Today my feelings are best explained through the words of others, so I give you song lyrics that have hit me, punched me, coddled me, or just made me cry. All, though, have helped me in some way.
Pardon the sap.
...How will you know when you‘ve found me at last? Cause I’ll be the one with my heart in my lap. I’m so tired, I’m so tired, I wish I was the moon tonight...So if your lonely, you know I’m here waiting for you...I know I won’t be leaving here with you...Oh yes, I’m the great pretender, pretending that I’m doing well. My need is is a such , I pretend too much, I’m lonely, but no one can tell...If I ever write this letter, bitter words it would contain, just an unrequitted love bird, wishing she had never spoke your name...I am finally seeing I was the one worth leaving, D.C. Sleeps alone tonight...Sweethearts walk by together, and I still miss someone...To whom can I speak today, the gentleness has perished, and the violent man has come down on everyone...This is what you get, when you mess with us...All i ever wanted, all I ever needed is here in my arms, Words are very unecessary, they can only do harm...Love will tear us apart, again...So it came time to fight, I thought I'd just step aside, and that the time would prove you wrong, and that you would be the fool...may the wind take your troubles away, both feet on the floor, both hands on the wheel, make the wind take your troubles away...the world has turned and left me here, just where I was before you appeared...I'm bound to pack it up, and go away...another turning point, a fork stuck in the road, time grabs you by the wrist and directs you where to go...I'm tired of fighting, fighting for a lost cause...everytime I see you falling, I get down on my knees and pray, I'm waiting for that final moment you say the words that I can't say...my aching heart will bleed, for you to see, but now, no more I love you's, the language is leaving me...I tried to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes, cause boys don't cry...
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
It's that time! Huckleberry Tea is in with "This Aspen Girl"
Here ya go Huck.
(note-the stories you have been reading from huck were written some time ago, giving you kids the background info)
Laundry
My ex-boy/ friend called yesterday to see if he could come over to do his laundry. This is strange only because we have not spent any time alone in a couple weeks. I said yes, and came home from work to find him on my couch; a once familiar occurrence that I realized instantly was one of the many things that I missed now that we are “taking a break.”
I have always been picky about my laundry. It is the only aspect of cleaning that I’d rather not pay someone else to do. This is not because I love lugging my dirties to the laundry room or that I find folding clothes methodically calming. It is simply that I don’t think that other people do it right. After my knee surgery, my mother, God bless her, had to do everything for me, including my laundry. But, the whites seemed dingy, stains didn’t come out, and (this is the big one) she put my ski pants in the dryer! In the dryer?! “They’re going to shrink!” I whaled in my perfect bed-ridden whine. I began to cry (I have already mentioned that nonsensical crying is an undesirable side-effect of Percocet).
Because she is my mother, and because I looked terribly pathetic laid up on the couch wearing my hideous blood stained, anti-embolism post-surgery stocking, she did not kill me on the spot. She didn’t even dump the basket of clean clothes on the floor and head for the airport. Instead, she patiently took instructions and sorted whites from colors, added just the right amount of bleach to white cotton basics, and took my jeans to the dry cleaner (with creases please). And she hung my ski pants out to dry.
So ex-boy/ friend did his laundry (and don’t worry, I don’t tell other people how to clean their clothes), and I made dinner. I wondered if in addition to his heaping piles of dirty clothes, he had come over to launder our soiled relationship. But I resisted my natural instinct to immediately plunge into the subject and decided to butter the bread, have a glass of wine and let the untouched subject bubble under the surface, like the melting cheese in the lasagna baking in the oven.
Everything gets dirty over time. Day to day wear and tear is unavoidable. Without regular and thoughtful care things get discolored and dull. And then there are stains. They happen in an instant. Usually as a result of clumsiness, thoughtlessness or carelessness. Some stains, no matter what you do, just won’t come out. Things can penetrate so deep that no amount of love, “I’m sorry,” or Spray ‘n Wash can repair the damage. Most spills, however, can be lifted if they are attended to immediately.
It is my experience that while women often have a bottle of club soda in hand before the red wine glass hits the floor, men tend to leave things in the bottom of the hamper for days, even weeks, while stains set in. The reason for this difference in stain behavior? I have no idea, but it drives me, and most of the women I know, insane, and frequently causes sleepless nights and irrational behavior.
