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forever young

In one day, potheads, neo-Nazis and I will all put our party hats on to celebrate a very special day. Yes folks, I am turning the big 22. Cue confetti falling to the tune of Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration.”

As I live out the last few days of 21, I can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness. Saying goodbye to my year of “I can legally drink and rent a car” will not be easy. 21 has been good to me. I might even call it too good if I believed in such a thing as an excess of fun. To all those who have participated in the whirlwind shit show that was this past year, I hope you’ve enjoyed me being 21 as much as I have. It’s been an explosive year.

Before I move on to 22, I thought I’d share some Rohini highlights from the past year. There’s a strong possibility most of these involved alcohol.

Moroccan mint mojitos. Yes my first drink as a 21 year old was a mint mojito. No, the Moroccans don’t know how to mix their alcohol. Downside of drinking in an Islamic country. Luckily there was a shot of tequila waiting for me at the end of that drink.

Summer in the city. Who knew a Mike’s Hard Lemonade could make a day at the park that much sweeter? Playing cards in a petite enclosed park while sipping some spirits and avoiding the angry rants of a homeless man is possibly one of the sweetest ways to spend a summer day.

Summer days at Lodo’s. Ah how our love affair with an un-quaint bar in downtown Denver began. Good fucking times.

VEGAS. I can’t say this city’s name without letting out a sigh. Oh Vegas. The words “If you ain’t getting drunk get the fuck out the club” have never felt as true as they did here. VIP at all the clubs, drinking for free and dancing til 4 in the morn… Why did we ever leave? The one Sin City golden rule I did pick up: hydrate beforehand or you’ll end up dropping fifty dollars on bottled water at the bar.

Level 2. Sketchy Providence nightclubs may not seem like an ideal location for most, but when you’re inebriated and looking to get your dance on, Level 2 is just the place to do it. I dragged my drunk ass all over this dance floor, made nice with the townies and woke up with a disgustingly strong scent of cologne under my fingernails. Success.

Fire chief to the rescue. Did I dress up like a firefighter for Halloween and then waltz into the local fire station to pose in the fire truck? Yeah, that happened. Big thanks to my giggling roomies (Kat and Khara) for capturing that moment on more technologically advanced phones. Oh, and in case you didn’t know, my helmet said I was a fire chief. And I told that to the fire chief.

Thanksgiving at a bar. Unlike the rest of America, Yang and I had a Thanksgiving meal with our families then ditched them to head downtown and hit up our favorite bar, Lodo’s, with our friends Alex and Evan. On this eventful night I met the short-but-beautiful Hayden that Yang described in her blast from the past post and we spent the night dancing (and falling) all over the bar floor. Class act.

I-225 rest stop. Following a night of several shots of Jameson, my dearest Yang graciously pulled her car to the shoulder of the highway so that I could “make the spinning stop” all over a large bank of snow. Our friend Joe coincidentally also needed a rest stop; he got out of the car, stood next to me and relieved himself. Fast forward to three hours later… Rohini gets on a plane with mom, dad, and bro to leave for a family vacation.

Ginger. I think this one speaks for itself.

Karaoke and pizza. Singing Taylor Swift to a crowd of cheering people is, I believe, the standard definition of “partying like a rock star.” Post-karaoke, some rather incriminating pictures of me shoving a Jumbo slice pizza into my mouth may have been taken. If you have not seen these I recommend you go to Facebook and search for them immediately.

A Stately affair. While we originally headed to State Lounge for a birthday bash, upon finding a group of very well dressed, very foreign law students, my friend Sonika and I changed the game plan. Flaming bottles of champagne, cigarettes, lap dances, lost credit cards and grilled cheese. EPIC.

These moments have definitely made 21 one of the best years of my life, but I can only see things getting better (and messier?) from here. 22’s the new 21. That said, I’ll be kicking off my 22nd year with a rocking Spring Week(end). I hope you’ll be joining me. Let’s get shit poppin.

