Exit Stage Left

Today is my four year anniversary as an employee of the DCPA. Not bad for a job that was meant to launch me into bigger and better places. Though, as I've become more and more ingrained in the arts community I've come to realize that the DCPA is just about as good as it gets. I couldn't really find a "better" place to be--honestly. We're big, coming out of some bad financial times, both present and produce theatre on both ends of the spectrum and offer world-class educational programs. It's truly an organization of which I'm proud to be a part. Does that mean I'll be here forever? Of course not, but at this point I'm not sure what's next.

Yes, most of you know that I spent seven years of my life in a green apron, steaming milk, tamping a portofilter filled with finely ground espresso and pouring legal addictive stimulants for the unassuming public, but what you might not know is that for at least five of those seven years I didn't consider myself much of a coffee drinker. I had the occasional latte, but for the most part I stuck to hot chocolate or tea.

In the last year of my tenure I developed a strong taste for the evil bean and appreciated my 30% discount all the more. When I finally quit I didn't even own a coffee maker and it only took about two weeks of daily visits to realize that I couldn't afford this habit. Last year I greased a friend who could still take advantage of the discount and bought a higher-end coffee maker so that I could brew my own java in the morning and save some dough.

Every night I religiously measure out the grinds, fill up the water tank and set the automatic timer. But, before I can do that I have to clean and rinse the carafe and the filter so that I can be ready for another day. For some reason, I absolutely despise this task and every night I ask myself if I might be able to make it through the next morning without the liquid crack. Luckily for my checkbook I'm generally able to convince myself that getting through the morning without the coffee will be far more of a challenge than getting through the task of cleaning the night before. Tonight I'm asking myself this question even though I already know the answer.

I love to complain. It seems as though I'm always looking for something that's gone wrong, or something that annoys me so's I can whine about it to someone. I'm not oblivious to this fact, contrary to what you might believe, I usually know full-well what I'm doing. What I am oblivious to is why I do it. Even when things seem to be going fairly well in my life, I can always find the black cloud in the sky. As a child I was the classic example of a "glass-is-half-empty" kind of person, pessimisstic to a T. I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've heard, "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."

I've changed a lot since I was a child and while I'm not quite such a downer these days, in general it doesn't take much to set me off. I must bust into one of my co-workers offices multiple times daily to bitch about someone or something. Lately it seems as though I'm constantly complaining about the same things, over and over and over again. I'm sure it gets old. And, sometimes, even when I'm saying them I'm thinking to myself, "Molly, calm down, it's not that big of a deal." But, to hear me tell it, it's like the end of the world, even if it is just the theatre (and even I know how irrelevant that is in the grand scheme).

Today I was catching up with an old friend, during a long telephone conversation and in the course of updating him on all that is me, I had a bit of an epiphany: My life is good; for a change I'm awfully content. And, while I might be annoyed by the every day sorts of things I really need to learn to "not sweat the small stuff" and just be happy being happy.


Edit: I was just thinking about this post and realized that it might sound overly optimistic to those of you who know me best. Fear not, my bitter cynicism has not disappeared and this brief bout of euphoria is likely to dissipate by the time the sun comes up.

I've always felt sort of like I got "stuck" in Denver. Like it wasn't my choice to be here, like it was a last resort. It's not that I've ever disliked Denver--I was born here, afterall--it's just that I never thought I'd wind up here--back where I started. It's never really felt like "home" to me, because I've moved so much, but it's the closest thing I've got to it.

When I graduated from college I didn't know where to go or what to do. I didn't want to stay in California and since my family was here I decided to just come "home" while I figured it out. Who knew then that I'd be here as long as I have been?

Over the past six-ish years I've come to really love this city...indeed, this whole state. In the beginning I was self-conscious about living here and felt like I was constantly defending its "coolness" to people who had never visited. At some point in my defense of this city I realized that what I was saying came from the bottom of my heart. That I wasn't just making the case to others and trying to make myself feel better, but that I actually believed what I was saying. Of course, as I think everyone does, sometimes I feel like I'm stuck in a rut, that I'll never get out of here to try all the things I've dreamt about.