Recently my girlfriends and I spent the better part of an evening discussing how to approach one friend’s “stain,” and more importantly what to do about the offending male’s complete lack of desire to deal with it. Ideas from this testosterone-free brain trust ranged from prank calling to physical retaliation. Instead, relentless phone calling, sarcasm, insults and yelling were employed. As it turned out, this was not the best strategy for reparation, but it did appear to be rather cathartic.
I have, admittedly, been the perpetrator of a few stains in the past couple weeks. Alcohol and fresh wounds do not mix well, but I ignored my head and numbed my heart, and the result is stinging. So after dinner, ex-boy/ friend and I got a rag and some club soda and did a little cleaning up. The stains will come out, they were just thoughtless moments. The question that remains: Do we have enough bleach, and do we even have the desire, to turn our dingy basics back into bright whites?
Here ya go Huck.
(note-the stories you have been reading from huck were written some time ago, giving you kids the background info)
Laundry
My ex-boy/ friend called yesterday to see if he could come over to do his laundry. This is strange only because we have not spent any time alone in a couple weeks. I said yes, and came home from work to find him on my couch; a once familiar occurrence that I realized instantly was one of the many things that I missed now that we are “taking a break.”
I have always been picky about my laundry. It is the only aspect of cleaning that I’d rather not pay someone else to do. This is not because I love lugging my dirties to the laundry room or that I find folding clothes methodically calming. It is simply that I don’t think that other people do it right. After my knee surgery, my mother, God bless her, had to do everything for me, including my laundry. But, the whites seemed dingy, stains didn’t come out, and (this is the big one) she put my ski pants in the dryer! In the dryer?! “They’re going to shrink!” I whaled in my perfect bed-ridden whine. I began to cry (I have already mentioned that nonsensical crying is an undesirable side-effect of Percocet).
Because she is my mother, and because I looked terribly pathetic laid up on the couch wearing my hideous blood stained, anti-embolism post-surgery stocking, she did not kill me on the spot. She didn’t even dump the basket of clean clothes on the floor and head for the airport. Instead, she patiently took instructions and sorted whites from colors, added just the right amount of bleach to white cotton basics, and took my jeans to the dry cleaner (with creases please). And she hung my ski pants out to dry.
So ex-boy/ friend did his laundry (and don’t worry, I don’t tell other people how to clean their clothes), and I made dinner. I wondered if in addition to his heaping piles of dirty clothes, he had come over to launder our soiled relationship. But I resisted my natural instinct to immediately plunge into the subject and decided to butter the bread, have a glass of wine and let the untouched subject bubble under the surface, like the melting cheese in the lasagna baking in the oven.
Everything gets dirty over time. Day to day wear and tear is unavoidable. Without regular and thoughtful care things get discolored and dull. And then there are stains. They happen in an instant. Usually as a result of clumsiness, thoughtlessness or carelessness. Some stains, no matter what you do, just won’t come out. Things can penetrate so deep that no amount of love, “I’m sorry,” or Spray ‘n Wash can repair the damage. Most spills, however, can be lifted if they are attended to immediately.
It is my experience that while women often have a bottle of club soda in hand before the red wine glass hits the floor, men tend to leave things in the bottom of the hamper for days, even weeks, while stains set in. The reason for this difference in stain behavior? I have no idea, but it drives me, and most of the women I know, insane, and frequently causes sleepless nights and irrational behavior.
Recently my girlfriends and I spent the better part of an evening discussing how to approach one friend’s “stain,” and more importantly what to do about the offending male’s complete lack of desire to deal with it. Ideas from this testosterone-free brain trust ranged from prank calling to physical retaliation. Instead, relentless phone calling, sarcasm, insults and yelling were employed. As it turned out, this was not the best strategy for reparation, but it did appear to be rather cathartic.
I have, admittedly, been the perpetrator of a few stains in the past couple weeks. Alcohol and fresh wounds do not mix well, but I ignored my head and numbed my heart, and the result is stinging. So after dinner, ex-boy/ friend and I got a rag and some club soda and did a little cleaning up. The stains will come out, they were just thoughtless moments. The question that remains: Do we have enough bleach, and do we even have the desire, to turn our dingy basics back into bright whites?
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
STUCK IN THE MIDDLE!