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tonight

rohini and i are both flying home this afternoon! i’m scheduled to arrive at 8pm and Rohini isn’t getting in until 11 (i’m keeping my fingers crossed with this snow). After a long day of work/school and travel, the average human being would likely call it a night. lucky for us, rohini and i aren’t your average humans and have quite the busy itinerary planned for ourselves. take a look.

rohini and i will…

– be reunited after 2 long weeks apart

– share a great big hug that will likely involve a combination of squealing, laughing, jumping and maybe even some tongue

– see the proud loving faces of our parents, followed immediately by their looks of disappointment when we both go rushing out the front door

– drive around car dancing to a mix cd of all of our current favorite songs

– go to Lodo’s, our most favoritest bar in Denver

– dance with a dozen men who will get the wrong idea

– repeatedly say “i wish we could do this every weekend”

– overstay our welcome at Village Inn as we inhale veggie omelets, french fries and pie

– even consider a stop at Del Taco for cheesecake bites, and by “consider” I mean definitely go

– make plans for the rest of our weekend. plans should include but are not limited to: the mall, chipotle, noodles & company, a movie, lots of pictures, driving around, spending time with friends, more downtown and more dancing

– return home way later than we’ll tell our parents we did the next morning

– get some much needed sleep in our beds at home

– have laughed and smiled and laughed all night long :)

Lady in Redd


Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve been waiting for it all year and it’s finally here. The countdown to my birthday celebration has officially begun!

Now that the Super Bowl is over we can finally focus all of our attention on my birthday. I will turn 22 years old in 11 days, but more importantly Rohini and our dearest friend Megan will be joining me for what will surely be a weekend to remember. There are a few other fantastic ladies who may also be in attendance, but Rohini and Megan are the only two who have made their travel arrangements and I love them for it.

I actually love them for many more reasons, and since my love for Rohini is already well-publicized in the posts of this blooming blog, allow me to show some love for Megan Reddish.

Megan and I have known each other for quite some time. We first met in our freshman year of high school when we took Drawing and Painting 2. Yeah, that’s right, we were artistic prodigies in an upperclassmen arts class. High five. Megan was hard to miss, she was a tall, blue-eyed blonde (still is, a natural one I might add) with a laugh that I can only describe as horse-like. This description isn’t news to Megan. I remember using that exact term soon after meeting her (I was awesome). Adding to her charm, she also had a knack for wearing eccentric outfits and sporting multi-colored clothespins in her hair, a hair trend that both started and ended with dear Megan. We had a couple of other classes together as well, but wouldn’t become close friends until a couple years later. Had you told young, braces-wearing me that Rohini and I would later be the lives of the party with the girl who looked like she just survived a violent laundry cycle, I would have asked you what you were smoking. Megan? Megan with the horse laugh? What? Rohini drinking? Double what?? Fortunately, as Megan has grown into a mature young woman she’s also gotten a handle on that laugh of hers. And although our friendship was off to a slow start, we’ve managed to make up for loss time.

Not only is she funny, beautiful, and smart, Megan is also one of our most reliable friends. When Rohini and I dial Megan’s number to ask her if she wants to do something, we already know her answer is going to be yes before the first ring. Calling her is really just a formality so we’re not interrupting any love-making or moving of “typeface” (whatever that means) when we pick her up. If fun is to be had you can bet Megan will be there.

To illustrate her dedication to the pursuit of fun let me tell you about a night in the summer of 09. That summer was a rough one for Megan. She broke her elbow in a violent motorcycle accident (not entirely true, but it makes for a better story to show off her badass scar). Megan wasn’t wearing a helmet at the time. That part is true, true and stupid. Did her arm sling and extreme pain keep her from going out and having a good time? No. And if you hesitated for a second, you clearly haven’t been paying attention to anything that I’ve written about her so far. Megan, who had just been in surgery a few days prior, went with us to Lodo’s, our favorite Denver bar, when our other friends had prior commitments. Now that’s dedication. Had I been in her shoes, I’m ashamed to say it, but I don’t think I would have had her resolve. She is my hero. Earlier that night Megan had been on painkillers that she couldn’t mix with alcohol, but as soon as the 4-6 hour time window passed, Megan announced, “It’s 11 o’clock. I can drink now.” That’s my girl.

This last winter break was quite possibly one of the best times of my young adult life. I was finally through with school and spent the entirety of my temporary freedom eating, rotting my brain with movies and internet, and going out. I’m both sad and proud that I spent most of my time with Rohini and Megan. Sad because this means I spent little time with my parents and happy because I had a blast dancing up a storm and eating at Del Taco and Village Inn at 3 in the morning. It was a wonderful way to end the decade and an even better way start the new one.

o.m.g. I am so excited for next weekend!!!

sans wingman

Last night Megan and I went to Lodo’s without our favorite third musketeer.  Don’t let the smiles in the above picture fool you.  Something (someone) was most definitely missing.  Upon returning home from a fun, but incomplete night I recalled a piece I wrote earlier this year for my Creative Non-Fiction class that captures what exactly was absent from our Thursday festivities.  I would like to share it with you now.