Today I was out running errands, driving Southbound on Kipling from Wheat Ridge. At right about 32nd Street I found myself at the crest of the hill looking out across the Western suburbs, directly at the Rockies. The mountains were purple against a perfectly blue sky, not a cloud in sight, with lush green trees dotting the landscape. And, suddenly, in that moment I saw what Katharine Lee Bates must've seen while sitting on Pikes Peak over 100 years ago: America, the Beautiful. And suddenly I was okay with "just" being in Colorado.

I don't like being barefoot. Even when lounging around the house I prefer to have something on my feet. In the summer that means flip flops and in the winter that means slippers. The one point in the day that I find my feet uncovered is in the morning when I'm in the bathroom getting ready for the day. I meander back and forth from my closet to the mirror, to the shower, to the mirror, etc. all with naked feet.

Tonight, when I got home from work, I walked into the bathroom to take out my contacts and flipped the light switch only to have a bulb blow out. There are three different lights in my bathroom, so I didn't need to change the bulb right away as it is still well lit, but I decided to just do it and be done with it. I grabbed the step stool and a new bulb only to find that I was about half an inch short to be able to reach the fixture. I refused to believe that I couldn't do this without a ladder and in my haste managed to drop the new bulb on the floor, where it broke...of course. I swept the floor, but I just know that tomorrow morning (or afternoon) I'm going to wander into the bathroom to get ready, sans slippers, and inevitably my bare foot will find the only stray piece of glass left. I've already got the tweezers and band-aid ready.

I love babies! Love them. It's when they get to age 3 or 4 and older that I start to get a little nervous about them.

When I was 11 I wanted eight kids... I had them all named. Mostly, I think that's the only part of having 11 kids I wanted: naming them. I love names. But, that's neither here nor there at this point. As an adult I've decided that having kids might not be in my cards. I'm pretty selfish, having kids might not be the best thing for me... or for them. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is: I'm in that phase of my life where a lot of my friends are having babies. When you get into your 20's you go through phases. Phases where all your friends get married and then phases where they all decide to procreate. I'm in the procreation phase right now. I've had 11 friends who've had babies this year. 11. That's a lot.

Tomorrow afternoon I get to go to a baby shower. I say "get" because it really is an "honor" to be invited, but as a single girl about as far as you can get from having a baby what do I really have to contribute to this "sacred" event? We're supposed to fill out a card with words of wisdom for the "mom-to-be." What in the world could I possibly have to add? I have two cats who surprise me every day, by managing to survive.

Aside from lacking "words of wisdom" I also lack sufficient funds to bank-roll these baby showers; they wind up being quite expensive. I realize that having babies is expensive but seriously, how has that become my problem?! Well, friends, it has. I've averaged a $50 gift for all these "blessed" events in the last year. That's a lot of money, especially when you multiply that by 11.

I guess since I've pretty much already decided I'm "probably not" going to have kids I'm wondering when the good karma is going to come back around and help me out. I could use some Dansko's to get me through the winter, or a few new handbags, or even just a couple new sweaters. Could some of these new mom's return the favor and help me out? Nah, I didn't think so.

Update: I just got home from the shower, which, surprisingly, wasn't as terrible as I expected. I sat along the "wall of cynicism" with another group of disenchanted women and am pretty sure I'm on my way to hell for some of the comments that I made, but at least it kept me sane.

Building on my post from this morning about being uncomfortable... yeah, I hate it. Still. However, it makes for a very productive day, I must admit.

See, I'm an avoider. I avoid things that make me uncomfortable (except of course when I attack them head-on, which is rare). My favorite way to avoid life is to just sleep. If something was "that bad" I could probably sleep 24 hours in one day, just to avoid it. No kidding. However, since I've entered the workforce outside of the service industry I've become a bit of a workaholic. Sometimes my hours are more demanded than volunteered, and while I LOVE to martyr myself and complain about all the work I do, deep down it gives me a sense of purpose and makes me feel indispensable.

Today I was in an avoiding kind of a mood. I had so much on my mind that I was talking to myself, because my head was overflowing with thoughts--does that ever happen to anyone else? Or, is that just another thing that makes me one of God's unique creatures? It's almost distressing. Makes me feel like I have MPD or have suddenly become schizophrenic (not to shed light, I'm just saying). Anyhow... in an effort to push those thoughts aside I threw myself into work. I got more done today than I have gotten done in the last two days combined: I finished all weekend ads, planned five promotions, two happy hours and an opening night party. I updated spreadsheets, pulled tickets and narrowly averted a near-disaster at the post office (even though that came with quite the price tag). This doesn't count, of course, the daily maintenance things like sending and replying to e-mail, voicemail or the requisite office chatter, which was plentiful today.

