Tuesday, May 31, 2005

May you find this little tidbit indicative of my supreme intelligence.

I don't know if any of you have seen the Jaywalkers segment on Jay Leno, but on Sunday night I was one of them.

Kevin and I had decided to try a hip, new-ish seafood restaurant in Cherry Creek North. After driving all the way across town, we realized the restaurant was closed. We had no back-up plan, y'all, none. Sunday was what again? Oh that's right, only the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend.

Onward towards more (our) neighborhoodly parts of town, we found ourselves parked in front of a homely, but very open, establishment called Mikey's Italian Bistro. Since I am the one who finds herself the idiot in the rest of this post, it gives me a tiny bit of pleasure to note that Kevin calls the joint Mickey's. (Uh-huh, like the mouse.)

Mickey's/Mikey's was off to rough restaurant beginnings. Sweaty waitress, wet stinky tables, gross funky soupy mess dribbling down a nearby barstool. I dabbed the table with my napkin, ignored the funk, and charmed the pants right off our perspiring server.

Things started looking up with sweet whipped butter and $13.50 carafes of Chianti. To distract me from my funk-o-phobia and the greasy brow of our waitress, Kevin decided to play "Name All The Famous People On The Wall" while slathering our bread with the delectable spread.

Who's that?

Um, I don't know.

Brat Pack.

Ummm, Marlon Brando?

No. Dean Martin.

I know that's Frank Sinatra.

Yep, and who's the black guy?

Um, Richard Pryor?

Ha ha. You really think that's Richard Pryor? C'mon.

And so on and on, at least through 2 glasses of Chianti, it went.

Joe Dimaggio became Hank Aaron ("Wrong race, sweetie"), Pavarotti became Abe Lincoln, and MLK, Jr. became Jesse Jackson. I think the clincher was when I mistook Ghandi for Spike Lee.

Now, even though I consider myself an intellect of the worldliest of matters, a bonified English Master's-totin' scholar, history is most obviously not my thing. But really, rosalicious.....Ghandi?

Yup, Jaywalkers. When can you come film me?

Just in case you're wondering how the rest of the meal went, (because soon after the rosalicious quiz show fried calamari came, and all laughter regarding my stupidity came to an abrupt halt) it was superb. Gorgonzola, garlic, butter, and cream drenched penne pasta and mussels, shrimp, and scallops. A salad, drizzled in thick sweet balsamic vinagrette, preceded the thick, parsley-slathered mound of carbohydrate-laden yumminess. And let's not forget the bread, oh yes it kept a'coming....and that butter.


What I'm not going to do.

I am not going to see the new Star Wars, that's what.

Friday, May 27, 2005

I love a three-day weekend.

Nothing like a disappointing lack of over-sight in the day you get PAID to put a damper on the Memorial Day weekend. Rosalicious, rosalicious... tisk tisk.

Good thing I didn't write that big electricphonerent check.

I now have a mere $2.40 to have a good time with until next Tuesday.

But as Donna Summer (or Diana Ross, or whatever sassy soul sister belts out that tune) says, I will survive.

Tonight I imagine we will catch up on our Netflix. The Life Aquatic and Kinsey await us. Tomorrow morning Megan and I are driving up to Nederland for a scrumptious breakfast, followed by an equally scrumptious hike. Sunday is a cookout at our neighborly friends' place, after which is a Memorial Day Monday that will not involve running the Bolder Boulder.

Welcome to summertime fun, folks.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

rosalicious Tip: Overcoming a Bad Day

When life's got you down, work is boring, people are being mean to you and judging you, you're tired, have PMS, feel fat, unstylish, and out of shape, and you just want to barf all over the friggin' world, the best way to ease the awful malaise is to clean the entire house top to bottom and wash that ugliness right out, right out I say. Scrub, girl, scrub like you've never scrubbed before.

Oh, and when you're all done with that, pour yourself a big fruity glass of Sangria and relax in your spanking clean pad, because you deserve it.

The Life Lesson Book

On a recent trip to Florida with my friend Sarah, I remarked offhandedly that I needed a life lesson book. One where I could write down stuff I learned with the hopes I would never do it again.

Lying on the beach next to my friend with the lobster-like legs, I commented that my first entry would without a doubt be always wear sunscreen.

Now, I've been keeping this life lesson book mentally for years now. I know you have one too. Anyone who has ever suffered a hangover to the Nth degree knows what a mental life lesson book might be like.

About a week ago, after a particularly heinous day in the life of a fundraiser, I arrived home to a package on the counter. My, how I do love surprises, especially ones that come in the mail. Hot dog.

I poured a glass of vino, opened the envelope, and discovered a white journal bearing a quote from Thoreau. You know, the famous one. The famous quote, not the author. Although he is most certainly famous as well. But that's not the point of this story.

Inside was a note from Sarah: "Now you can write down all those life lessons!" She remembered! Good golly, oh molly. Primed with the onset of an after-work-wine-buzz, I wrote.

And I wrote.
And there were so many life lessons that began pouring out.
And I began to think that life was really one big lesson. There was so much to say.
(I seem to recall Bill Cosby creating a similar book. There go my publishing ambitions. Rats.)