Hey, you. Ya I'm talking to you. You are the only one reading this, so I hope you feel special. You should, because you are special, seriously. Anywho, today was the day I was supposed to go on vacation, why am I still in CRAsPen you ask? Oh, I forgot to tell you, BECAUSE I"M STUCK HERE UNTIL THE SNOW MELTS! The funny thing being that the snow hasn't even begun to fall yet, good times. So BLAH. Blah, blah, blah, today is all about blah, or crappy blah. I guess I really don't need a vacation, I can just marinate in all that Aspen has to offer for the next six months. Do I sound crazy yet? Give me a few months, or just tune in to the blog and listen to me bitch. Or don't. It doesn't really matter, because nothing changes the fact that I am stuck in paradise. But at least your in paradise you say, well nobody asked you. Don't worry, I am not mad at you, I am actually thankful that you have taken 3 minutes out of your day to read the crap that I am writing, so THANKS! CHEERS! AWESOME!
Ok, enough ventilation for now, DAMMIT! Ok, now there's enough. So all the kids, yes all, went camping up at Lincoln Creek tonight, should be fun, but since I am on Aspen city arrest, much like house arrest, I can not go. What did I do you ask, well, the most unspeakable thing I can think of. I called in sick to work!!! I know, the atrocity, the horror, shall I ever be forgiven?
Thankfully my good friend The Mayor is here at dirty-nine to take care of me, he also has his trusty sidekick The Wily Wiggler by his side. Together, they have pledged their undying love to do whatever they can for me, until they get off work and go camping, more good times! Alright, I am serious and quit calling me Shirley. I realize that my unableness to go on vacation, is not a REAL problem. I should be sitting here bitching about how we need to do more for the Victims of Katrina, or how we need to rectify the quagmire that is Iraq. I know, so that being said I shall return to my normally scheduled programming and try to think of all of the blessings in my life, which are numerous. At least I have this outlet to get some stuff off my chest, after all your not reading it anyhow.
Monday, September 19, 2005
This Aspen Girl
Huckleberry Tea is ready for you to get to know her a little bit better. In our continuing series "This Aspen Girl" Huck takes us back to a much fuzzier time. Seriously, who else has any balls in this crap laden town? Show me the money! Put your two cents in biatches, you know you ain't got shit else to do.
Slumber Party
There must be something in the Aspen tap. It is spring and the men are ready to go fishing. This, anyway, is the explanation that my girlfriend’s mom offered to account for current events.
In addition to the “break” in my relationship (I hate when people say that, as if adding the “up” is just too difficult, so instead they say that they want to take a “break”, just rip the band-aid off already), many of my coupled friends are breaking-up, taking breaks, needing space, leaving and/or picking fights. And life seemed so tranquil only a few weeks ago.
I told a friend in Dallas about the goings on in our mountain town and she replied immediately, “Well, it is spring!” I’m not sure what that means, or how I have managed to live through twenty-six springs without learning about this “boys gone wild” or “boys gone fishing” phenomenon, but I am starting to believe that it has some validity.
So on Friday night my female friends and I decided, with much thought and reason, that the world had gone mad. The only remedy? Girls’ night. This plan worked well for everyone, as it turned out, since the men, strangely enough, did not particularly want to be around us either. And yes, I am talking about my twenty-something year old friends here, not a group of hormonally challenged high-schoolers.
Girls’ night out turned into a girls’ all-night pub crawl. 6 PM: 39 Degrees. 7 PM: J Bar. 8 PM: Kalyn’s house. 9 PM: Cantina. 10:30 PM: Eric’s. 11:30 until the lights came on: Chelsea.
You may have seen us. We entered in a group of about eight and then broke into small groups to flutter around. We could be seen taking shots, dancing wildly, making group trips to the lady’s room to re-group and re-hash, and jockeying to avoid any contact with boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, husbands or their allies. Come to think of it, we may have very closely resembled a group of hormonally challenged high-schoolers.
Not satisfied with ending our night at such an early hour, we decided to have a slumber party. We headed out to the house on Cemetery Lane, changed into pajamas, found some beer belonging to the uninvited males and sat together, in a circle, until 6 AM.
I am not sure when I last attended a slumber party. Nights out always turned into sleepovers in high school. And I guess that college is basically a four year version of a slumber party in many ways (and in many soft porn movies for that matter). So why don’t we still do this as “adults”? I don’t know, but we really should, because I had more fun between 2 AM and 6 AM than I did all night out in town. In fact, despite the varying cases of heartache, confusion and frustration, I think that we all had one of our best nights in recent memory.