Maybe I should do something I'll want to avoid later every day. It's either that or continue today's ritual of drinking 48 ounces of coffee...I'm not sure which would bother my stomach more in the long-run.

I'll be honest, I'm not good at risk-taking and while ultimately I deal with change very well I'm also happy to admit that I prefer to stay in my little bubble of comfort. So, that said, it can be very hard to take risks, even if the direct result could be something I really want. I don't like being uncomfortable, I don't like that little flip my stomach does, I don't like it when my palms sweat or my fingers shake, I just like feeling normal and comfortable. So, when I do take a risk, when I jump off the cliff, I rarely get over the negative side of those things to see the good, making it all the more difficult to take a risk again in the future.

Last night I took a risk. The potential outcome could've been very good, or pretty embarrassing--even devastating if one would let it be. I was somehow able to see past the bad stuff and on to the good stuff in order to make myself do it. Just seven hours later, everything has already come to a head (I love quick resolutions) and while I'm feeling slightly mortified I also feel much better. Mostly, I'm just proud of myself. Taking the risk, jumping off the cliff, was hard--maybe one of the hardest things I've ever done---but ultimately I think it'll be one of the things I'll always look back on and be glad I did it. Even more than that, I hope I can remember this almost euphoric feeling the next time I'm faced with whether or not to venture outside the comfort zone.

I'm naturally a morning person. I think if I had a regular schedule and all I'd probably get up relatively early in the morning and putz around the house before heading to the 'Plex to put in a long day at the office, and then cutting out of there at 5:00 on the nose. However, because I have an erratic schedule which requires me to work at any point between the hours of say 7:00 am and 3:00 am I've turned into quite the night owl.

Last week I had a minor bout of insomnia. While it would be easy for me to say that this was the direct result of my current fixation with My Space, and my inability to put myself to sleep at a decent hour, it truthfully was more about an actual inability to sleep. I'd go to bed completely weary and be unable to rest my brain enough to go to sleep and instead tossed and turned for hours before finally settling down. There was nothing out of the ordinary that was bothering me even, just the usual drama and comedy, and so as the week wore on I became more and more frustrated; not to mention more and more exhausted.

The streak seemed to have broken on Friday night and Saturday and by Sunday morning I was out of bed by 8:30 (which I can't even seem to do when I have to go to work). I slept great Sunday night and then last night was out late, up late and in bed late--all the makings of a bad Tuesday. I struggled to get myself out of bed this morning and found myself being drowsy at work (honestly a rare occurrence). And now, it's 9:30 a good hour before I'd normally even consider hitting the hay and yet here I go. Hopefully I can turn off my brain enough to actually get some rest and do it all over again tomorrow.

As I think I've mentioned before I'm a VERY plain girl. I once described myself as boring and was corrected in favor of the less-defacing "simple." I still think I'm just boring. I could happily live out the rest of my days in jeans and a t-shirt, but I do manage to clean myself up pretty well when I have to. Luckily my work allows me to mostly wear whatever I want, unless there's an event or meeting which requires me to dress like a grown up, "dress to impress," so to speak. Such was the case today.

When I "dress up" it usually means a pair of slacks, rather than khaki's or jeans, and a sweater or button up shirt instead of a t-shirt; it's not like I'm donning a suit, or anything. Today I tossed on a cute scoop-neck sweater and black slacks with fishnet tights and a pair of flat dress shoes. The shoes were of the hard-soled variety, the kind that click when you walk. I think I've worn these particular shoes on just two other occasions, as they slip slightly on my heels. Anyhow... aside from the fact that I actually fell on my face on my walk to lunch today (damn slippery tiles on the 16th Street Mall) I felt like a million bucks. I was having one of those rare days when you look in the mirror and actually like what you see.

One of the things I've noticed is that on those occasions when I wear heels I feel more confident about myself. I hold my head up higher and I glide with a grace that I just don't have in my Birkenstocks or tennis shoes. I've never really been able to pin down whether this was a direct result of the added height or what, but today it dawned on me from whence the confidence stems: it's because they click when I walk. Even though today I had on boring flats I felt that same confidence that usually only appears when I'm in a pair of shoes that have a significant heel. Maybe this sounds strange, even stupid, but if something as simple as a pair of shoes can improve my self-esteem then I have to ask the question: why not dress to impress myself for a change?