I love my new book and it's lying on the dresser, just waiting for a life lesson to strike.

It's important to remember that no life lesson is too small.

And it's also important to remember that no matter how many times you write your lessons down, there are many things in the life lesson book that you are going to keep doing over, and over, and over again. Now Rose, there you go again, you know that red wine and margaritas do not make for a morning-after of happiness and glee.

What might your life lessons look like?

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

The yummiest summertime feeling.

I can't think of anything more scrumptiously SUMMERTIME than an outdoor concert.

Flowing sundresses, straw hats, flip flops and dirty feet, hidden flasks of Bourbon, cold beer in plastic cups, ID wrist bands you're still wearing the next morning, sunburned shoulders, vendors, porta-potties and the smell of urinal cakes (HA! I just learned about urinal cakes. Kevin saw someone eat one once. For real, it was a scary sight.). Hoola hoops. Hippies. Goo Balls. Veggie burritos and grilled cheese. The sweet delicious smell of mary jane, wafting in the evening breeze. Blue tarps, lawn chairs, coolers, tailgating, glow sticks, and dancing.........dancing, the most important ingredient of all.

I can't wait.

Now, go get yourself in the summertime concert spirit:

Telluride Bluegrass Festival and Rockygrass
Red Rocks
Swallow Hill
Denver Botanic Gardens Concert Series

Monday, May 23, 2005

If I write it down I might feel better.

Some things on my mind:
  • I have been given the choice to either go to the Director's lunch, or not. I really just want to go get a smoothie and be by myself. But, I am afraid of not looking like a team-player. Does and will anyone really care?
  • I can't make up my mind about my bangs--grow them out? Or, is my forehead just too GIGANTIC and ugly and needs some bang action to hide behind?
  • Was I just entirely too candid with our interviewee?
  • I didn't get up and run this morning. I don't know if we're running the Bolder Boulder and I can't seem to make the commitment on my own.
  • I really gotta go do a #2.
  • Kevin gets to be outside all day, bastard.
  • My complexion is causing me great distress, particularly in the chin region.
  • My fingertips feel weird, like all dry and cracked and yuckywonkas. I think it's from all the gardening and cleaning I did over the weekend.
  • When am I going to debut this blog? When will it ever be "good enough?"

Friday, May 20, 2005

Someone better be a good girl today.

As I fumbled with my key in the door on my way out this morning, I paused guiltily.

I looked at Lucy in her crate, licking her peanut butter-filled kong with glee. At that very moment, I decided to let her roam free in the house today.

In the past, we have trusted her with this very special privilege.

And in the past, she has let us down with various forms of puppy debauchery.....chewed up magazines, knawed-on windowsills, cat litter on the living room floor.

But other times, she's been golden, a precious angel.

Today, with denver going on a high of 90 degrees, is another one of those trusting days. I even took her for a run this morning, so hopefully that will squelch her desire to be naughty. After all, on our run she... chased a squirrel into the street, jumped in a nasty, muddy creek, ran after 2 stinky dogs, lunged at a goose (who I thought was, in turn, going to attack me), and made me run 2 extra blocks to find her just about to roll in something heinous. Isn't that enough naughtiness for one day?

Mama's watching you, stinky poops.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

rosalicious Tip: How to Spend a Saturday Afternoon

I found this book extremely fascinating.

Pair it with this movie, and you've got what I like to call Mormon Saturday.

I think I might need a Xanax.

This weather's making me maniacal.

See, when it gets warm out and stays light until 8 PM my domestic goddess goes bonkers. There's too much to do, and too much time to do it in. Too many seeds to plant, weeds to pull, yard to mow, gardens to water, porches to sweep, cookouts to plan, patio furniture to search for and buy, car to wash, litterbox to scrub, errands to run.

And that's just outside stuff. Lest we forget, laundry, cleaning, organizing, purging, rearranging, ironing (i am a geek but there is something infinitely satifying about ironing),scrubbing, recycling, shaking, washing, dusting, sewing, decorating.

I want to GO GO GO, and drink drink drink and EAT. oh yeah...ummmm. EAT. And this warm weather tempts my evil cigarette smoking temptress because there are outdoor patios to be sat upon and margaritas to be sipped and happy hours to be taken advantage of and restaurants to try. There are concerts to see and camping trips to go on and hikes to take and puppy play dates and tennis and disc golf and real golf with canned tecate and bikes to get tuned. Festivals and farmer's markets and fairs, oh my.

I can't keep up with myself.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

The Kids

Have you ever seen such cuteness?

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

A strongly worded letter.

Dear Lady of Golden Framing and Gifts:

Where, oh please tell me where, you learned your awesome customer service skills. I mean seriously, you really know how to treat a customer like a queen.

The fact that you identified with me as a fellow Master's degree holder in English really established that special customer-proprietor bond. The fact that you really cared that because I worked so hard to get that Master's degree, I needed the biggest possible frame for it. That astute observation was really the things that marketing genius is made of.

