I was completely and utterly fed up with my job. Not in the way that Gas Station Akbar hates it when you have no idea what pump you parked at. I was fed up in the way that Hitler was fed up with not being able to slaughter an entire race of people because of some pesky thing called being not fuck head crazy.
So when my good friend Matt Niiro told me a few other friends we made over the years were driving out to Highlands Ranch (the Sugarland of Denver), Colorado I took it as a sign from both God and the commission check fairy that I needed to pack a bag and get the hell out of town. The next afternoon I told everyone I met a chick on Craigslist and was going to meet her just before I got on the plane.
On the plane I learned two very important lessons:
1) The "Fasten Seatbelt" light is also code for "The Arab Dude Is Trying To Get Up Again"
2) Paying $500.00 for your phone that has an airplane mode is pointless because flight attendants all still use the Motorola Razr and do not trust the voodoo magic that enables your phone to turn into a media player.
I landed, my friends did the wave when they saw me and then we went to the baggage claiming area. On a side note, paying $25 to not throw away my bottle of cologne was not worth it. That bottle of Light Blue now costs $150. Just saying. But that's not what's important here. As I stood waiting for my bags I was shadowed by a statue. A statue of a pirate. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks. A statue of a black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people. There were statues like this all over the place. Silver-backs, more pirates, ninjas, blue horses with flaming eyes, giraffe antlers and a cucumber. After leaving the awkward gaze of the black, Jamaican pirate with 5 foot long dreadlocks in a land locked state full of white people I was asked what I wanted to eat to which I said the only thing I could say in this mystical land of giraffe pirates and ninja monkeys.
"I want white people food and I want to eat it with a snow bunny."
So we went to some place that was awesome (Fred's Buffalo House or some shit) and I learned a few more things here:
1) The 28 years of my life that I thought the Bison were extinct have been a lie. I ATE ONE OF THEM AND HE WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS.
2) At over 5,000 feet above sea level walking up stairs is a life or death ordeal.
3) At over 5,000 feet above sea level 2 Crown & Coke's is pretty much where I call it a night and take home the first female that isn't a dude.
4) At over 5,000 feet above sea level, she is on top.
So that was awesome.
Then we went home and drank some more. I had a rough estimate of 4 Jagerbombs, which was a great idea so that when the temperature dropped to -3457578943 at night I could be awake for it. On a side note, when your friend from Houston asks if he should bring a coat your only response should be, "Yes bring all of them." and not, "You'll be fine."
Now we had to decide where to go. I wanted to ride the light rail which is like a subway except that its nothing like a subway at all. However the light rail didn't just run in circles all night where I wanted to go like I thought (as does everyone else in Houston I imagine) nor was riding in a cab a financially logical idea. This completely reversed everything I thought I knew about public transportation as taught to me from watching Seinfield and Friends.
We ended up driving ten minutes to a local spot called Lodo's. For my Houston readers, not Lobos. There were no Ford F150's with the Virgin Mary painted on the back. This is where the true differences between Houston and wherever the hell I was really came out.
I walked in and my first thought was, "Holy shit hot chicks!" They were EVERYWHERE! All of them! It was crazy and the ratio of guys to girls everywhere I went from that point on was very much in my favor. This made my soul happy. What made it even happier was not once... NOT ONCE... did anyone ask what kind of car I drive, what I do for a living or what part of town I live in. I just met a lot of really interesting ladies and made a lot of friends as I wondered around the two story building in a drunken haze. This was something new and strange coming from a city where the night life is full of people who want to play rich and have their noses so far up in the air you can see the rotting stump they call a brain. I had a discussion about politics, a discussion about reading a book versus a Kindle and I even shared my amazing discovery that the Bison was not extinct. I checked in on Facebook, saw a few chicks were there who had also checked in, messaged them and we shared drinks. It was pretty much exactly how it works in the movies except we didn't dance in the street on the way home and I probably wont see them again in 10 years and get married,\. I didn't really learn anything at this point because that part of my brain was busy not falling over.
We went home, grilled some Kilbaasa or whatever the hell its called, ate some pita chips with hummus and I eventually passed out in someones bed with a cat named Zoe and some chick who kept calling me Modem.
The next day was like a Zen awakening for me. I visited the mountains that make up the Colorado Rockies. That may or may not be the name of a baseball team and not the actual geographic object. I saw two great cliffs spouting from the earth to house a stadium that had seen the greatest bands ever to have graced our planet. I rode down a winding mountain road without using the brakes. I ate white peoples version of my peoples food. I almost died walking through Target. I drank a "cold coffee flavored drink thing" and I went on an expedition to find these ever elusive buffalo. I also learned that buffalo sauce is not made out of buffalo. Below is an artists rendition of the Red Rocks Stadium. P.S. I just made that name up.
I discovered mountains, cliffs, hills and everything else that inspires artists and authors to greatness. And so to did I find the inspiration that had all but fled from me what seemed like an eternity ago. And while this is far from the most poetic thing I have ever written, the flood gates have been reopened and the memory of a place where the weather doesn't kill old people, my car doesn't define me and the women aren't boring has been brought back and if that comes at the cost of losing the anger and sarcasm that made my style so entertaining... I'm ok with that.
Cheers,
- Muden