I realize that this blog is a bit self-serving in make-up, as most blogs are, but I'm having a lot of fun posting (which I guess is the definition of self-serving). I was walking through the mall today and it seemed like every ten steps I had a great idea for a post, but I didn't write any of them down and now I'm home, "The Amazing Race" is over (for tonight) and I'm tired; I have a feeling my streak of insomnia is ending. So, rather than a traditional post I'll just say, "thank you for reading" (there were 12 of you today--and a boring "vanilla" post about Vanilla Frosty's, too!) and again plead with people to leave comments every now and then. Just say "hi"--after all, it's the least you could do! ;)

I'll be back tomorrow, hopefully with something more exciting to say. Who knows, though? Mondays can be boring.

p.s. The spell check on Blogger is bizarre. It just told me that both "blogging" and "blog" were misspelled---does anyone else find that odd?

Did you know that Wendy's now has Vanilla Frosties? No? Me either! I saw a commercial earlier tonight and on my way home from the Atomic Cowboy I went through the Drive-thru to give it a try. Delicious. I highly recommend you give it a try. And, at just $1.50 it's quite the value, too.

When I first moved to Denver (six years ago!!!!) and was working downtown at Starbucks I got a lot of parking tickets. I averaged probably two a week; mostly because I was too lazy to walk too far to the store. After about a month of this "habit" I realized how much of my tip money I was throwing away paying the $20 fine, just so that I could sleep an extra five minutes. I decided I needed to set a limit. I allowed myself to get one ticket per month. I'm not sure what the ramifications of getting more than that were, but somehow I managed to rein myself in and got my illegal parking habits under control.

Since the invention of the meter key and even more since getting a reserved parking space at work my "need" to park illegally and the desire to be lazy has lessened. I've probably not gotten more than one parking ticket in the last two years. I generally will just park at the DCPA when I go downtown, even for social stuff and walk to where ever might be the final destination. And then sometimes, my laziness gets the best of me.

Tonight I had plans to go to happy hour with a group of friends at the Wynkoop. It's not that far away, but it's not a skip, either. After a long day at work and an inability to leave on time we decided to drive. We had no problem finding a parking spot within a block of where we were heading, but since my meter key has demagnetized itself (I have no idea how) and no longer works, and since we had limited change I knew a trip out to plug the meter at some point would be necessary. I looked at my watch right about when the meter was expiring and said to myself, "ah, fuck it, it's just 20 bucks" though I secretly hoped I'd manage to escape detection.

By now I'm sure you've devised that I got a parking ticket this evening. I'm not broken up about it, but I'm not happy about it either. I realize that I made a conscious decision to not plug the meter, but I've since realized that my lapse in judgement was just stupid. It's a classic case of remembering how you feel at this exact moment so that you never repeat it. I doubt that will happen--not repeating it--but there's no harm in hoping either.

In addition to the high likelihood that I will feel guilt at some point during any given day, I also suffer from a nervous personality. I get nervous...a lot. Aside from it being annoyed and annoying because I consciously *know* that there's nothing to be worried about, it physically can take its toll. I can make myself sick over it. I've had pretty serious stomach problems at multiple points in my life and the adrenaline rush is enough to make my feet shake (yes, my feet shake more than my hands, even) so much I wonder sometimes if my left foot can stay on the clutch when I'm driving. I would say that this kind of nervousness happens at least once a week. Sad.

Yesterday I made arrangements with a buyer to sell the Xbox. She seemed to be very nice, but it's just e-mail so you never really know. I received several fraudulent e-mails from people who wanted to pay me more than what I was asking in order to send payment via Moneygram or wire transfer. Luckily for naive me, Craigslist warns you of the latest scams so I knew to just say "no" and go about my day. Anyhow. The buyer asked if I'd be willing to drive South to meet her. No problem, even though the Tech Center area causes me to be directionally challenged (it's worse than Aurora--yeah, Mary, worse!).

