Elway...

It’s half past midnight and I’m sipping a martini in downtown Denver.

Suddenly the crowded bar turns toward the entrance. Curious as to the commotion, my friends and I watch two tall black men walk into Earls. Aware that they’re stirring attention, Carmelo Anthony and J.R. Smith duck their heads and retreat to the back of the restaurant.

Several minutes later a loud group, not the normal patrons comprised of twenty-thirty something urbanites, but rather the gathering you’d see at a family birthday party. Moms and grandmas, uncles and cousins in sweatshirts and sneakers, pinstripes and leather, at the rear of this motley crew is the baldhead of Chauncey Billups. A guy whose dues have been paid starting in inner city, rocked it at the University of Colorado and since leaving the Rockies passed through Detroit, Minnesota, Orlando and Toronto. But finally this past November has come home.

Tomorrow night is the first playoff game for the Denver Nuggets, but more important than the playoff, this is the second time Denver has a hero with a #7 on his jersey.

I wandered over to J.R. and Melo (last January Denver Mag published an exclusive cover feature), while congratulating the two, Billups approached. Upon noticing the veteran player, their eyes lit up. I witnessed the proud and unfettered sports stars accustomed to signing autographs and speaking on ESPN become quiet with reverence.

Rarely does success reach a point when it’s no longer worth calculating.

Zeros and accolades stop adding value, and the challenge is no longer making it, but figuring out how to enjoy it. The antithesis of the “baller” basketball player, Billups doesn’t prove how cool he is by 24k gold chains, overpriced vodka, and women wrapped around tattooed arms. And while that description could be confused as a rapper, Billups has established his worth where it can be objectively measured, on the court.

A cousin in the NFL, Billup’s genes can’t be too shoddy, but I wonder if ever in high school, or after his shoulder injury, or when he was on the reserves, if he ever considered quitting? The image of Denver’s most celebrated athlete laughing gingerly over ice water, in the eyes of an older woman, probably his grandmother, reality hit me hard.

Success is when you can afford to live in the moment.


Flowers and IVs

I make reference to my color-coded day planner. Most nod politely, not giving a damn, and anyone who knows me chuckles tastefully knowing I’m full of shit. The chance of locating a colored pen in the trenches of my bag is as easy as finding the Lions at the super bowl. I bitch. Without doubt I’m the first to complain, or whine, or seek out empathy from an unassuming sympathetic ear. But the last words to leave my mouth are, “it could always be worse.” And, never has a painful event occurred, when it couldn’t, not, get better.

Ambulances are a warm and safe haven for me. Odd. However disgruntling the statement might be interpreted, the ol’ go-carts full of supplies have transported me from hospital to home on numerous occasions. Mostly during my stint as an invalid.

However, on a particular afternoon two weeks ago, the breezy, sunny, April springtime afternoon in Denver, returned from a sojourn from LA that morning, the rest of my day and outfit were wiped out. As quick as you can press the gas pedal, was I strapped to a stretcher with sirens screeching, recollecting my social security number while a needle was being shoved into my vein.

Family and friends were tossing silly jabs my way while awaiting results from the MRI. Attempting to capture the seriousness of the situation, I advised with a stoic expression “you know, this detour wasn’t on my agenda…getting my car totaled and canceling a party I’d spent weeks organizing was certainly not on my “to do” list.”

So what? A benign car wreck led me to wonder, what other interruptions aren’t clearly inserted into calendars and palm pilots? Heart attacks, cancer diagnosis, plane crashes, and god forbid worse. These are the unforeseen rollercoaster rides that screw up our existence as we so unknowingly expected it. So what is the answer: brace yourself? Hold tight to your loved ones because all hell will break lose eventually? While I wish there was a remedy to cure what hasn’t happened yet, I’m abandoned with a single deliberation. Live knowing there will be phone calls you don’t want to answer, and news you’d like to ignore, but among the handful of painful blows, there are unheralded interruptions that are capable of inviting joy, if you leave your eyes open.

BRACKISH

Mostly Caucasians fill the flat. It’s Friday evening and dancing to the pop music is bubbling alcohol, torte chips and digital cameras. All strategically organized, to flirt, record, and then share the glee with the rest of the world via facebook.

In the corner by the pantry is a woman who doesn’t fit in, visually anyhow. Course, dark, hair hides her soft, but calm expression. Twenty years older than everyone else, she seeks counsel studying photographs and nodding at conversation in which she hasn’t been included. Amiss from the cultish pack of precipitous partiers is one man who steps closer to the involuntary recluse.

