It’s just graffiti, grandpa.

by jlolb

I know it doesn’t seem possible, but I am, in fact, still alive.  I didn’t fall off a mountain or walk into interstate traffic or get robbed and killed in my new neighborhood that grandpa thinks is just a little “scary.”  It’s not scary at all, really, it’s urban. And there is graffiti. My garage has been tagged wtih the word “mafia“–not by the mafia, I am sure, but likely by a couple of 15 year old boys whose parents didn’t pay enough attention to them  or hug them enough during their most formidable years. They run around with spray paint–it doesn’t automatically mean they’re going to knife me in my alley or that people sell drugs out of their backpacks on my street corner.

The point is, I’m alive and as much as is possible, I would like to come back to this blog.  I’ve got stories.  Many of them.  To tell to all of you.  Funny thing is, I can’t tell them if I don’t write them and you can’t read them if I don’t write them and so this level of communication that we long ago established gets completely fucked up if I don’t put forth the effort. 

So, I have a good four months to catch you all up on.  Four really, really busy months. Lots of random tales of my new life as a Coloradan…  I’ll give you the short of it: wine, new friends, Rockies Games, beers, tears, BBQs, sun, wine, smoothies, mountains, camping, hiking 14-ers, old men, traveling to Las Vegas–twice, gin & tonics,  anxiety attacks healed by wine, loving the job but working my ass off, bike rides, slumber parties, cab rides, trips to Vail, Thirsty Thursdays, out of town visitors, Elk heads, ass grabs, Avalanche games, and lots and lots of laughter. 

Looking forward to being back!

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