Okay, so I let you guys suffer with several days of “It Is What It Is” only because no one commented on the Doodie.com link/treat that I gave you at the end. I thought for sure that would generate at least one comment (Bonnie). But maybe no one made it to the end.
No, I wasn’t really punishing you. I was just caught up with life and trying to figure out what I wanted to write about next. I went rollerblading on the rec paths in Stapleton on Saturday to see what was the latest in our rapidly-expanding “planned urban community.” It’s still a little bit Gay-pleton (I saw a fag couple, for example, walking a hairless chihuahua outside of Starbucks), but mostly it’s become an unbelievable haven for young breeders; I’m pretty sure that to get in at this point you have to be plucked out of a Gap catalog and have two kids under the age of 5. Or at least that’s the major population I came across on the paths. A little bit weirder is the fact that the deeper you get into the development, the more million dollar mansions there are, and pretty soon it doesn’t look at all like the funky, diverse community portrayed in the brochures and billboards but rather like some elite enclave in La Jolla. Anyway, I have a long socio-political rampage developing on that whole topic, but I think I’ll spare you it until after I read my student’s Honors thesis on the Manual High School crisis and try to tie the two together. Because there are definitely links to be made, and I’m nursing all kinds of intellectual bubblings on the topic.
Grandpa and I had fun Friday night hooking up for a spontaneous Mexican chowdown and a ride around town on her new motorcycle. I made her check out the awesome Friday evening teen-scene at the Denver Public Skate Park in LoDo. That was awesome. Scruffy boys of all colors with pants barely hanging on, flying around on trick bikes and blades and skateboards in GIGANTIC cement pools. And two little teen moojes hanging in there amidst it all. We even met the cutest English bulldog puppy named Tank. He looked a little like this:
Actually, he was different colored and a little older, but you get the picture. How cute is an English bulldog puppy? I’m thinking, almost as cute as a Great Dane puppy. I’ve been a little obsessed about the idea of getting a Great Dane lately. Can you fricking imagine? Maybe someone like Duncan here, who’s available to adopt through the Rocky Mountain Great Dane rescue:
Yes, I know what it means to get a dog (Marshall). I understand what a huge commitment it is, knowing all my dog-owning friends who can’t leave town, or even go out for a long evening, without planning ahead. No, I don’t know if I’m ready. Right now it’s just a dream. I’ll have to blab, journal, and blog my way through it. But everyone tells me Danes are actually great for small houses like mine, with minimal back yards, because they’re couch potatoes and just want to cuddle. Thoughts? And the Dane Rescue people test all their adoptees w/ cats. Most get along fine, I’m told.
I have to be at the chiropractor in 15 minutes. Then I have a big day of seeing students, prepping for classes (yes, still two weeks to go), taking care of a million details and generally running around with my head cut off.
I still have to tell you about date #2 with Nikki, the 39-year-old, Aquarian Professor of Clinical Education (See, Marshall, who said I didn’t give you any details?). That was yesterday, and it was fun. And maybe a few words about all the typical-Nanny turmoil in my head and heart about all this change and letting go and opening to new things.
Oh, and my dream of tending bar in a downtown hotel this summer. A dream I’m hoping to pursue this Wednesday night, if Dubber is up for a night of bar hopping to zero in on the right choice.
And the planting of pretty little things I did on Saturday. And my new rosebush, whose official name, if you can believe it, is: Sexy Rexy.
Lots to tell you, it turns out.
But, for now, the chiropractor.
Lovies! Hope you all have a wonderful week.