As the day wore on and the time to meet "the buyer" (her name is Laura) grew closer and closer and I began to get nervous, for no apparent reason, of course. My vivid imagination went wild. I had a vision of her coming to meet me and having less money than what we agreed to, but me not figuring it out until she was long gone. Or, even more imaginative, her meeting me, giving me the money and then having her boyfriend mug me on my way to the car. In short, I freaked out. I decided I would feel better if I could find someone to go with me. Of course, by the time my mind had made up all these stories and I had decided that there was no way I was going to walk away from this business exchange unscathed, it was late enough that finding someone to accompany me on a moments notice would be difficult, if not impossible. After a few idle phone calls I begged a co-worker to go with me. He agreed, but not without a fair amount of ridicule. As we were walking out of the building to my car, chatting about this very subject, my nervous condition, the mockery got out of control. I realized I was over-reacting (imagine if you will) and decided to go it alone.

Once I reached the point where the rendezvous was to take place I realized that I was in maybe the most suburban part of town, but that didn't tame the nerves. There was a liquor store next to the Starbucks where we'd agreed to meet. I thought about going in and grabbing a quick gulp to calm my nerves (I keep talking about alcohol on here--I swear I'm not a drunk), but decided against it. I also decided against getting a cup of coffee, thinking that would only serve to upset my stomach and make me more jittery than I already was. Instead I found a parking spot that would allow me to get a clear view of the entrance and waited.

When I saw her, I knew it was her. I grabbed the bag and headed in to make the exchange. She couldn't have been more normal, or nice. She said she was relieved that I seemed normal too because she'd had some bad experiences with CL in the past. She thanked me for coming down to meet her, looked at the box and the intact seal, handed me an envelope with four crisp $100 bills and off we went..in opposite directions. The whole thing lasted maybe two minutes--tops. No scary ghetto freaks, no threatening boyfriend, exact amount in cash and it was done. When I got back into my car the nerves began to settle down and my foot was shaking so badly that I wondered how I'd ever make it home. Worse than that was feeling like an absolute ass for having been so worried about it to begin with.

The $400 is tucked away safely, waiting for my upcoming trip to New York, but now I'm obsessing over the bills themselves, hoping they're not counterfeit and that when I go to spend them they'll spend. I can just see myself breaking into a sweat at a Broadway theatre box office, handing the bill to the cranky guy behind the glass window and the crying because they won't take my cash--now that'd be a sight to see.

I am ALWAYS the third wheel. Well, I shouldn't say "always," sometimes I'm the fifth, seventh and on one occasion even the eleventh wheel. I generally deal with my singledom fairly well managing to not let it get to me too much, but there are times when being the lone singleton begins to grate on my nerves. Such is the issue when it comes to large social events at work.

We have "parties" (they're usually called "galas," but they're really just parties) hosted by our Development department at work pretty regularly. I'm usually invited, which I totally appreciate and love being a part of, but when it comes to the "& guest" permanently attached to my name on invitations I become flabbergasted; I lose all sense of the English language. A guest? Bring someone with me? Yeah, right. Who the hell am I gonna get to dress up in a tuxedo (or at least a suit) and convince to tag along? I have a fair amount of gay male friends and I can't even convince them to accompany me without their S.O.'s. The "& guest" has become the bane of my existence in terms of work functions. I hate trying to find someone to go with me, and I hate even more going by myself. At some point something's gotta give. Do I just give up and stop going? Of course not, I know--there's no way I'd give up access to free drinks-- but the thought has crossed my mind.

I bring this up because in just three short weeks we will celebrate the opening of the 2006/07 DCTC season at the "Rock Me Amadeus" gala. I "& guest" were invited to this event today and the prospect of attending this function without some sort of social, non-work related companion makes me want to poke myself in the eye with a pencil. This is not to say that I don't like my colleagues--I ADORE them (most of them), but when everyone else has a date, why shouldn't I? And, on that note, why DON'T I? It's a party with free theatre tickets and--more importantly--free liquor and I still can't convince anyone to come? Is it me? Is there something wrong with me?

I realize that, God willing, someday I'll look back on my days of being single with a sense of yearning and reverie, but in the meantime, I'm beginning to understand how escort services stay in business. Hey, anyone wanna see Amadeus?