Thanks, also, for your immediate and pressing concern for my office decor. You're right, I really do need to make sure I show off that degree in its best possible, and most matching-est, light. Yes sirree. And in order to further engage in shameless self-promotion, don't forget.....it really needs to be big. gigantic. huge. expensive. People who work with me need to know that I mean business with this big bad-ass english degree.

Once I divulged that no, as a matter of fact it would hang in my home office and, consequently, didn't need to be fancy, you immediately concealed a snarl of judgementalism and moved on to more, um, home-oriented options. Based on your tasteful suggestions, I'm sure you have a lovely home.

I thought I would make it easier on you, since you were working so hard to please me. I thought I would give you a break and start making my own choices from your extensive collection of stylish frame and mat options. But alas, anyone with superior customer service skills and framing abilities knows that the customer should make no decisions and expend absolutely no energy in selecting the perfect frame job. That certainly must explain why you told me what I picked out would look, and if I must quote your English Master's degree-inspired choice of words, "stupid." You wanted to pamper me and let you take care of everything. Silly me.

Well, then. Certainly I wouldn't want those years of hard work to look stupid. But, lady of, ahem, pleasantly plump stature and superficial charm, my gorgeous frame-deserving Master's degree doesn't necessarily imply that I'm rich. You must've inferred such, for when I requested I keep the job under $50 you sniffed and rolled your eyes with a haughtiness that only your pitch-fork yielding mother could love.

Pardon me. I must have mistaken my selection of a plain-jane wooden Target-esque frame and boring forest green mat for the next coming of Christ. You replied with such confidence in the quality of your artistry that your frame jobs are never lower than $80-$100. Wow, you must really be skilled. Looking around at some of your samples, I must say, what am I possibly thinking putting such a defining document in such a simple dressing. Ornate, that's the key to beauty. Swoops, etchings, shine, pretention. 5 mats, 3 colors. Glare-reduction glass. That's what it's all about.

Before I smile politely and leave your country-cluttered, potpourri-scented, garage-sale of a store, listen up:

I don't want my big bad-ass english degree gussied up in one of your hideous gilded frames.

I don't want you telling me my ideas are"stupid."

And I most certainly don't want to spend more than 50 cents in your place of business.

This is what I really meant when I said "Ok, I believe I will take this job somewhere in my price range, thanks so much."

Good luck to you,

Rosanna W. Turner

P.S. I was a floral designer for over 10 years. Let me tell you, the cheap silk flower arrangements you try to pass off as the "gifts" part of your business namesake are really what's "stupid."

Tuesday morning politics.

This is such crap.

You mean, Condi and Rumsfeld are actually concerned about our reputation abroad, and that--GASP--16 people died? Wow, that because some soldiers "desecrated" the Qu'ran (does this mean pooping on? just wondering.) this widespread reputation of tolerance condi's been cultivating so carefully and diligently is actually in jeopardy?

Ummmmm, war in iraq? How many Qu'ran's have been destroyed there? How many lives lost there? A reputation of tolerence? Isn't this current propaganda just so obvious? Shit, it certainly isn't newsweek's fault that people are dying and Qu'rans are being flushed and Americans are generally thought of as fat Islam-hating war mongers. Sheesh.

It actually feels good to get stirred up again. I thought that I was suffering from apathy due to post-election exhaustion. That, or just choosing to ignore the inevitable.

Monday, May 16, 2005

rosalicious Tip: Deterring (Ugly) Drunken Men

I find that these days, the only way to keep drunken idiots from swooning all over me while playing pool in a local bar is to put my large amber ring on my left ring finger, point to it, and say "my husband will be here any minute."

Friday, May 13, 2005

It's dizzying.

No rest for the weary:

After work Kev and I venture across town to more university-like parts for an end-of the-semester BBQ shindig with urban planning kids. Drinks (from a keg i hope), doggie playtime, school gossip, and given how these grads smoke, lots of ciggies. I hope other "planning wives" are there.

Jeanine comes in tonight at 7:30 PM, which entails leaving aforementioned BBQ and heading out to DIA. I'm going to make damn sure she has a frosty cocktail to enjoy on the ride back to our house.

Tomorrow afternoon Ann comes down from the Fort and it's girl's night out, baby.

That means not getting too swilly tonight if we really wanna get our groove on. And we all know how hard that is for me.

I have absolutely no restraint. Although I did accomplish most of my weekly goals. Let's hear it for running everyday and paying bills! Boo-hiss to packing lunch everyday and eating better, whatever that means.

The going-away bow.

What's your secret work talent?

I am the resident gift-wrapper. Particularly for a recent influx of going-away presents.

I must admit, I make fabulous bows.

The last time I made a really kick ass bow--all loops and tails and curly-Qs-- for one lucky former employee's going- away present, it was recycled a mere two weeks later for yet another employee who quit.

Everyone noticed that alas, it was the same bow that had earlier graced the former employee's gift.

I suggested it be tossed, like a bridal bouquet. Whoever catches the going-away bow is the next to leave.

Guess who caught it?

Well, I'm still here. Today is my secretary's last day and the very special bow is once again tied on and ready to roll.


UPDATE: The going-away bow was noticed, oh yes it was. And it was consequently trashed, literally, by the VP. He wanted to "break the curse." Bye-bye going-away bow.