While I cannot divulge the details of what was said or done that night, I can tell you that there was more laughing than crying. Marisa danced, Dava went on a treasure hunt, and Carrie revealed parts of herself that we had never seen before. Leigh Ann giggled and Dom sighed, because she still doesn’t know what she wants. I showed everyone my new scars. And I realized that sometimes, when the passion slips out of one area of your life, it resurfaces, unexpectedly, somewhere new.
Finally, as the sun began to rise, we fell asleep, comforted in knowing that we were, and are, not alone.
GOODBYE RISSY!
Well as ya'll may know, Miss Riss left us today for the thrills and chills of Beantown, we shall all miss her, but all good things must come to an end. Speaking of coming to an end, when the Hell does off-season begin? I know it's supposed to be here alreads, but shiznizzle kiddies. Town was absolutley silly with peeps this weekend. I mean saturday night alone was like a HS convention, with lil babies and their T-backs running around everywhere, WTF? Top that off with some loud mouthed, bald, ruggerfest priques, throw in some drunk bridesmaids, and that makes for an absolutlely shitty night on the town. So after friday nights debaucery and drama-;puh-leez, and the worst hang over of my life, OK not really, but it was terrible none the less, Saturday nights big blowout bonanza turned out to be a bitch blow-up barf-a-rama. After taking the four hour saturday nap, I was a rarin' to go, til I gets the word that the "party animals" were going to watch movies for Miss Riss's last night in town, and perhaps order in. Boo-hoo. Feeling a bit deflated and probably a bit hungover, I decide to go see 40 year old virgin, solo. This turns out to be actually pretty funny, but I did such a good job of making myself comfortable in the theatre that I woke up in the credits, AGAIN!!! That's twice in two movies kids, what's going on here, I am begining to experience the early stages of what can only be descirbed as movie-lepsy which effects every other male in my family? For awhile I thought it had skipped a generation, but these last couple of instances have really got me worried. HELP! BTW, did anyone watch the emmy's? Well your a dork if you did! But thanks to TR3NT, for the images of the CRAP that you missed, of r all you non-dorks out there. Peace biznatchles, I'm out! BTW-First ever MNF double header, REJOICE! Go cowboys
Friday, September 16, 2005
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Hey Kiddies,
I wanted to be the first to introduce you to the newest member of cosmiccornblog, Huckleberry Tea. Huck, as you will see her called from time to time comes to Aspen via Dallas, TX. She will be writing a column for us called, "This Aspen Girl" and will read something like this post frfom a lil' while back. If you would like to become a meber of the crap that is cosmiccornblog contact me, I would love to talk to you.
Here's Huck:
It’s Not Me, It’s You
I had a profound thought last night. Brace your self for this one: Love is blind. I was in shock when my relationship got the ax, it was, I thought, completely out of the blue. What happened? What did I do wrong? What has changed? And then, about the time that I took a breath and let it go, the blinders fell off. I have been ignoring all the signs. This break-up isn’t a bolt of lightning, coming in an instant and lighting up a cloudless sky. This is a tropical storm that has been building momentum for weeks. And while the cause of this storm is not one clear issue, but rather a number of colliding forces, I have been standing out in the rain with my eyes closed, wondering why my hair is getting wet.
I tried marijuana for the first time my senior year in college. I laughed, I cried, I hallucinated. I saw my friend Debbie’s head in a kaleidoscope, twenty little Debbie heads floating around in a circle. I shouted to the streets of Hamilton, NY, “Vote for Nader” and “Join the Green Party,” because someone suggested I get a little fresh air. Upon arriving home I engaged a pink stain on my bedspread in a conversation, “Hello stain. Where did you come from?” I promise that this all happened, and these incidents represent only a handful of many similar episodes that occurred that evening. No one else hallucinated, so we concluded that it wasn’t the pot. The only reasonable conclusion: I am allergic to marijuana. This is particularly ironic and humorous because my mom, while pregnant with me in 1978, smoked pot to alleviate morning sickness. And that wasn’t exactly her first or last experience with the substance. She has been a fan of the “gonjola” since it was built, and pretty recently she spent a little time on Willie Nelson’s tour bus. Like mother, like daughter? Maybe not so much in this area.