I've never kept my love for this country a secret. In college my U.S. flag hung on the ceiling right over my bed, so I could see it clearly when I was lying down; it was the source of much ridicule. It certainly played into the whole "little republican" nickname I'd earned, though I'm still not sure how considering my democratic status. I think I truly began appreciating the U.S. and developed a profound respect for being an American about the same time my love of politics came into play: in 5th grade. It's never gone away. It probably won't, God willing.

I decided I needed to post something about it being the fifth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, but I'm not really sure to say. I've heard a lot of "where I was" stories today, so I'll briefly say that I was at Starbucks, making coffee, and completely cut-off from all media during that morning. It was hard. Perhaps more importantly than where I was or what I was doing, is what I remember most. The thought that sticks in my mind most is how after that Tuesday you couldn't find a flag...anywhere. Everyone became a patriot. Everyone was ready to defend our country. Everyone loved what we were and what we stood for. Everyone banded together. Everyone became one.

In the five years since 9/11/01 we've engaged in a war in both Afghanistan and Iraq, we've witnessed one of the most brutal political fights of the past 100 years, we've watched the Gulf Coast be completely ravaged by a viscious storm, and we've watched terrorists attack not only in the United States, but abroad. What I learned from 9/11 is what's really important in this world: to be more patient and accepting, more loving and more genial, more respectful and more thankful. In short, I learned what it means to be a true American.

Another sure-fire sign that summer is coming to an end is the onset of Football season. Today is the Broncos first regular season game. I'm sure many of you are saying, "who cares?" and deep inside I probably agree with you, but there's something about Broncos football that brings out a sense of nostalgia that I can't ignore. I've never really understood football, but at some point last year I became obsessed with the sport; I didn't miss a single Bronco game during the '05-'06 season and I am beyond excited about the season that starts for us this morning, right now, as we take on St. Louis.

Home games are, of course, much more exciting since I live a mere 15 blocks from the stadium and can on occasion hear the roar of the crowd from my backyard. I have to admit, however, I'm glad today they are away as I have to work for a couple hours this afternoon and will appreciate not having the traffic delays, plus today is the only 11:00 game of the season, meaning I can actually get in an hour or so of watching before I must bolt downtown to attend to the show that wouldn't die. I think I've decided that a post on the topic of said show must be posted, so stay-tuned that will be coming soon. In the meantime, GO BRONCOS!

12:28 PM, Update:
We're not off to a good start. It's :29 to the half and I have to leave for work. OOOHHH...just as I was typing that we got a touchdown...maybe we can pull this off afterall!

Update:
We lost. But, lest we forget, we lost the season opener last year, too. Looking foward to KC next week at home!

I'm the child of engineers, one of whom is a total "gear-head," so I certainly have a fascination with the newest toys and gadgets, but aside from Atari, ColecoVision (Donkey Kong anyone?) and the original 8-bit Nintendo Entertainment System my brother got from Santa for Christmas of '87, I'm not much for video games. I can play Super Mario Bros. with the best of 'em and I love me some Tetris, but the new fangled technology that allows for the creation of these super-life-like games which appear three dimensional and call for so many complex buttons to be pushed at once just manage to confuse me beyond belief.

Today I went to a client preview party for the CBS fall line-up, hosted by our local affiliate (and DCPA season sponsor), CBS 4 Denver. They always do a raffle at these things. They give you a ticket when you sign-in and usually have an iPod or two, Bronco's, Nuggets and Av's tickets, TV's, DVD players, etc. up for grabs. I never win anything...seriously. So, you can imagine my surprise when I heard the final number uttered and glanced down at my ticket to find that I held the ticket with the winning number! I couldn't believe it. I walked up to retrieve my prize utterly stunned, not really knowing that I just won the last prize of the night--the grand prize--the new Xbox 360 (plus one game: World Cup 2006). I was surprised at how heavy the box was, and luckily for everyone in attendance I had on flats today, otherwise I would've probably slipped on the tile floor in my euphoria---that would've been more embarrassing than all the congratulatory comments that then followed me around as I lugged this box with me the rest of the evening.

While I love gadgets and I certainly like technology I'm fairly certain that I don't need this sophisticated of a gaming system. So, the question is: do I keep it and look cool because I have a $500 game system next to my ten-year-old DVD player, or do I hawk it and pay bills or buy another more Mollyesque toy, like a new iPod, since mine can't keep a charge? Better yet, do I hawk it so I have the cash to pay the taxes on it? A pickle indeed, but a delicious one at that!

