll see.

I've had some requests for pictures; I'll work on that so you can more completely understand how not in New York we currently are.