Yang dances her own dance. Hips moving everywhere all at once with a mischievous smile that screams “I’m goofy, come dance with me.”  She’s trendy, classy all the traits you would expect in an aspiring journalist, but once she hits the dance floor, heads will turn, I will laugh and Yang will showcase the latest hit moves from her repertoire.  “I know I may not be a good dancer.  But the way I dance, no one can imitate that.”  Classic Yang remark on the Classic Yang dance.

Yang is the best car dancer I know. Driving while dancing might be considered reckless activity.  Driving while Yang’s dancing, that’s just asking for an accident.  But I boom the latest hip hop tunes and oblige her nevertheless because watching her on the dance floor is nothing compared to seeing her bust a move with the steering wheel.

Yang can dance anywhere. Whether she’s jamming at a club, making eyes with the cutest guy, or strutting down the aisles of our local grocery store twirling the shopping cart to easy listening music, the beat flows from within her.  People may stop and stare but she’s always shaking like she don’t care.  Straight jet-black hair tosses from side to side as she rocks her head.  She looks back at me with her full face smile, the kind of smile that’s on the verge of breaking into laughter, beckoning me to partake in the grocery store music video the security cams must be catching.  I twirl around as she twirls the cart and we both rock to the beat.

blast from the past

Right now, Rohini is probably having a fantastic time in downtown Denver. Right now, I’m up to my knees in useless material objects that need to be packed away in boxes that I have yet to pick up from the U-Haul store. Right now, Rohini is likely dancing with an attractive young Denver man while simultaneously making eyes at a sexy Wicked Garden bartender. Right now, I’m wishing I were with her instead of writing this post.

My iphone can load text message conversations from forever ago. I’m sure other smart phones can do the same thing, but I wouldn’t know since I’m a phone elitist and refuse to handle anything else (not really). Every once in a while, when I’m down and out and need a good laugh like I do now, reading through forgotten text messages from Rohini will usually do the trick. I’ve included an excerpt of such conversations for your entertainment. A name has been replaced with an * to protect the individual’s identity. Please overlook all errors in grammar and spelling. I transcribed these exactly as they were.

text message thread
time & date stamp: December 5, 2009 @ 6:30 P.M.

r: Yeah well whatever it doesnt look like he’s saving up for med school or anything.
y: Haha. You’re just telling yourself this to get over him. You know you love him still.
r: you’re right a part of me will always love *. always.
y: Always. I will always love Sean. Did you get over Hayden?
r: Haha hayden! he was so cute. i was so drunk that night
y: Yeah. You fell. Hahahaha. You can be such a mess sometimes.
r: I know classic drunk girl. i’m so not a classy drinker i should maybe consider developing those skills. remember when i drank all those bottle of water at the bank in vegas?
y: Hahahahahahahaha. You definitely are not classy. Must cut back.
r: I know i should reform my ways
y: I wish Jenny jones was still on. I’d take you there.
r: Hahahaha that’s trashy. i think going on that show would by definition ruin any chance i have at being classy
y: Hahaha touché.

Since Rohini is probably on her way to Lodo’s right now, I found this text conversation to be particularly fitting. You see, Hayden is a young man from Nebraska that Rohini met at Lodo’s on Thanksgiving night. You were probably spending some quality time with your family and loved ones that night. Rohini and I did that too, but since we’ve always been so efficient with our time, we were able to fit in some quality thank you time on the dance floor as well.

To make a long story short – Hayden was in town with a group of friends from Nebraska to watch the Broncos-Giants game. Hayden became enchanted by Rohini’s dancing. Rohini fell for his angelic face. When Hayden stood up from his seat at the bar, we were both shocked at his less-than-average height, but Rohini had enough drink in her that she could literally overlook his shortcomings. Later that night, Rohini came to her own defense and said, “To be fair to me, he was sitting down when I saw him.” Thatagirl.

