So, last night was the first snowfall of the year here in Denver. It was a geeeoorgeous, wet snow and I took some smashing pictures of it, but I can't upload them just yet so you will have to wait. To celebrate, my friend Terry and I wandered over to Nallen's, the Irish pub, THE Irish pub, and drank a bit of Smithwicks and a bit more of Jamison. We sat at the bar, giggling, remarking on the fact that were we less good friends or only slightly more drunk, we would and should probably have been making out.
Oh, that evil, bad, naughty first snow of the year. It brings out the devil in me. And I'll tell you why.
In high school, I was
a bit of a a great big monsterous dork. Capital D or Capital K. DorK. I did not by any means have a fan club, but I did have some people who would not be left alone in a room with me. I was that girl, all in black, hair in my face, no make-up, who barely spoke and when I did usually I was reciting some obscure poem you wouldn't have read until, like, your junior year of college or something.
So, of course I had a crush on this boy. His name was Matt, he was in art, he was good at being in art, he skateboarded during his lunch hour, he had a sweet ass faux-hawk, he was soooo cute (ask Molly, she'll back me up on this one) and he was Mormon so he was uber-polite and nice. In our English class junior year, he and I were the only two kids to pass the test on The Catcher in the Rye. We were deep.
Somehow, in the midst of working on the set for Ten Little Indians, I found the courage to ask dear Matt out on a date. Dinner or something. Even more miraculous was the fact that he said yes. We went god knows where and then to a haunted house. During the haunted house thing, it started to snow for the first time that year. And this, being my first fall in Colorado, was stunning for me. I couldn't bear to go home, so dear Matt and I shuffled off to the Pizza Hut parking lot by the mall and sat on the hood of my car until it became unreasonably late, not talking, not even sitting close enough to each other to touch, just sitting under the orangeish streetlight watching the snow fall. It was, hands down, the single most romantic night of my whole life thus far.
Matt and I, well, that's where the story ends. No goodnight kiss (would have been my first real one, but NOOO, I had to wait 1 1/2 more years). I kept being a freak, he kept skateboarding, I have no idea where life has taken him. He is the subject of one of my favorite pictures I've ever taken, and if I ever get it back from Canada, I'll show you.
But there. There is why I have an unreasonable obsession with the first snowfall of the year. The rest of them I loathe, but I'll take that first one anyday.
Maybe I'm still just hoping for that first kiss.