I thought it would be fun in the airport line to try and guess who just came to Colorado for the pot, but I think most of the people were there for some football game.
Colorado used to represent a place for out-doorsy people. Now apparently it’s a place for out-doorsy potheads. I didn’t meet any though, or if I did they were hiding it well. True potheads will definitely tell you. That they like pot. Almost immediately.
anyways. The dancing was colossal. And many other adjectives. The men were sometimes too forward (less in deed than in word) but it’s fun to reject people and also good mental acrobatic training.. for instance. Is this dude worth letting down gently or is he basically a douche? Then there’s a continuum of rejection where I can either be really nice about, or totally blunt and rude. Ball’s in my court.
Dude: So what are my chances percentage-wise for you taking me home tonight?
Me: Well… On a scale of 1 to I-have-a-boyfriend, I’m about a ten. Meaning I have a boyfriend, and your chances are zero.
AND! AND! I had already told him that I was getting kind of creeped out by some of the blunt pick up lines that night. I told him I didn’t trust any of the men there and WHAT DOES HE ASK ME. FREAKING A.
Man. This is why I love my boyfriend. He would never have gone for these cheap lines. I don’t like men who think they’re smooth. Arrogance goes hand in hand with manipulation. I don’t have time for that.
Here is a video from the congress. This man is inspiring. Wish I would have filmed him speaking about dancing.
“What are you rehearsing for?” Get out there and dance.
Of the year I turn thirty-seven. Already the little fists
Of leaves are forming inside the knotted ends of twigs
All over Houston. The cold weather is over. This winter
Again there was no freeze. And tonight it’s very late,
And it’s Sunday, and no cars pass on the big road
By the house, but out there in the night
Some kids about seventeen are doing terrible things
They’ll get by with, and grow out of, and remember
The way they’ll remember what love felt like at first,
Before it stopped being the surest path to ruination,
Before it had done the worst it could and passed away.
And to them it’s as if those who lived this life before them
Moved with the jerky speeded-up gestures of characters
In old-fashioned movies, their expressions intense
And exaggerated; they roll their eyes and loll their tongues
When the heroin hits their blood. It’s as if the beauty
Of evil lives only in the present, where the drop of dope
Clinging to the tip of the stainless steel point
Catches the light like dew; and it doesn’t matter
That the light falls from a streetlamp with a short in it,
And the impatient boy with the syringe in his hand
Will touch the drop back into the spoon
So as not to waste it. It’s his instinct telling him
How much it means to live this now, before he knows
Better, while he still has a chance to survive it.
It’s the moon over his head with its polished horns
That would slip through his skin if he touched them.
It’s the trees leaping to life in his blood, greenness
Unfurling so hard it almost bursts his heart.