I'm not necessarily "the best" at keeping secrets. I can do it, if I really have to and I'm pretty good at keeping things from the people who really shouldn't know, but in general I usually slip up and let someone in on said confidential information. Recently developments at work have reached into the deepest darkest confines of my ability to keep a secret and I'm pleased to say that while I might've slipped up to my mom and a few close friends, I was able to keep the news mostly quiet for nearly two months. Go me!

I know I promised I wouldn't write about work, but I'm amending that statement...slightly. I will allow myself to write about work if, and only if, it's something I'd be talking about anyway; i.e. the huge project about which I'm about to fill you in. It's big, it's so big I'm not sure if people understand how big it is, but in time I hope that all comes to the surface (pun intended--read on to see what I mean). ;)

Recently--and officially announced today--Denver was chosen as the city that will launch the world premiere, pre-Broadway try-out of Disney's The Little Mermaid. The show will be based on the 1989 animated film of the same name, directed by superstar opera director, Francesca Zambello with a book by Doug Wright and music by Alan Menken and the late Howard Ashman, with additional songs by Menken and lyricist Glen Slater. The set designer will be George Tsypin, costumes by Tatiana Noginova (couldn't find any good links with her past costume designs) and lighting by Tony Award-winner Natasha Katz.

Denver has played host to just a handful of shows pre-Broadway, none of them on par with a major Disney spectacle. And, I don't mean "spectacle" in a negative sense. Just take a look at that link to Mr. Tsypin's site and tell me that the set for this underwater adventure will not be spectacular!

Out-of-town tryouts, pre-Broadway, were extremely popular in the '50s and '60s. They still happen today, but less frequently. However, Disney has done out-of-town tryouts for all its major successes on The Great White Way: Aida, Beauty & the Beast and The Lion King. When Denver was chosen to be the launch pad for the first national tour of The Lion King the economic impact was huge; amounting to millions of dollars of revenue to the city of Denver, itself, not to mention the attention that then fell on the DCPA. It didn't put us on the map, we've been there for a long time, but it certainly added a desk lamp shining brightly--maybe even a push-pin-- on the Mile High City.

Anyway, sufficed to say I'm thrilled about the development of this project (which I've been following since it was announced nearly six years ago), and I'll undoubtedly be updating as warranted. I can't believe I get to be a part of this world!

I like to joke that I bear the burden of the Catholic guilt. And, while I'm usually joking about the Catholic part, I'm usually not joking about the guilt part. I always feel guilty. I feel guilty when I oversleep and someone beats me to the office, I feel guilty when I have to say "no" to someone, I feel guilty when I have to ask for help, I feel guilty when I glance at the caller ID and decide to let it ring to voicemail. There's nothing too big or too small to bring out my guilty conscience. This is not to say that I actually am guilty of anything. I'm far from perfect, but I try really hard to be a good person and do good things. I am not a liar or a cheat, I'm not impolite or arrogant, I'm not irresponsible or ill-behaved, I'm not capricious or fanatical. I'm just a plain ol' average girl, with a terribly guilty conscience.

Recently I've been stricken with a kind of guilt with which I'm finding it very difficult to deal. Aside from being incredibly outspoken and stubborn, I know in my heart that I've done absolutely nothing wrong. I know that I'm justified and that whatever the outcome is--be it positive or negative--I deserve it. Of course, as you might guess, I'm thinking that the outcome is going to be positive, because why would I feel guilty if something bad was happening to me? And not affecting anyone else in the least? But, maybe that's from whence the guilt stems: maybe I hurt (or am hurting) someone else-- without meaning to do so--and the result is a purely selfish gain? Could that be it? Or perhaps more likely it's just that good Catholic girl popping in to remind me that she's still here.

Does anyone else compulsively read Craigslist's Missed Connections in the hopes that someone might be searching for them? I've already had a rather unpleasant MC experience (it was completely my fault, too) so why in the world would I be massochistic enough to try to do that again? At any rate, reading the postings every day is a guilty pleasure of mine. I'm amazed at how many close calls there are at Starbucks. What the hell? Why couldn't I have had any of those in my seven years of service behind the counter?

