Brunch is sacred to me and this weekend 15,000 people personally ruined my attempt to get my drink on. A friend picked the restaurant and unbeknownst to both of us, it was located smack dab in the middle of the Denver Marathon route. I was driving along, happily debating the merits of the all-you-can drink mimosa bar versus the $3 spicy Bloody Mary when I turned a corner and was forced to stop immediately. It was like one of those zombie movies where the camera pans from the slowly approaching flesh-eating monster to the slutty girl with her top off, breasts bouncing around while she screams. Except that in this scenario it was a group of slowly moving middle-age men in neon running shorts that no heterosexual should wear and me, finger in nose vigorously picking, with breasts locked into a moderately-priced Playtex Original Comfort bra, tee-shirt, large “Workin’ for the Weekend” sweatshirt over top.
It’s funny how perspective changes depending on what situation you’re in. Shockingly I’d run the Denver ½ Marathon years earlier and found it to be a moderately good time. I’d welcomed the waving crowds at the sidelines, profusely thanked a police officer directing traffic, and stopped for a moment to cheer on a girl walking slowly and out of breath. Now I wanted to tell those passers-by that unless those waving hands held a bottle of Prosecco and a lit joint there’s really no reason to celebrate, and scream at the police officer that my needs are important too and yes I realize there’s a race going on but clearly a five-second gap in the crowd is enough time to drive through, and no I have not been drinking already, and yes I do know its only 10:30 in the morning, and yes perhaps I should find something healthy and productive to do with my life but isn’t productivity relative, and something about casting the first stone and really, if someone with a cramp is walking anyway shouldn’t SHE be the one to stop?
It dawned on me suddenly that maybe I think about myself a little too much, like that time, yesterday, when I got a sweet haircut and later in my yoga class when the teacher asked us to “send a little love out to someone else” I did send a little to my hairstylist but mostly I just looked at myself in the mirror and thought silently “Damn that is one fine haircut, you are looking super hot.” Or that time I asked my co-worker how she’s been lately and it seemed nice and all but then later at the Bennigan’s happy hour I told everyone what a slut Patrice is and how her latest boyfriend is an alcoholic with no job.
I sat pondering all of this, because when you’re handcuffed to a police car for the full duration of the Denver Marathon, pondering life is probably the best thing you can do. Who knows, maybe I’ll change. Maybe next year I’ll be that girl gripping her side with a lifeless, haggard look on her face as she bails on the marathon half way through for a Beermosa and a cigarette. You just, never, know.
White Chocolate Raspberry S’more
– White Chocolate Square
– Graham Cracker
– Dried Cranberries
Place a square of white chocolate on ½ graham cracker and warm it in the microwave for a few seconds or by placing the graham cracker next to your campfire. Toast or microwave marshmallow. Place the marshmallow on your other ½ graham cracker, sandwich a handful of dried cranberries between the two halves and enjoy!