Travel & Lifestyle Freelance Writer | Market Research Consultant
It’s 5:07 on a Friday night, and I’m already making plans to be tucked into bed by 9.
What does that say about me?
(I’m using the fact that I’m getting up early to go backcountry skiing as my excuse, but let’s be honest here, 9 on a Friday is pretty pitiful.)
This just in.
She parked in her spot, so her parked in Photo‘s spot. Photo man is pissed and parked in someone else’s spot out front. He also left a nasty note on her‘s vehicle.
Fingers are pointing and blame is firing through the building as we speak.
Moral of the story: Park in your own damn spot.
Spring is springing here in Boulder.
Sure, the weather’s warming and the robin has returned.
Arguably the best indicator, however, is the recent reappearance of the sprinkler … something I was made aware of just this morning.
No, I didn’t just see it; I rode my little red bicycle right through it’s jet stream.
See, for all of the participants in and graduates from higher education who live here, it seems that the difference between cement, asphalt and grass remains a mystery.
Similarly, for all of those environmental Nazis, er, advocates, you’d think that they’d be concerned enough about wasting water to at least direct the sprinkler’s water flow in the direction of something that’s some hue of green.
Alas.
I love Boulder’s summer months, but the sprinkler conundrum continues to miff me.
Got a text last night from a friend asking if Mike and I wanted to go to a delicious Mexican restaurant here in Boulder, Efrains. Having already made dinner plans with some other buddies (see last post about the Reese’s debacle), I couldn’t go.
So I didn’t respond to the texto.
However, on a different occasion, I’d planned to go to said restauranté only to find out it was closed on Sundays.
When I noticed the text, I distinctly remember thinking to myself, “Hmm, good luck eating there. That place is closed today.” I chuckled and deleted the message.
In retrospect it wouldn’t have been that difficult to tell Jess that I couldn’t go.
And it probably would have be thoughtful to advise her and her fiancé to pick a different dining option, thereby saving them the wasted trip.
Oops.
Two guys sitting behind me are skyping with a colleague likely hundreds of miles away. They’re talking about spreadsheets. They’ve been talking about spreadsheets. They’ll undoubtedly continue to talk about spreadsheets.
Boulderites are brilliant … but there are some seriously large nerds in our midst.
So I live in Boulder. That means that, theoretically, I’m a bad-ass athlete.
That (wrong) conclusion led me on a “Damn the torpedoes” kind of bike ride this morning where I pedaled into the blustery wind for three miles, despite the fact that those same howling gusts woke me up last night.
Bad decision.
But one that inspired my new resolution: I will not bike to school on days where the wind speed is 35 mph.
Here’s New Years Resolution 2011 Number 1.
Perhaps I’m especially tart because in the process of heading to school, I fell over because of said (fricking) wind. And I recently discovered that in the process of doing so, I managed to squish the orange I’d packed for a mid-morning snack.
I have orange juice in my backpack.
(It’s the pulpy kind.)