Usually, I feel I can hold my liberal own. I vote democrat, believe in liberal ideals, and often hang with stoner-type, relaxed crowd.

I ain’t got nothin’ on Denver.

Not to say that I didn’t love Denver. Because I did. I loved Denver. Surprisingly so. Water typically draws me more than mountains so I was surprised at how enchanted I became from the looming purple peaks. It was absolutely gorgeous.

Only, like I said, I felt somewhat out of place. When strolling through Bolder one afternoon in a red tank top, semi-expensive jeans and flip-flops, I felt as conspicuous as if I were wearing a prom dress with long, white gloves. Among the olive and beige earth-tones, I was wearing COLOR. And I had SHOWERED and applied MAKE-UP. Who brought the princess to the chill ski town?

Only, I am sure it was all in my head. Because the inhabitants of Denver and surrounding Coloradoan areas are too welcoming and accepting to spend all that valuable time and energy in judgment.

Besides the mountains and the hippies, you know what else is great about Denver? All the cute boys. Quantity AND quality. Plus, on average, they lean towards tall and thin athletes (skiers/climbers/boarders). My friend’s cousins were among those cute boys, acting as great hosts, always feeding us, driving us around, providing us with blankets/sweatshirts and inviting us to activities. By the end of the weekend, the younger one was apologizing for getting drunk and hitting on me and the older one was calling me “Mol” (which I always find adorable). I felt like part of their family … well, part of a family that flirts with each other … Ok, not family. But you know. There was love. Or something.

Oh, Denver. I wish I skied or did naturey activities so we could hang out more often.