Two people speaking in half Spanish and half English, but mostly via horizontal head motions and vertical hand movements. While I wasn’t privy to their shared dialogue, I discovered their conversation was anything but trivial, or effort-heavy chatter produced out of guilt. The few minutes brought reality back to my friend.

It wasn’t his reality, but hers that convinced him to see a light at the end of his own tunnel. It was as simple as a story about her son's graduation announcements. Graduation announcements were $35, and her cousin could not afford to have such a luxury printed.

In his world where $35 can be easily found and replaced, to meet someone where so little is so much, suddenly the fruits of our labor, however sour on a given day, suddenly taste succulent. The laborious strain that weighs down weekdays, tying muscles into painful knots, can never be as tragic as not having $35 to spare.

And my friend walked away feeling so profoundly affected by the realities of this woman, I don’t know if he understood what he unintentionally handed her in return is invaluable. In a life absent of influence, an office where she caters to the upper echelon of society, she was heard, simply because he wanted to listen.

In a room saturated with loud and obnoxious, unaware young professionals, a small Spanish woman found her voice.

“You see a lot of smart guys with dumb women, but you hardly ever see a smart woman with a dumb guy.” Erica Jong

Tina Fey "Smart is sexy after all."

I once faulted men for weighing bra size against brilliance, but several “smart” relationships later, I’m almost jealous of an easy-going appetite, hungry for a myriad of perks, literally! Not that I’m as rude as to lump all men into the assumption that looks hold greater value than per say personality. But I’d be liar to argue that some men are content with an average-IQ, as long as an above-average exterior accompanies it. There isn’t space on this blog to demystify and dissect the age-old beauty construct, (unless you’re Dolly Parten) everyone will eventually grow visibly older (and that is the most polite way to phrase the aging process).

It’d be an untruth to not admit I fall victim late at night coveting how easily a man can energetically embrace the “as long as she is smoking hot” methodology. But as the giggling girl climbs in the back of the cab, I quickly recall her eyes are camoflogued by eyeliner.

Eyes, however revealing and beautiful can only communicate a limited number of words. Sure a particular gaze will say, “Come hither,” or “I’m sleepy”, and “not interested”, and eventually when eye flirtation has led to your mouth, I better like what I hear.

So men, let’s (just for kicks) consider the long-term consequences of settling for a ridiculously sexy dumbass. And no, this isn’t just a sales pitch for sassy, smart, educated women who aren’t knockouts, unless you’re losing a battle in a board room to a woman in glasses,suit and even better- sharp attitude!

You can opt to downsize your know-how via a variety of methods (some illegal) in an attempt to match her brain capacity, or can you can invest in routine upkeep and upgrades on her surgical procedures. Without trying to make it to the middle, there is a strong probability your relationship could get boring. A man becoming bored can be the most debilitating problem, one even the sexiest of women can’t solve.

My personal formula (everyone should have one): (Brilliant + Golf) / (Funny) = Perfect

Why Women Ought To Play GOLF

SEE THAT DORKY COUPLE? That too, could be you!

Okay ladies, Denver has been voted by multiple publications as “Top Town for Singles”, but the following information is crucial, it’s a proven fact that Denver has More Men Per Capita than anywhere else in the country!

One might neglect the vital prerequisites for a worthwhile date, and we can all agree men can be easily found at Washington Park throwing Frisbees, Rockies baseball games cheering with their pals, hell walk into Sports Authority and you’ll be greeted by masculinity galore. But while most of us independent, hardworking, and awesome women are relishing June sunshine, meeting lads at the expected locations, it’s true that summer might be more fun sans singledom.

This past February I scribed about Denver’s “Meet Market” … investigating the local speed-dating scene, submitted a profile to eharmony.com, even succumbed to a high-end service determined to introduce me to my soul mate via algorithms and personality tests. But now that my sweaters and skis are packed away until this winter, I’ve taken to a more traditional idea that maybe I’ll trip across Mr. Perfect out in the real world, or on the golf course.

