How do you join the Mile High Club?
You go to Denver, CO. Get your minds out of the fucking gutter.
My birthday has been never-ending this year (sorry not sorry to those who’ve been forced lucky enough to celebrate endlessly with me), and one of my gifts was a trip to Denver from Van Waffles.
Poor, poor me.
Being the spoiled biatch that I am, the vacay commenced with bloody marys at the ass crack of dawn in the airport.
Time doesn’t exist in airports.
There’s something about the heinous Nashville airport carpet that is a “thing” to local peeps. A shop even sells t-shirts about this beautiful floor accessory. Naturally, I had to join in on the social media fun.
Upon landing, we headed to our hotel downtown (Denver, what the fuck is up with your airport being 35 miles outside of the fucking city?). It was a sunny, 70 degree day that was just perfection. As soon as we left to explore the downtown, I somehow made a wrong turn but in such a right way.
My Mothership.
Yes. I came all the way to Colorado to shop in a Target because I’ve never been in my Mothership that was located in a downtown setting with no parking lot. I mean, it’s all about new life experiences, isn’t it?
Target in the heart of downtown.
Once Van Waffles was able to drag me out of the store that I just scoured the day before in Nashville (they have the same items in case you’re wondering which I’m sure you aren’t but now you know) it was time to enjoy pink wine in the sunshine.
A perfect day for rosé.
We then made our way to a shuttle that transported us to the famous Red Rocks amphitheater for a 311 concert.
I sure the fuck didn’t know what I was about to embark.
I was warned not to wear heels to Red Rocks. I listened. I was warned that it was “quite a walk” to the venue. I practiced hills at my local park in Nashville. But I still almost died (or so I thought) on the way up to that motherfucking theater.
The worst part was being sweaty, thirsty and having to stop to take a piss in the middle of my mountain climb in a hot, humid, stank ass port-a-potty. I’d never wished I had a penis more in my whole life as I tried to stand to pee over the gaping hole of other people’s waste (you know the feeling).
Mouth breathing.
Low and behold, much to Van’s bleeding ears, after all of my bitching…
As soon as I got to the fucking top of the mountain, my iWatch buzzed. I was certain that it might explode from my activity during the climb but alas it was just reminding me that I hadn’t come close to closing my step (in red) or exercise (in green) rings. And I’d had this watch on since 4:30am.
I work out a lot. Obvies.
What I do work out on a regular basis? My biceps. And by the time I spied the wine line, all was right in the world.
Workout more my speed.
All in all the weather was perfect, the band was killer and the night was fabulous.
If you ever get the chance to see a show at this venue, GO. But maybe watch my coaching videos above for reference before you attempt to mountain climb unless of course you’re in shape. Then it’ll be easy breezy for you.
When the concert was over, I walked down the mountain like I was a 94-year-old woman recovering from a hip replacement surgery. Mostly this was due to the fact that I fall down like it’s my day job and I’m not sure how much more my joints can take before I need a true knee, hip, ankle, elbow, and wrist replacement surgery.
Me: Sorry we’re having to walk down so slowly. (Literally taking left foot and stopping. Letting right foot catch up)
Van Waffles: It’s OK. Nobody knows us here.
Me: That’s so sweet fucking true.
After consuming every drop of water in the hotel (along with every bag of potato chips and maybe a Snickers bar because I got contact high from the legal marijuana smoked at the show) I woke up Saturday hacking like I’d been a lifelong smoker.
I soon got my act together because I had told my college bestie, Tdawg, that I would take her yoga sculpt class at Core Power Yoga where she instructs. She was picking me up at 10am and being that I take hot yoga, have taken many sculpting classes, I incorrectly assumed I was up for this challenge after a night out and a mountain hike.
Pre-yoga excitement.
Upon arriving, the serene yoga room had a reminder on the door.
Just what I need after a mountain climb.
Then Tdawg came in and blasted old school Nelly…”Andele andale moma E.I. E.I. uh oh!”
Uh fucking oh was right. She didn’t teach a power sculpt yoga class. She instructed a Jane Fonda on crack cardio class with a few yoga moves thrown in here and there while the room was heated. No big deal. This was just the second time I thought a workout was going to be the death of me in Colorado in a matter of 24 hours.
Yoga Barbie and a sweaty pig in a blanket.
Keeping everyone updated via Instagram stories, Sister CBXB kindly asked if we’d be partaking in our favorite college past time.
Not drinking.
Not doing drugs.
Yes. Embossing cards. We would stay in our dorm on the weekends and fucking craft homemade greeting cards. We were beyond cool.
Obvies.
Heading to her house after class to meet her offspring and hubs, she informed me that I am doing a fabulous job educating the youth of America.
Oh be still my beating heart. This is truly one of the highest honors of my life. Teaching kids the F-bomb and S-word is basically my equivalent to winning the Nobel Peace Prize.
Tdawg’s hubs, Cdawg was celebrating his birthday and when he offered me a mimosa to start his celebratory weekend, who was I to turn him down?
My Uber descended to their house and both the Dawgs could not have been more gracious, offering me a full-to-the-brim roadie I happily accepted. “Hopefully one day you’ll come out of your shell,” Cdawg’s dad said as I doled out departing hugs.
Shyness doesn’t become her.
Next up? I showered, gussied up in my finest sequins to meet a friend who until today was only a virtual friend. She’s a fellow blogger who lives in Boulder and when I reached out to let her know about my last second trip, she was available to meet! IN PERSON! When does this happen?
It’s Viv in the flesh!
We’ve been virtual friends for almost six years and she’s known me before the twins, before Rapegate, before losing my music business career…so it’s like we knew each other because we did. It just took it to an entirely new level being in the flesh. Best long lunch date ever.
I told her I didn’t smoke at the concert the prior evening because I don’t like smoking but maybe I would try an edible while in Denver. She said if I did, to nibble on the ear of a gummy bear because peeps usually over do it (and let’s be honest, I could eat a bag of regular gummy bears, so eating just the ear off of one would seem like an underperformance on my end).
After lunch, she sent me this very ominous meme.
I chose not to edible.
Avoiding edibles proved to be the best possible thing because I wanted to keep my eyes open to meet up with yet another gal pal SS. Our mammas were sorority sisters in college and we were childhood friends. I hadn’t seen her since 4th fucking grade.
Not much has changed since we were 10…
Then we went and met up with the rest of the Nashville crew.
Hanging with the gang.
Although I didn’t get high, just mostly drunk, I still had the munchies on the way back to the hotel and it was very upsetting when passing a gluten-free bakery that was closed. I handled it like a lady.
I was just trying to fuel up for the flight home, which was occurring in a matter of hours after our night out.
Too many people before coffee, a bloody mary and 6am.
Best part about the early flying is I got to sit by the Easter Bunny and I scored her phone number!
Furever friends. For real.
Immediately upon arrival home in Nashville, I got a bloody nose that was the gift that just kept on giving all goddamn day long.
Dry Denver air don’t care.
Once the door to the Mini Manse opened, Van Waffles looked at me and said in all seriousness, “is your birthday over now?”
What the fuck do you think?
Cheers!
CBXB
Cowboys and Crossbones 