Off Limits

Shop till you drop

Callee: I don't need the damn number.

911: It doesn't do that much good to dial 911 for this problem, either.

Callee: I'll tell you what....

911: People call 911 when they have an emergency.

Callee: You call the number, and you tell them I'm a Vietnam veteran....

911: Okay.

Callee: And helicopters bother me a whole lot....

911: Okay.

Callee: And I'm going to sue this fuckin' city for more money than it ever had.

911: You want the phone number, then, or no.

Callee: I don't need the damn phone number.

911: All right.

Callee: You'll be hearing from my attorneys.

911: Buh-bye.

Callee: Asshole.

911: Denver 911

Caller: Sorry, I hit it with my butt.

911: (Laughs) Okay, everything's okay?

Caller: Yeah, we're in the elevator. We're good.

911: Okay. Thanks.

No, thank you!

Without a hitch: Rooster's will get you laid, the Blue Bonnet will find you a wife, and the Snake Pit will make sure you're married good and proper.

Tracy Heter and Terry Overbrook are about to celebrate the two-month anniversary of their nuptials at the Snake Pit; theirs was the first wedding ceremony ever held at the seven-year-old club.

"At first I kept going back and forth about what I wanted to do, but then I realized this was going to be something that everybody would remember," says Heter, who renewed her acquaintance with Overbrook last November (after a fourteen-year hiatus) when she found him tending bar at the Snake Pit.

The bride and groom wore crushed velvet, and Denver District Judge Frank Martinez (yeah, the same guy outed on Channel 4 last week for comparing prosecutor Phil Parrot to Adolf Hitler in his courtroom), sporting a blue Hawaiian shirt, performed the ceremony on the dance floor, under the disco ball and before a crowd of nearly 200. The bar was filled with family and friends, as well as a few curious strangers who partook of the festivities (particularly the André Cold Duck, a favorite of the bride's) after reading about the upcoming ceremony on concert-style fliers distributed around town.

Listen up, Regas Christou: You can already drink, dance and dine in one of your many establishments (and soon you'll be able to work out in one). Perhaps it's time to complete the circle of life by introducing a special wedding package at The Church. Or should that be a funeral deal?

It's not always easy finding an appropriate venue for life's biggest -- and sometimes saddest -- moments, as people organizing the June 26 memorial service for beloved restaurateur Doug Fleischmann discovered. Location after location turned them down; as it turns out, though, the problem wasn't the nature of the event, but the size of the crowd that might turn out to remember Doug. His facilities couldn't hold more than 250, notes Tom Williams, director and curator of the Phipps Mansion and Tennis Pavilion, and when he heard that the estimates for the Fleischmann memorial called for 300 people, he had to turn it down -- reluctantly. Phipps maxes out at 250, and while it's hosted other memorial services, that's only when attendance is guaranteed to be far below that number, he says. Because, unlike at weddings and conferences, where guest lists are finite, memorial services don't require guests to RSVP.

And it's a good thing, too. Fleischmann's memorial was ultimately held at the Pinnacle Club, at 555 17th Street, and it was filled to bursting by the more than 500 people who turned out to remember him.

Yankee strudel dandy: Disaster -- or maybe just a very hungry car-parker -- struck last Wednesday, when Ginger Perry left her car with a valet at Denver International Airport while she ran in to pick up the Theo Jorgensmann Quartet, a German band bound for a gig at Dazzle, the jazz club at 930 Lincoln Street. As a welcoming gift for the musicians, Perry had six genuine German strudels -- which aren't easily found in this town, Dazzle manager Donald Rossa assures us -- in the back seat.

The valets started salivating when they saw them, she remembers, and she advised them to keep their mitts to themselves. "When I came back, one of the strudels was missing," Perry says. She complained to the valets, who told her it was her own fault.

"The day that strudels are no longer safe in your possession -- even when you valet your car -- is a crazy day," she concludes. "And this is that day."

Had Perry followed official airport procedure, however, she could be snacking on a replacement pastry right now. According to DIA spokesman Chuck Cannon, if you notice that an item is missing from your previously valeted vehicle, you need to complain to the concessionaire that runs the service, AMPCO System Parking. Cannon checked with AMPCO and, he says, "She didn't file a missing strudel report."

Or maybe the report itself is missing! That would be the icing on this cake. Welcome to America.

Light makes right: When Playboy lands at Jillian's next week looking for gals with major Rocky Mountains to feature in the pages of its fiftieth-anniversary issue, the Coors Light Twins -- Diane and Elaine Klimaszewski -- might want to be front and center ("The Light Stuff," January 23). Sure, they've already graced the pages of Maxim and Flex magazines, starred as lovable caricatures of themselves on Sweet Valley High, and even filmed a cameo for this fall's most eagerly anticipated release, Scary Movie 3, but they've never been Playmates.

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