Sure, Colorado offers world renown kayaking, hiking, sky-diving, but how many sports can you count offer the opportunity to drive around in a little vehicle, encourage Molson Coors, and considered a perfectly legitimate place to negotiate business. Not only am I stubborn, but I take pride in my femininity, I would never suggest you sacrifice hobbies you love to take on a sport for men, but there is logic to males dedicating weekends, spending thousands on Callaway’s and enduring weird tan lines, so there might be just cause is taking up this “wanderlust” pastime. So fellow femmes, I urge you to telephone the golf instructor and purchase pink Pro-Vs, if not for him, for you!

But back to boys: Golf is especially ideal if you’re on the prowl in cognito… The majority of men will be too busy respecting your appreciation for the sport, (which works to our advantage because let’s face it requires enough athleticism for someone, say John Daly can dominate) to notice you might happen to checking them out! I’ll be honest, the minute I figured out that it was cool when I volunteered to play a charity tournament, make Saturday trips to the driving range, and kick it at putt-putt, my only wish was that I had learned the game earlier.

Not to mention that etiquette has an integral role in every aspect of golf. From staying silent when your opponent is chipping, to yelling “FORE” when you’re about to hit someone with your drive. I’m serious, if your consistent complaints tend to sound like: Why can't men hold the door open? Buy me a drink? Stay quiet and wait patiently until I’m done doing whatever it is I’m doing (ask your beau how many “waggles” his swing requires), baby you’re not alone, and you’ve just found your game.

Solution: I am the first to confess, it’s wicked fun to be a woman in the “boys club” and there are few instances when it is embraced and encouraged, and thanks to our coveted Mile High City, there are hundreds courses in Colorado where you can be the only woman for miles, or more precisely, yards. So fulfill your deep desire to don adorable plaid petal pushers, sip that ice-cold brewski, and be in the midst of many men, khaki-wearing blokes in popped polos, all of whom will find your affection for golf, irresistible.

And if all else fails, they don’t call it fantasy football for nothing.


Some tips:

- Women’s tees are there for a reason. Unless you’ve been bench pressing 200 pounds on a regular basis, I highly recommend starting at the tees created for us.
- Even if he refers to it as a beach or sand trap, don’t be misled, it’s a bunker.
- Tip the cart girl regardless of her obnoxious and annoying flirtation with your boyfriend. He isn’t paying attention to her, he is bragging to his buddies that his girl plays golf.
- Never, NEVER, talk, cough, whisper, laugh or the ultimate no-no, ask a question while someone is putting.
- If you lose a ball, you have approximately three minutes to dig it out of a bush, weeds, wherever its hid itself, if you have no luck grab another ball and go.
- One practice swing. (Ask about the waggle.)
- Cyprus isn’t in reference to a television reality series.

[Poker] exemplifies the worst aspects of capitalism that have made our country so great. ~Walter Matthau

Bluff it Baby….

Rules were created with the single objective to level the playing field. The intention being to accurately account for athleticism, smarts and civility, but how is it that everyone is assigned a distinct, inimitable handicap, before knowing by default, we’re all playing the same game.

The Unencumbered Coup…
World Series Poker No-limit Hold’em in 1978.
It’s the championship finals and Bobby Baldwin was the 23-year-old joke of a poker player, he is rivaled against the favored Crandall Addington, real estate tycoon from Texas, and also the favored victor. Addington had $275,000 chips compared to Baldwin’s measly $145,000. With a slight hesitation following a $95,000 bet was all Baldwin needed for his zero-sum bluff, he threw in the rest of his chips in – convincing Addington that he either had a flush or a straight. After tossing his cards on the table revealing a nine and a ten of hearts made Baldwin the youngest WSP champion, and making Addington the “ASS” who got played. Now, Baldwin is the President of the Bellagio Hotel is Las Vegas, among being inducted in the Poker Hall of Fame.

Oh, the yucky and annoying paradox of choice, gimme, hold, fold ‘em, to bet all or lose nothing. To not choose equates to inaction, to remain passive can be interpreted as proactive. Yes, no or why bother having an opinion, right? Or wrong? Warren Buffet believes the first rule in finance is never to lose – and the second, forget the first. So, we’re supposed to forget to win?

Not to frame our forefathers as myopic wasps, but it is true that the makeup of our country was written hundreds of years ago by philosophical nerds. Were these “marvelously elastic,” (as Roosevelt believed) free market commandments flexible enough to actually address our migration, terrorist and poverish problems? Example: AK45s had yet to be invented when Adams and Jefferson, or hell, Jesus was around.