Most recently I have been experimenting with controlled substances. Not illegal drugs, just drugs that require a medical doctor’s prescription. On my most recent bender I ate 80 Percocet in 10 days. It started the day that I had my ACL repaired. I don’t remember much, just that I fainted, cried a lot, consumed nothing but saltine crackers and ginger ale and slept through roughly 15 DVD’s. My friend Katherine, who is an attorney, informed me that distributing my Percocet to anyone would be a felony. Not a problem, keep your friends close and your Percocet closer. I needed every last one those babies.
Following the Percocet coma I was downgraded to Vicodin. This was a real treat. Weeping and sleeping gave way to nausea and drowsiness. At this point I was trying to get back to work and life, and yet all I wanted to do was throw-up and take a nap. And I have already mentioned the disastrous affects of mixing Vicodin and alcohol on an empty stomach; an ill-fated experiment that resulted in an ugly scene at Belly Up.
On a positive note, I lost any semblance of an appetite, and I lost ten pounds just in time for my upcoming trip to Mexico. This is not a diet strategy that I would recommend to anyone, however, as I find that waking up in dry heaves is far less appealing than a little junk in the trunk.
Why anyone would choose to take this drug recreationally is completely beyond me. I can only imagine planning a night out with friends. “Well, I will have to skip Kenichi because upon first sight of the Dynamite Shrimp I will have to flee to the strange Japanese toilet to vomit. So call me after dinner, except I will probably be asleep by then, in fact, I am going to turn my ringer off so that your call doesn’t wake me, so have fun and I’ll see you later.”
Don’t get me wrong, I am no teetotaler and I like to have fun as much as anyone else in Aspen. Drugs just seem to be rubbing me the wrong way lately.
So what do break-ups, blinders and drugs have to do with each other? Well, as far as I can tell, you can end up on a crash course to What the Hell Happened Town and not even notice, because the route passes right through Ignorance Is Bliss-Ville.
Drugs and break-ups have their place, but I’ve had enough for now, so I’m going to take a pass on the next round.
I wanted to be the first to introduce you to the newest member of cosmiccornblog, Huckleberry Tea. Huck, as you will see her called from time to time comes to Aspen via Dallas, TX. She will be writing a column for us called, "This Aspen Girl" and will read something like this post frfom a lil' while back. If you would like to become a meber of the crap that is cosmiccornblog contact me, I would love to talk to you.
Here's Huck:
It’s Not Me, It’s You
I had a profound thought last night. Brace your self for this one: Love is blind. I was in shock when my relationship got the ax, it was, I thought, completely out of the blue. What happened? What did I do wrong? What has changed? And then, about the time that I took a breath and let it go, the blinders fell off. I have been ignoring all the signs. This break-up isn’t a bolt of lightning, coming in an instant and lighting up a cloudless sky. This is a tropical storm that has been building momentum for weeks. And while the cause of this storm is not one clear issue, but rather a number of colliding forces, I have been standing out in the rain with my eyes closed, wondering why my hair is getting wet.
I tried marijuana for the first time my senior year in college. I laughed, I cried, I hallucinated. I saw my friend Debbie’s head in a kaleidoscope, twenty little Debbie heads floating around in a circle. I shouted to the streets of Hamilton, NY, “Vote for Nader” and “Join the Green Party,” because someone suggested I get a little fresh air. Upon arriving home I engaged a pink stain on my bedspread in a conversation, “Hello stain. Where did you come from?” I promise that this all happened, and these incidents represent only a handful of many similar episodes that occurred that evening. No one else hallucinated, so we concluded that it wasn’t the pot. The only reasonable conclusion: I am allergic to marijuana. This is particularly ironic and humorous because my mom, while pregnant with me in 1978, smoked pot to alleviate morning sickness. And that wasn’t exactly her first or last experience with the substance. She has been a fan of the “gonjola” since it was built, and pretty recently she spent a little time on Willie Nelson’s tour bus. Like mother, like daughter? Maybe not so much in this area.
Most recently I have been experimenting with controlled substances. Not illegal drugs, just drugs that require a medical doctor’s prescription. On my most recent bender I ate 80 Percocet in 10 days. It started the day that I had my ACL repaired. I don’t remember much, just that I fainted, cried a lot, consumed nothing but saltine crackers and ginger ale and slept through roughly 15 DVD’s. My friend Katherine, who is an attorney, informed me that distributing my Percocet to anyone would be a felony. Not a problem, keep your friends close and your Percocet closer. I needed every last one those babies.
