Colorado. Runner. Yogi. Fucking hilarious, like, 17% of the time.

remember when I used to be cool?

Two things. First, my post from yesterday was about my friend Betty (otherwise known as my friend Betsy. Yes, my powers of nicknaming and misdirection are awe inspiring, I know). The reason that I'm now using her real name is because roughly twenty minutes after I posted it, I got this IM: Betsy: emma!!! Betsy: I LOVE my blog! I can call it my blog today right??

She read it out loud to several folks at our old company, forwarded it to friends of hers, and was generally 150% awesome about it. This, along with the clothing counting, many Friday lunchtime margaritas and after work glasses of wine, and a truly hilarious anecdote about the time of 9:20 pm, is why I love her.

Where does uncoolness come in? Well, I am a prolific user of and employed by a company that works with the internet, can see that I have positively TENS of daily readers, had the link to my blog on facebook before I quit, and post a link to every single post on twitter. All that and  it literally never occurred to me that she would read it. I apparently truly believed that all of my readers were complete and total strangers. Seriously, what is that? That's me being kind of stupid and very uncool, that's what it is.

Second. Last night the boy and I hit the big big city. We got all dolled up and headed down to Denver to see the opening of my favorite artist's new show. We also hit a few other galleries and grabbed some dinner. Cool, right?

Cept here's what the evening really looked like. In the third person, for reasons that I can't even begin to explain.

7:30 pm: Emma misses the exit off the highway because of some loud and enthusiastic postulatating about a subject that was so unimportant that she now can't even remember what it was.

8:09 pm: Emma and the boy arrive at the gallery.


camo boy

8:25 pm: Emma and the boy leave the gallery, having purchased nothing and failed to talk to aforementioned artist. Because, as Emma says, 'how long can you really look at a picture?' and because the artist's Carhart jacket intimidated her.

9:00 pm: Emma and the boy arrive at a second gallery, which did not have the show that they thought it did. A clearly inebriated fella dances around Emma and then asks for a fist bump. Based on his reaction, Emma performed the fist bump incorrectly.

9:30 pm: Emma and the boy arrive at the gallery that does have the Where the Wild Things Are show that they were looking for. Emma almost cries in installation piece in the basement that is essentially a forest scene with an abandoned Max costume and some toys degrading on the floor.

9:45 pm: Emma and the boy stop for dinner at delite. They realize that if he is going to continue to feature prominently in her blog, she's going to have to come up with a better nickname, which as of this writing she has failed to do.

10:00 pm: Emma becomes convinced that drugs are being dealt out of the men's bathroom, and spends the remainder of the meal noting visits, time spent, and return visits.

11:00 pm: Emma and the boy arrive home, watch half an episode of Community, and fall asleep.

As I said. Remember when I used to be cool?


Sunday Best

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