The Spot (for free lunch, beers, family time, and nowwww... cute photos!)

Clif and I go back to Colorado every Thanksgiving. It's the one holiday for which everyone in my family decides to come home - and for good reason.

Basically, the first few days all we did was drink. Me and my Baptist family. Drankin'. I felt like I was back in June Lake! Home away from home away from home. Love.

First stop: My dad's favorite bar and restaurant in Golden, the Spot.

The Spot has an unassuming storefront (kind of boring, really), but remains quite classic-dark inside.

It has also become the place for everyone who works/knows my dad to get a free lunch, because my dad loves the place so much he gets excited and buys everyone's lunch. Adorable.

So we show up, and my dad's employees are sitting a few booths down, drinking on their lunch break of course, and my uncle and cousin waltz in a few minutes later. Awesome - you only need to go to one place to see most people we still care about in Wheat Ridge.

Dad recommends the Titan (beer) and I recommend Colette (beer) paired with the classic burger. As dear little Whitney said with mouth-half-full, "You really can't screw up a burger." She darn right. Yum.

Oh! Pretty Karah! Dad and the cause for the next family wedding.

Sister, almost sister, sister. Only 16 missing.

Check out how into family reunion dad is...

Super cool bar, made extra-pinteresty by indoor icicle lights. Let's here it: Collective "AWWWWW!!!"

It's a family reunion!  AND: There is such thing as a free lunch.
Dad is super focused, as always.

"Dad! Lean in a bit... a bit further... okay, now smile! Perrrfeeccctt"

The logo that needs some lovin' to reflect the inside coolness. Amiright?

Diet plan FAIL

I was going to work out today after work. I've been pretty alright at keeping up with both cardio AND weight training despite my hatred for weights stemming from once being a muscle-head rock climber.

Then, I glanced over updates from my favorite bloggers, all of whom spent time in NYC at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show 2013. Ugh.

Some bloggers touched on how ridiculous the crowd of men who paid way too much for front-row tickets were, or how all of our boyfriends are now going to expect 24-pack abs (and that sucks). But most of them said somewhere in their over-glorifying posts that now they are "inspired to get out there and get fit."

Me? Well, shit. I'm never going to have toned muscles on my inner-hip (see above photo of previously unknown piece of anatomy, that being the inner-hip). Ever. Even if I ran a million miles a day and only ate vegetation, still wouldn't happen.

In the moment of frustration that evolved from my normally calm blog-reading, instead of exploding out of the door to grab my running shoes to put in 16 miles, all I could think about was how badly I was craving super disgustingly sugary macaroons. I don't even LIKE sugar anymore.

What? Really? Really.

I normally adore working out. It tends to solve all of my problems. But inner-upper-thigh toned-ness is a problem that will never be fixed by an evening workout. Damnit.

So, what's your favorite flavor of macaroon?

Eastside living part 1 (because I love writing series. Makes the creative process easier)

So I post a bunch of really awesome photos. Ok. My photo skills suck, but they are inherently better because one can't take a bad photo of Carson Peak. It's just not possible (photo below is indeed not Carson Peak).

However beautiful June Lake scenery tends to be, there are certain things that I don't take photos of because, well, that would be shocking to most. Other than the mountain views, this place takes some getting used to. There are elements that are unrefined. Yet to be refined. Lacking in refinement. My prim and proper mean grandma's worst nightmare, in other words.

"Wow, Jess. You live there. Give the place a break. It can't be that bad," you say.

Hum. Let's explore the one and only Tiger Bar.

Note: There are other bars in June Lake. But nobody frequents them. Most folks can walk to "el Tigre" which makes excessive drinking possible and, though not important for many Loopers, more responsible.

Plus, the drinks are stronger.

You walk into the Tiger, and most likely you will be sort of greeted by someone maybe if they happen to notice you. I would recommend just finding a place at the bar on a busier night.

Terry, the grumpy vet behind the bar with the second largest porn collection in the Eastern Sierra (he knows the guy with the biggest), will undoubtedly give you a hard time about your drink, no matter what you're ordering, especially if you're a blonde girl. Don't let it get to you. He's actually a really great guy, who promised to pay for all of his grandchildren's college tuition, which is why he is still working every night. Otherwise, the man would be sitting at home with his porn collection wife. Instead, he is stuck slinging drinks to you punks so his grandkids don't make great grandkids and instead go to college.