Following the Percocet coma I was downgraded to Vicodin. This was a real treat. Weeping and sleeping gave way to nausea and drowsiness. At this point I was trying to get back to work and life, and yet all I wanted to do was throw-up and take a nap. And I have already mentioned the disastrous affects of mixing Vicodin and alcohol on an empty stomach; an ill-fated experiment that resulted in an ugly scene at Belly Up.
On a positive note, I lost any semblance of an appetite, and I lost ten pounds just in time for my upcoming trip to Mexico. This is not a diet strategy that I would recommend to anyone, however, as I find that waking up in dry heaves is far less appealing than a little junk in the trunk.
Why anyone would choose to take this drug recreationally is completely beyond me. I can only imagine planning a night out with friends. “Well, I will have to skip Kenichi because upon first sight of the Dynamite Shrimp I will have to flee to the strange Japanese toilet to vomit. So call me after dinner, except I will probably be asleep by then, in fact, I am going to turn my ringer off so that your call doesn’t wake me, so have fun and I’ll see you later.”
Don’t get me wrong, I am no teetotaler and I like to have fun as much as anyone else in Aspen. Drugs just seem to be rubbing me the wrong way lately.
So what do break-ups, blinders and drugs have to do with each other? Well, as far as I can tell, you can end up on a crash course to What the Hell Happened Town and not even notice, because the route passes right through Ignorance Is Bliss-Ville.
Drugs and break-ups have their place, but I’ve had enough for now, so I’m going to take a pass on the next round.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
ASPEN FAT TUESDAY.
The night kicked off with a meet & greet at the sky hotel for the applicants of the upcoming A&E reality show, The Aspen Project. Around the same time the music got going at Belly Up and @ various other locations around town in order to get the party started to benefit the victims of hurricane katrina. The place was packed and it wasn't the usual crowd I see at the Belly Up. It was filled with silent auction items and the NOLA inspired sounds and cheap concoctions seemed to get the crowd in a most generous mood. Feeling a bit cramped and a bit tired of trying to explain my new found freedom to an old compratiate, I decided it was time to boogie, not at Belly Up, and definately not at Boogies. This evening would also welcome the official return of the vinnie special, rejoice, a week is a long time. It would also welcome the return of the vomit express conducted by the legendary lil' Vin himself. After a quick change and a bite to eat we were yet again. Before long I had made it back to dirty-nine degrees to catch up with the kids. Upon arrival I found Bubs, lil' Vin, Tater Tot, Miss Riss, Huckleberry Tea, and Thai posted up at the bar enjoying some libatious liberation. Also in appearance was JA of JA-VA and Free Spirit working the bar that evening. Here's where the night turned a lil' slippy. The great thing about the dirty-nine bar staff is that they always want to try out a new shot on you, and as long as you keep sayin' it's crap, they keep trying up the anny, cheers! So after repeatedly yellin' out crap in my worst Scottish accent, we were told that it was time to go. Somehow (wink, wink) I managed to miss all busses back to the casa de caca, so Huckleberry Tea and myself traded war stories til late in the evening. Apparently I scared the CRAP out of Miss thing, when she noticed me on her couch when she got up, so sorry, but I didn't think it was appropriate to wake you at 4am to infrom you that I would be spending the next few hours on the sofa, next time I will! When I awoke on Huck's/ Miss Things couch, I was not all that excited to go to work, but I quickly got over myself, and was soon enjoying the pleasures of a triple espresso and an egg bagel, I looked over my shoulder twice for the thieving transvestite, but she/it/he was no where to be found. Don't worry, I'm watching honey.
