Big mistake. Back when I lived in Denver, I had many nights that ended with the prophetic statement, “blame it on Rio’s!” Katie even had one night that began with Rio’s and ended with her “going for a walk” as I attempted to buy us late night burritos at Illegal Pete’s. The night concluded with me circling the block looking for my blonde-haired partner in crime as she chatted up every bar patron in Lodo. Good times, good times.

On this particular Friday night, Katie, Chris, and I found ourselves spending time with Jason, a math wiz and future Internet Wunderkind. The four of us started off the night at Rio’s, and quickly engaged in a feisty conversation about politics and how our home state of California is going down the toilet. Despite Katie’s strong suggestion that we should not eat the food, we downed a quesadilla and two margaritas each, moving the conversation on to marriage. I’ve noticed on this trip that the alcohol tends to flow faster the second a topic like “to death do us part” is brought up. This is obviously a coincidence.

Buzzed and happy, we casually strolled up the street in search of some “real” food. As we rounded the corner, it started to rain. Giggling, Katie and I ran up the street thinking, “isn’t this cute, it’s raining!” Two seconds later, it started to hail. I’m sorry, but where I come from, summer and hail don’t mix. But in Denver, the land of the schizophrenic weather, everything goes. We ducked inside the Wazee Supper Club, where we gorged on good conversation and piping hot pizza. By the end of the night, still resembling drowned rats, we concluded that it was best to stop before things got too crazy. After all, a girl and guy on the road have to get their beauty sleep.

I have to be entirely selfish and say that Katie saved the day after my re-entry into the land of Coors Light. I was lamenting my former engagment, wondering why it hadn’t worked out. Katie, who was witnessed every moment of the end of that relationship, reminded me in detail of the things that expired during what I’ll loosely call “The Asshat Apocalypse.”

Jaime: He was a nice guy, Katie. I think all of the pressure of being unemployed got to us.
Katie: Do you remember the time he made you cry over a stupid car insurance policy? Because I do.
Jaime: Okay, there was that. But remember? He was really entrepreneurial.
Katie: Is that what you call running poetry contest out of your living room?
Jaime: But we had a passionate relationship! He was an artist!
Katie: I don’t call making you so angry that you threw a plate through your tile table “passion.”

By the end of the conversation, Katie had reminded me of stories long forgotten and, quite by accident, had also convinced Chris that he had nothing to be worried about.

All in the day’s work of being a girl’s best friend.

Back in 2002, I moved out to Denver from Los Angeles to “see about a boy.” That lasted about eight months before I was back in California, my tail between my legs. Then, in 2005, I moved out to Denver with the person who I thought was the love of my life. Seven months later, I was driving back to Los Angeles and he was hightailing it to Vancouver, never the twain should meet again. When I asked my stepfather if he thought my ex and I would reconcile, he replied, “Jaime, he drove 27 hours straight through rain, sleet, and a snowstorm to get away from Denver. I think you can safely say that this one’s over.”

Perhaps there’s just something about the mountain air that makes two people want to strangle one another. Or maybe it’s just that you can take a girl away from the ocean, but you can’t take the ocean out of the girl. Or something like that.

Coming back to Denver for the first time in three years was a shock to my system. All of the old memories of my former relationship flooded through my mind, causing me to wonder if getting married is really the best idea for a girl who can’t seem to manage to pull off a relationship that lasts longer than two years. Granted, Chris is different than my other two Denver loves, but is he different enough?

Just to be safe, we’ll put off moving to Denver until after we get married.