I watched this would-be fairytale romance blossom to the sounds of Soulja Boy and spilling beer, but the clock soon struck twelve and happily ever after came to an end. Hayden’s Nebraska posse was leaving and taking him with them. Rohini’s dance partner left without so much as a kiss, but you would have thought things had gone much further had you seen the text messages he sent her shortly thereafter. Damn you, Nebraska for raising such gentlemen.

It’s a shame Rohini doesn’t have an iPhone like I do.

first lesbian burn

The first time I saw M I thought she was S’s girlfriend.  She was wearing a purple tank top with tasteful cleavage and they shared the booth next to us at Lodo’s Bar and Grill.  When M disappeared for a little while to use the Ladies room, we all got a glimpse of S the dancer.  I will rarely admit to not being able to dance to a song, however “You’re a Jerk” by New Boyz is definitely something I can’t groove to.  Not the case with S.  He was hip hopping all over an empty dance floor and as is usually the case when we find a good dancer, Yang nudged me and said “Go dance with him.”  I shook my head, “He’s with her.”  She gave me an areyousure glance, but I was determined not to break up the happy couple.

I downed a few more drinks, as did the rest of the bar apparently because the empty dance floor was now packed.  We ended up dancing next to S who, as predicted was tearing it up, while M sat watching from a nearby table.  I had seen this kind of couple before.  Guy’s a good dancer, girl’s too embarrassed to dance next to him, so guy awkwardly dances by a table while girl sits and watches.  S edged closer to us and it became pretty clear he was ready to give up the solo moves.  “He wants to dance with us,” Yang whispered to me.  Alright, I gave in.  We sandwiched him.  But while grinding up against the back of S, the only person I could think about was poor M, sitting by herself at the table.  So, I extended her an open hand and nodded for her to come join.  At this point, S and I were dancing back to back, Yang in front of S, M in front of me.  I moved my body to try to match the sway of her hips all the while backing it up against S who’s jumping all over the place behind me.  As M and I got into a groove, I realized that she wasn’t a bad dancer.  Definitely no S, but the girl could move if she wanted to.

We took a dance break, also known as a drink break or a Snoop Dogg is playing and we refuse to support the double “g” break.  Post-Snoop, however, we resumed our spot on the dance floor, Yang taking the initiative to dance solo with S.  Once again, that feeling of sympathy flooded my insides as I watched M watch my very attractive friend dance up on her boyfriend.  It wasn’t right.

I held my hand out to M for a second time and she danced in front of me as she had before, only this time, it was just the two of us.  She interrupted our dancing to turn around and introduce herself.  “Hi, I’m M,” she yelled over the music as she leaned towards me.  I shook her hand and yelled my name back.  “You want to take a shot?” she asked me.  I thought this to be a bit strange.  Was this a thank you for dancing with me when my boyfriend wouldn’t shot?  Or perhaps a you’re awesome for saving me from that table shot?  Either way, I was not one to turn down free alcohol.  “Sure, let’s do it.”

M returned with our shots and after we took them S and Yang joined us.  With a huge grin on his face, S pointed at M, “Isn’t she great?  She’s like my sister.”  Sister?  I flashed a look at Yang.  I had just made several advances on a girl who I thought was someone’s girlfriend, but in truth was single and possibly (probably) interested.  Time for another drink break.  “We’ll be right back.”

As we walked away from the “not a couple” couple, Yang turned to me.  “Rohini, she bought you a drink.  Go dance with her.  Don’t be rude.”  I had to admit it, Yang was right.  It’s one thing to walk away from someone you’ve danced with.  It’s another thing to walk away from someone you’ve taken a shot with.  And I am not one to disobey the rules of proper drink/dance etiquette.  I returned to M’s side, spent the next few songs dancing with her and surprisingly enjoyed the company of my newfound dance partner.  Before I turned to regroup with my friends, M asked for my number.  When I typed it into her phone, she said, “I’ll text you sometime.”

Fast forward to later that night.  We left the bar to drive to Del Taco for a late night snack.  No text from M.

Fast forward to post-Del Taco.  Following a satisfying meal of spicy jack quesadillas and cheesecake bites Yang dropped me off at home.  No text from M.

Fast forward to the next morning.  I spent some quality time in the bathroom because of my good friend, Jameson.  No text from M.

Fast forward to today.  It’s been a full six days since I met her.  Since we took that shot together.  Since we danced the night away together.  STILL no text.

I’ve been burned.  Bad.