Monday, September 12, 2005
WEEKEND UPDATE> 9.9-9.11
So friday night i thought it would be a great idea to stay up til 4:30 doing ABSOLUTLEY nothing, so I could be a real grouch at my 12 hour photoshoot on saturday. Yes, I made the trek to uber-fabulous Basalt, CO to photo direct a shoot for an upcoming spread in Aspen Magazine about the future of prominent Aspen Yocals. Yeehaw. So after a nutritious breakfast of redbulls and nicotine we got the thing a rollin. A variety of locations ate up the day as my team, and I shot at places like a 15 year olds bedroom, and airstream trailer, on a grassy knoll (Aspen>NOT Dallas), on a faded porch, amongst some leafy vines, and lastly in a powder grey older Jeep complete with 7 & 8 year olds with their razors (scooters not the moto, yo). Kissing the shoot goodbye, I reluctantly left old towne Basalt, and headed back to la caca casa de azul (AKA my current living quarters) where I managed to pass out with all of my clothes on and a beer in hand, I managed somehow not to spill a drop, good times. As I am dreaming of waking, the plastic pocket talking device begins to buzz with the type of enthusiam not heard since the last day of school. Upon retrieving the message from somewhere deep inside the plastic talky box, I swiftly got red to go, and was off to meet Miss Riss at Chelsea for a night cap. Fast forward to Sunday morning-> I find myself in the presence of the wily wiggler herself preparing for me her best rendition of the drink formerly known as the bloody mary. Thoughts on my mind go back to the previous evening which was filled with good conversation with a great friend who sadly enough, will be leaving the valley for the alleys of Boston, MASS. We will miss ya Riss, but more on that later seeing as we've still got her for a week. At some poinnt in betwixt the worchestire, and limes I remembered that I was not going to take a nap that afternoon, because I had lots o work to do, and lots o clothes to wash. As I wake in a bit of a panic at 1:55am on JA-VA's couch I race for the bus, YES, I have made it with a minute to spare! Until, I hear coming from my brothers from south o' the border, "Where you going man" Las casa de caca, I say. "NO MAS, man" crap, I have missed the last bus, damn off season schedule! Luckily, Big E is driving by, so I flag him down, and I am able to keep my lids from dropping just long enough to crawl into bed, sans clothes this time.
So friday night i thought it would be a great idea to stay up til 4:30 doing ABSOLUTLEY nothing, so I could be a real grouch at my 12 hour photoshoot on saturday. Yes, I made the trek to uber-fabulous Basalt, CO to photo direct a shoot for an upcoming spread in Aspen Magazine about the future of prominent Aspen Yocals. Yeehaw. So after a nutritious breakfast of redbulls and nicotine we got the thing a rollin. A variety of locations ate up the day as my team, and I shot at places like a 15 year olds bedroom, and airstream trailer, on a grassy knoll (Aspen>NOT Dallas), on a faded porch, amongst some leafy vines, and lastly in a powder grey older Jeep complete with 7 & 8 year olds with their razors (scooters not the moto, yo). Kissing the shoot goodbye, I reluctantly left old towne Basalt, and headed back to la caca casa de azul (AKA my current living quarters) where I managed to pass out with all of my clothes on and a beer in hand, I managed somehow not to spill a drop, good times. As I am dreaming of waking, the plastic pocket talking device begins to buzz with the type of enthusiam not heard since the last day of school. Upon retrieving the message from somewhere deep inside the plastic talky box, I swiftly got red to go, and was off to meet Miss Riss at Chelsea for a night cap. Fast forward to Sunday morning-> I find myself in the presence of the wily wiggler herself preparing for me her best rendition of the drink formerly known as the bloody mary. Thoughts on my mind go back to the previous evening which was filled with good conversation with a great friend who sadly enough, will be leaving the valley for the alleys of Boston, MASS. We will miss ya Riss, but more on that later seeing as we've still got her for a week. At some poinnt in betwixt the worchestire, and limes I remembered that I was not going to take a nap that afternoon, because I had lots o work to do, and lots o clothes to wash. As I wake in a bit of a panic at 1:55am on JA-VA's couch I race for the bus, YES, I have made it with a minute to spare! Until, I hear coming from my brothers from south o' the border, "Where you going man" Las casa de caca, I say. "NO MAS, man" crap, I have missed the last bus, damn off season schedule! Luckily, Big E is driving by, so I flag him down, and I am able to keep my lids from dropping just long enough to crawl into bed, sans clothes this time.
Well Hello Children!
Welcome to the first ever premiere super spectacular COSMICCORNBLOG!!! I am your host cosmiccorndog, nice to see ya!
You may be asking yourself, how the hell you got here, and I am sorry but I do not have an answer for you. However if you have $10, I can make up some fabulous crap that will have you swooning the rest of the day, possibly even the week. Who's having the best week ever? I am bitch, cosmiccornblog is on!
Welcome to the first ever premiere super spectacular COSMICCORNBLOG!!! I am your host cosmiccorndog, nice to see ya!
You may be asking yourself, how the hell you got here, and I am sorry but I do not have an answer for you. However if you have $10, I can make up some fabulous crap that will have you swooning the rest of the day, possibly even the week. Who's having the best week ever? I am bitch, cosmiccornblog is on!
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