duck-shaped pain

And waited. And forgot.

Today, someone called me to possibly set up an interview. Not for a job I applied for � for another job, sort of lower on the office politic pole. And they wanted me to come in tomorrow -- and they wanted the successful candidate to start this week.

So, as you can probably guess, I turned them down. It would be impossible for me to interview this week, let alone move to Denver, find an apartment and start a new job this week. I was very nice to the woman who called, but she seemed frankly befuddled at my inability to do so. "I'd do it," she said. Always beware of places that want someone to come in on that kind of dime, I say.

So why am I having mild regrets. As I said, I'd like to work there. If I was there already or had a bit more leeway on the starting time, I'd probably go for it. But realistically, it's just not possible financially or logistically (driving a moving truck over the Rocky Mountains in the winter is not my idea of fun) right this minute. I'm just thinking, in the back of my head, what if that was my one chance? What if I don't get any more job offers ever and I end up having to work at the G*p [1] again? I'll end up living in my car, except I won't have a car, so I'll have to live in a box behind a Safeway somewhere. And it will be a really ugly box. Of course, I'm sure none of this will happen � this is the workings of that part of my mind that secretly thinks any sniffle, cough or unsightly blemish might be CANCER. Listening to yourself is a good thing, except for the parts that won't shut up.

Enough with that, though. Trip news.

I was sort of concerned about driving to Denver. It snowed this week, and since the drive from here to there involves two 10,000-foot-plus mountain passes, doing it in winter [2] is a crapshoot at best. Will the passes be open? Do I have chains? Will there be a surplus of out-of-state, SUV-renting yahoos careening all over the roads? [3] I was also sort of nervous since this would be my longest drive since I broke The Leg. Since the injured Leg doubles as my gas-pedal leg, this was nor a small concern. Anyway, there was no problem. The roads weren't too bad, too crowded, and The Leg only started to ache on the last part of the drive home.

It was my first visit to my mom's new apartment. It's a very nice apartment, but it's unfortunately located (sorry, mom) in Deepest Arvada, sort of far from everything. But it's not a terribly far drive from where she works, which was sort of the point, though.

We went many places: thrift stores, clothes shopping. We also visited the most frightening new mall I've ever been to. It only opened a few months back, to much hype and adulation (there's nothing the entire DenBoulMetroPlex loves more than a new mall, I'm convinced) and I felt it was my obligation and my duty to make a trip out there. All the malls these days seem to have themes. There's an also-frightening Ski Lodge-themed mall in the south part of the DBMP which is going to look really, really ugly in about ten or fifteen years. The "theme" of this one, I guess, is Canyon of Shopping. The walls are really high, the aisles narrow and I felt like I needed a guide or a fairly nimble mule to ferry me out.

Didn't buy anything there. I wanted, to, believe me. I tried my best. There were even things I picked up, tried on and carried proudly around the store, only to let them down at the last minute. Oh well � if I mentally classify this as "saving money" rather than "being lame," I'll feel better about it. There were some stores I was actually looking forward to visiting, but they were all sort of disappointing. For example � I really like too many of the clothes in the j. jill catalog, and they have a retail store in Very Unfortunate Mall. I thought to myself prior to the visit, hey, I can go in, try on the clothes, see if I actually like them in person, figure out what size I wear, yadda yadda yadda, only to find when I got there that they don't actually carry their larger sizes in the store. A POX ON THEM.

Other parts of the trip were better. I hung out with S. for awhile, drinking coffee and driving aimlessly downtown listening to a tape of our friend P. screaming while S. played the guitar. We also had hummus.

During a lull in the coffee drinking, I went up to reheat my then-tepid beverage in the microwave. E., the owner of the coffee place walked over and started wiping up the counter. I said hi to him and he turned and looked at me and said, "You're an old customer. From the old days. Old old." Then he left.

Total acquisitions on this trip:

- nice grey wool sweater with snowflakes on it

- big thick red flannel shirt, Goodwill

- wacked-out 1960s vegetarian cookbook, also Goodwill (includes recipes for Establishment Spinach and Tripped-Out Lentils)

- kiwi-and-green-tea-scented bubble bath and shower gel

- extra-dark French roast coffee and a pound of black lentils, Whole Foods

- and�CDs! The first Suicide album (which I've been looking for for awhile now), the new Godspeed You Black Emperor! CD, a Three Leg Torso CD, and another Strapping Fieldhands CD that I found for $4, since you can never have too many Strapping Fieldhands CDs.

I got my December issue of Saveur today, the only magazine I currently pay to subscribe to. It's probably my favorite food magazine, since it does what it's supposed to do: it makes me want to go places and eat things. So anyway, in the new issue, there's an article on almond toffee, specifically almond toffee from the town I live in. Which is the best almond toffee in the world. There's an larger-than-life, tastebud-arousing photo of said almond toffee, which sent me into spirals of hunger and Food Lust. I keep sneaking peeks of this photo, which is enjoyable yet lame, since the factory is on my drive in to work. I could just stop and get some, but then I'd eat it. And then I'd want some more. You see where the problem lies.

[1] Not like there's really a chance of this � I'm on the secret G*p blacklist, which is a story for some other time.

[2] Yeah, I know it's not officially winter yet. It's visually winter, though, which is good enough for me.

[3] "Welcome To Colorado: Please Appropriately Fear Our Roads"

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