We went to a street festival today to hear one of our favorite local bands (Paper Bird, who doesn't have a website yet or I would direct you there). Seeing that this activity involved being outside, iced coffee, good tunes, and a really cute area of town, we were stoked about this event. However, once we were surrounded by the masses, we began to notice the extra whiteness and extra upper middle classness of this group and became a bit disturbed. Mostly since the street sweepers were all of a minority. I have a scary feeling that Martha and I were possibly the only two people to notice this. That, and the fact that I had a sudden feeling of panic that I had somehow wandered onto the set of The Bachelor, since every single female between the ages of 18 and 35 (and some who, I hate to say, were quite noticeably older although they seem to really think they're fooling the world) thought that this was a perfect opportunity to get all gussied up (for a street festival, ladies? really?) and saunter around with a beer in their hand, hoping to catch the attention of Their Perfect Bachelor or some other guy who will do for the time being, or just attempt to appear cooler than all the other women there, which we all know is really why girls care so much about their appearance anyway. Or maybe they really thought they were attending a frat party, I don't know. Nonetheless, we enjoyed the music. Martha the Music Master educated me on the long list of good bands that have emerged from Denver. Perhaps Paper Bird will be next. A cello, a banjo, a harmonica, a trombone, an acoustic guitar, and some smooth female harmony. Really nice.

Ok, here's something weird about Denver. Everyone has a dog. And they love their dogs. I mean, they really love them and expect everyone else to love them too. They take them everywhere with them. They buckle them into car seats. They push them around in strollers (this can create confusing situations, just ask if you want the story). They even bring them into Starbucks, which I must admit really grosses me out. Now, I grew up with pets. My parents always let us have dogs and cats and whatever else we found (turtles, lightning bugs, fish if we could keep them alive, etc.). But I wouldn't say I'm necessarily an "animal person." And I especially don't like animals ON me, unless they belong to me. So I'm just saying, yes, I do mind that your dog is licking my toes. I don't care how cute you think it is, I think it's nasty, and if your dog has a personality disagreement with another canine in the vicinity (especially if they are of the small yappy variety), can you please politely ask them to discuss it elsewhere, preferably beyond my hearing distance? Thank you, that's all.

We have to parallel park a lot in Denver and somehow Martha managed to skip that part of Dad's Intro to Defensive Driving 101 when she was 14 so it has been left up to me to teach her. She finds this hilariously ironic since she insists that my driving is not up to par. Hey, I can't help it if I get a little bit stressed in traffic 6 lanes across, ok? I mean, how hard is it to just go around me? I digress. But today this conflict came to a peak.
Sarah: Just make sure you pull close enough to the car in front so that you can cut it really well into the spot.
Martha: You know what, Sarah? Stop being so bossy already! I know how to do it!
Sarah: You do? So you're saying that you never ever ever want me to help you ever again?
Martha: YES! (followed immediately by a slight crunching sound of metal on metal and an abrupt stop)
Her face was classic. All I could do was laugh. Neither car was even scratched. But let it be known that the moral of this story is "Be nice to people who are trying to help you, even if you think they are being bossy, because in reality they probably just want to help, and they are probably aware that they can appear bossy at times and are trying really hard NOT to be bossy because they know that's super annoying and the last thing they want to be is annoying." The end.