Saturday, March 22, 2008

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood

After weeks of doldrums and swimming about in a thick pool of ick, it's amazing to emerge, towel off and feel really, really right again. To pass the litmus test, recognize the wonderful and remember all the good. I’ll take feeling bad for a bit to be happy the majority of the time.

I concoct the perfect brew in my morning coffee, strong enough to numb back teeth and with the precise dollop of soy milk. I drive to Boulder to work out. The fitness center I’d been going to for years left me like a casual encounter the morning after. Actually I left it. We all know, have known, have dated, hopefully not married, if so divorced and wanted to push down a flight of stairs the man or woman who finds thrills and purpose in self-spun drama. Such was the woman at the helm of my work out regimen who recently and abruptly fired a widely popular aerobic instructor, leaving behind a room of ever more gossipy women and negative energy. After a week abandoned, and getting a bit too soft too quickly, today I set out for Boulder. I was running late, of course. Question, when you’re driving a wee bit fast on the highway and you pass a cop car parked on the other side of said highway pointing radar in your general direction, can one expect a ticket in the mail soon? Down the way a bit, I find a metallic-orange-peel-colored Corvette pulled over. Serves them right. Orange???!!?!

In class, sweating and breathing hard, I realize I’d forgotten how lovely it is to work out in a positive, loud and bright atmosphere. On my way out the door, a woman comes running after to deliver the awesome ruby red (and spendy) Cross pen that dropped from my bag.

I went to college in Boulder, worked for many years in Boulder and have lived on and off in Boulder (the best in a faboo apartment - albeit with a stalker roommate - over a pub and ‘round the corner from a tattoo shop). I forgot how much I love the town. The beautiful people, the beautiful boys, the beautiful views. I zip over to Macy’s, where after an hour spent browsing endless sale racks, I walk away with a plump sack of goods and shirt for tonight that does my breasts good.

My belly having used up the soy-laden coffee, I walk across the street of the open air mall to Panera Bread for possibly the best damn sandwich of my life, so far. Portobello mushrooms, mozzarella cheese and caramelized onions on ciabatta, half-size please with a side salad of Fuji apples, spring lettuce and gorgonzola and a piece of bread so good the only thing it needs on it is my mouth.
As I drive home toward Denver, windows down enjoying the spring air, Kate Nash (cheeky English lass - think Lily Allen crossed with the nonsensical lyrics of Crash Test Dummies) coming over speakers, I’m caught off guard. I…am…happy. It feels so good, like breathing freely and deeply after a bad bout of bronchitis. I can fill my lungs. I'm breathing again. I feel like crying, the moment so perfect it's otherworldly. The heart does grow back bigger.

Tonight, off to see a new fave band and have some drinks. Better yet, I'm being driven. If I get laid - okay kissed hard, I'm really a nice girl - that will just be the cherry topper.

If a speeding ticket comes in the mail, I make this promise; simply smile and remember the amazing day it happened.


Joe the Troll said...

I'm glad I ate before reading this, or I'd be licking the description of that sandwich.

And I wouldn't sweat the ticket, he was just in radio contact with his friend down the street. I've only heard of mail tickets from the damn intersection cameras. Here in NM, we don't have front plates, so there'd be no way for them to track us down like that!

Lisa said...

I love the way you describe the "self-spun drama" :)

P.S. Those onsies are freaking awesome!!! Loved 'em.

Jodie K said...

Joe...wait until I describe the soups ;)

Lisa...YOU are awesome for pushing 15 inches in circumference from your business ;) TMI?

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