I know of several people who read missed connections in one carnation or another on a pretty regular basis. I wonder if we all have this secret fantasy that we're *just* missing out on bliss by one lapse in judgment. If we'd just opened our mouth and said "hi" or smiled in a certain way. What if we bought their coffee, or wrote our phone number on a napkin... What if? So, instead of being adventurous and taking a risk we hide behind our keyboards late at night, secretly hoping that our "missed connection" will show its face, but on some level being relieved that we haven't had to step outside of our comfort zone.

Maybe I've inadvertently tied all this back to that last post about regret. The overreaching sentiment from everyone I've talked to on this topic is that most of us would rather live with the regret of things we've done, rather than things we neglected to do. If that's the case, then why is it sometimes so hard to convince yourself to step outside of your bubble and be bolder?

I'm curious. If you had to choose, one or the other, with which kind of regret would you rather live: something you did, even though you knew you might regret it later, or with something that you wish you'd done?

Audience participation is requested on this one... like always.

One of the problems you face when you live in a gentrifying neighborhood is the fact that someday it may become cooler than you are. That eventually it will become more sorority and Starbucks than group house and roach coach and eventually you will feel as out of place as a t-shirt at a black-tie event---and, yes, I do know what that feels like.

I'm a bit possessive of my neighborhood. Both of my grandparents were raised in this 'hood and when I was born we lived a mere 11 blocks from my house now. Maybe not weird to those of you out there whose parents have always lived in the same house, but to me moving back to Northwest Denver was the closest thing to going home that I've probably ever felt. I love living here and I swore I'd never want to leave as long as I was in Denver, but every day I notice the Highlands slipping more and more in the suburban feel that I've tried like hell to avoid during my adult life. Growing up suburbia was comfortable and safe, no matter what city you found yourself in. It was easy to make friends, and fit in because it was always the same. Like a little robot you could program yourself to be who you needed to be, even floating from one place to the next. As I got older I realized that I was more suited for the quirky eclecticism of city-dwelling.

I've noticed recently that many of the residents of this neighborhood are the kind who have come here because this is now a fashionable place to live. The former football stars and their cheerleader girlfriends move-in, longing to be near the trendy boutiques and current fad restaurants. They spend thousands of dollars popping the tops of their quarter of a million dollar homes, driving up property values. They spend their weekends driving BMW SUV's up the hill to their Vail condos. I doubt that they've ever eaten a two dollar burrito at one of the local dives, or a tamale from the women sitting outside the Safeway. For that matter, they've probably never shopped at the Safeway, but instead drive 20 minutes to the nearest Whole Foods.

Please don't take this to mean that I don't enjoy the fact that I live so close to some local hot-spots. It's nice to be able to hit-up the nice restaurants in town on foot, and I enjoy the fact that we're now on the map and I have the convenience of a Starbucks on my way to work, but I feel like the real flavor of this community is slowly becoming bland. I fear that soon not only will I not be able to afford to live here, but I simply won't want to.

Aside from this being a three-day weekend, what's the big deal? According to the Department of Labor, "Labor Day, the first Monday in September, is a creation of the labor movement and is dedicated to the social and economic achievements of American workers. It constitutes a yearly national tribute to the contributions workers have made to the strength, prosperity, and well-being of our country." Does it not seem at least ironic that we celebrate the achievements of "American workers" by taking the day off? I guess it makes some sense, just seems odd at the same time. At any rate, I'm enjoying it. When you live in a place where all things outdoors are glorified and you consider yourself more of an "indoor" girl three day weekends bring lighter traffic, easy-to-get tickets and another day to sleep in--and not in a tent, either.

Traditionally, Labor Day has signaled the end of summer and the transition into autumn. Even though every one in Denver knows that we go straight from summer into winter I like the idea that summer has ended and that the fall has arrived. The weather today was certainly fall-like with high temps topping out in the low 60's...and the low tonight is 40--it could *almost* snow and that's a prospect about which I have a hard time containing my excitement.

Since today was Saturday--Sloth Day-- you can bet I spent a good portion of the day sleeping, or at least lounging, which means that I have oodles of pent up energy. And, even though I should be at least thinking about going to bed I think I'll go start packing up the summer clothes and white shoes to make sure I don't make any devastating fashion faux pas post Labor Day holiday.

I can't believe this is the top story on our #1 local news site tonight---is this really *that* big of a deal?!