Anomalous Upbringing
Born in a privileged family in Johannesburg, one of eight in Corsica, a Kennedy, or an autistic, each has a bizarre and unpredictable amalgamation of luck – some obviously more debilitating than others. But with only a certain combination of cards, each chip has to be gambled with cognizance, aware not of how far there is to fall, but there is always, always an opportunity to win. If you know how to convince people there could be an opportunity.

Cards alone can’t break the bank: How many rich snots have been coddled with Ivy-League education, pristine genetics and healthy and generous portions of time with confidence-boosting parents? And failed.

That said, people yes, can win with a combo of cards and smarts - just so happens you’re Bill Gates and your parents happened to donate thousands to your private school technology department, and pretty much fate is in your favor? Sure, but aside from his prerequisites, Gates was, and is a shrewd, inventive guy – locating holes in future markets, and crafting science in industries that didn’t yet, exist.

And then there are the J.K Rowlings whose imagination and scribbles consisted of a wizard and a child sporting ugly glasses – and has sold more books than any other book in the history of the world (sans the bible). And she drafted such a jewel homeless on London sidewalks. Barack Obama’s heroic feat has been an archetype for how circumstance can be overcome– and even, quotes from Helen Keller commemorate how obstacles can eventually inspire others.

Then Win....
While you might think I’ve digressed from faking it and making it, to outperforming others while bogged down with the severities and injustices some are born into, there is a reason a winning hand in poker is pure in its reflection of success. The sharpest poker players read between the lines, under the facial expressions, behind the smirks and through the fear, while still playing by the same rules.

In poker it there is no value in how savvy you’re dressed, what town you’ve been raised and what is your native tongue… The outcome isn’t a result of how people judge what you’re capable of understanding – and calculating – and achieving, the outcome is if you alone, can play your cards better than everyone else expects.

Edible Time and how to effectively waste it.....

It’s a tremendous feat to reflect on youth and using wisdom against years, admit to regret.

It’s 1am and as someone unable to sleep and trying to get off ambien, I hit the elliptical glider with ELLE. I discovered a sassy, bordering on tragic article, “Failure to Launch- When Beauty Ends” by Elizabeth Wurtzel. The same author who wrote the bestselling tome, Prozac Nation and Bitch. Assuming I was going to get lost in psychological dribble intended for those who truly enjoy the illogical mood swings accompanied with PMS, I was startled.

This woman admitted she wasted the “pretty” years. The fragile window when men not only scrutinize your brain, but still check out your ass. And it scared me. People advise, “Auna, don’t waste your youth. Go play, get tipsy and flirt with the bad boys, you’re only going to get older.” And so I listen to these well-intended gnomes, in fear if I don't I'll attempt mini-skirts when my 401 kicks in. I try not to make the mistakes most twenty-something’s screw up on – navigate my way around failure, because there simply isn’t time to fall and fall and fall.

But Wurtzel makes a valid point – she has lived a colorful and rich existence. There are the thirty-somethings and forty-somethings women whose day planners are a true testament to raw, unadulterated fun, proof that mouthwatering success can be achieved, and spontaneous nights being wooed and gawked at were only possible sans domestic dues, but these women arrive home at the end of a decade of exciting memories, and still alone. And that deserves, hell that demands respect.

And yet, the war wounds these cougars use to counter-argue the need for babies is proof they can play with the big boys, but doesn’t seem to mend the missing time – the time that could have been dedicated to husband hunting. Seeking out and reeling in the few “good” guys – the ones worth brining back to Mom and Dad. The men who knock you up and rub your feet, forget flowers on occasion, but always remember how to make you smile.

“I don’t want to look back at what was, tell stories of once upon a long time ago, of what I used to do, of the men I once knew way back when, of 1,001 rapturous nights that were and are no more—I don’t want my life to be the trashy and tragic remains of a really great party, lipstick traces on a burned-out cigarette at the bottom of a near-empty champagne goblet.” Shy says….

To mitigate stupidity, laugh off the idea of settling down, barricading my feelings so my only obstacle is the career ladder in which I climb mercilessly. Right. There are so many essays and stories and novels and books written for us. The early-mid twenty professional who stereotypically seem to waste this precious window of opportunity, the years intended to build a foundation for the future, while taking tequila shots and dating .

These are the seconds and minutes that are golden and edible. The question begs for a pregnant pause: How does one spend this time, so when youth begins to fade there is no longer a need for it anyway?

http://www.elle.com/Beauty/Health-Fitness/Failure-to-Launch-When-Beauty-Fades