There will be exactly two to eight locals sitting at the bar, all semi-ignoring each other until non-locals walk in, in which case they will band together to ignore the out-of-towners, because socializing sucks. Especially here. Why would you want to meet someone new? You moved here to be surrounded by nature, fresh air, heavy machinery, cigarette smoke, beer cans, and your big screen tv. Don't expect to have anything resembling a conversation with a local, because all you will get is a invitation to step outside and get your ass kicked.

Funny thing is, we are all in the hospitality business. That's right. "We" hate visitors on our turf but can't live without them. The Tiger Bar is the best illustration of this. It's family friendly (because baby carriers fit well in the booths or on the bar itself), but nobody is going to quit dropping the "f" bomb just because you decided to bring your 5-year-old into our bar.

Wow. Why would anyone even go to this god-forsaken place? Well, it's not for the burgers, I can tell you that. I can't decisively say that I've had food poisoning from El Tigre, because I usually drink way too much to discount my vomiting on the food instead of the beer spiked with Tabasco and whipped cream (this actually happened once), but yea, the burgers aren't why we come here.

You should go to the Tiger Bar because it's never boring. It's also never friendly, but entertainment can't always be friendly. It's rough living on the eastside of the Sierra, and we aren't going to fake it. Well, I fake it all of the time. I even wore heels to work today. But most people, they ain't gonna fake it. They are just going to drink 17 1/2 Coors Originals, smoke a pack of cigarettes, play a few games of pool, pass out drunk (hopefully in their own bed), go to work the next day hung over, and then go straight to the bar after work to kill the hangover and talk about how bad working hung over is. Repeat x20.

When I write home about how I miss my poetry group in Boulder, now you know why.

XOXO.

Online shmoping

No, it's not a typo friends. Let's talk addiction.

Addiction in my family goes way back. And to be quite honest, I'm not sure it's a bad thing. Most folks in my family are addicted to good things: work, working out... okay, basically just those two things. My dad works a lot and my mom is super fit. Perhaps those two things go hand-in-hand. My dad is rich and my mom is hot. Dad talks about my mom's butt really openly in the office and it's weird. Sorry mom, you didn't know that until just now, but it's pretty strange. You should talk to him about it... Glad you're all in love 'n stuff though. Git it.

ANYWAY... bigger issue in MY life (again, sorry for calling out your cute butt, mom, on the world-wide-web) would have to be the fact that both of my grandmas have shopping addictions.

Yep. One grandma is a garage-sale addict. She goes "Garagesaling". VERB. It's a VERB. And no, you aren't taking your sailboat to and from garages. Yea, you ARE spending every Thursday and Friday carrying around your pockets full of quarters to all of the neighbors' houses to buy their SHIT that they've decided that they don't need, but perhaps can convince other people they may need.

I love my Garage-saling grandma. She is way nicer than the other grandma. But she also has Levi jeans in every size from infant to size 68. Literally, there are towns in northern Nebraska that are outfitted in Levis from my grandma's quarters. The woman had to start her own little business to a) fund her Garagesaling addiction and b) get rid of all of the SHIT that she bought and will NEVER need. I haven't convinced my other family members to call TLC Hoarders to check out Nice Grandma's basement, but I'm not afraid to at some point. Size 68? Really? Luckily I've already been on TLC, or I'd totally call them... but that's for another post perhaps (if you want to find it, it's season 5, episode 19 "Amy's Outreach" of "Little People, Big World" I made them take it off the air because I wasn't being paid my loyalties. Bitches.)

My other grandma, the meaner, sassier, Fox News-watching, Cadillac driving version of my mother, did not have a Garagesaling addiction. No no no no. She has a Nordstrom addiction. When everyone else in my life told me shopping was a stupid waste of time and money, mean Grandma was meanwhile buying me my first thong and fur vest. Seriously. I blame my credit-card-on-file-online account on Nordstrom.com on mean Grandma. And I'm honestly not even mad. Despite the fact that she took me out of her will because I was living in sin with my NOW husband, then boyfriend, I still think she is great because she taught me that you can buy 1) glitter 2) fancy makeup 3) black and white outfits 4) thongs and if they make you feel better, it's money well spent. And, she taught me that fitting in is more important than being comfortable, so I grew up having NO friends that I actually liked. Oh well. At least I look classy. Fashion hurts. Beauty hurts worse. But somewhere in the end you benefit. Not sure how.

So back to the $28 candle....