Tequila...it makes me happy

Since our friend Party Animal was in town for the weekend, Saturday night was a ski school party event. Marshall and I were busy spreading the word all day that the party was going to take place at Eeyore's house. He has this amazing and gorgeous mansion in the middle of nowhere, thanks to his stepdad's employment with Intel. I guess his mom and stepdad are going to retire there at some point, but until then, it's the party palace. We were on the late bus to the party as Chitown was making chicken noodle soup for us at El Cabino. Since we had no intention of missing that, we stopped off for food, showers and a beer before trekking down to the party.

It's always really nice, after a long day of skiing and teaching, to just kick back with a beer and laugh with my friends as we're puttering around the cabin kitchen. The cabin is always a complete maelstrom of activity, as someone is building a fire in the wood stove, someone else is cooking something, someone's taking a shower and several people are usually sitting around either eating, talking, cleaning or otherwise doing something. That's part of what I like about staying up there--having eight roommates I actually like. Besides, since it's just the weekends, I never get sick of them. Bonus!

Anyway, Chitown made a killer chicken noodle soup. To complement it, Van and her brother made these yummy open-faced chicken quesadillas with guacamole and chipotle. We ate so well it's ridiculous. Marshall, Chitown and I took turns showering and getting ready while the soup cooked.

Finally we all piled into the cars and took off. The boys all rode in Coach's Jeep, the girls rode in my car while Van and her brother followed. The guys left a little bit before us, but we managed to catch up quickly. Marshall deejayed in the car, which is always hilarious. Lots of singing, laughing and screaming ensued. We girls are incapable of resisting bad Russian techno, so of course we were nearly in tears by the time we got to Eeyore's.

The party was almost in full swing once we got there. Fortunately, Coach knew the door code since no one inside could hear us over the stereo. My ex, Park City, was sitting right next to the front door and still couldn't hear us. Go figure. We all came in, dumped our stuff and headed straight for the kitchen and the shot glasses. Tequila all around. Bientot had brought the makings of palomas, so we took shots and proceeded to mix up a batch.

Either way, the party was a success. Chitown, Bientot and I spent the night, which was hilarious, particularly when all three of us piled into a double bed together. At some point, Bientot decided she liked the floor better than the wall and bailed. The next morning, we managed to get up and out the door in under 10 minutes, since we knew Van was making French toast at the cabin and come hell or high water, we were going to get some.

Which made teaching the little monsters all day yesterday a little less painful.

Quote of the Day: Mother, looking at me/tell me what do you see/have I crossed the line? TaTu, All the Things She Said

The solution to a Hallmark holiday problem

I successfully navigated VD this year with a minimum of pain and agony. I actually enjoyed it, much to my surprise. I had a great day of skiing, loads of sunshine and a great class. I also took the day beforehand off, which was really, really nice and very helpful in the mental health department. I didn't even garner bad karma for it as I took vacation time rather than calling in sick. Good for me. Plus, I went to an amazing concert with a great group of girls. Listening to a bunch of loud, angsty rock music never sounded so good.

Anyway, after teaching, I came back to the ski school building and as I was talking to my friend's wife, whom I haven't seen in forever, another buddy comes up and asks if I have time for "one last run." I'm thinking one of the bowls on the front side, 5 minutes max. No problem. "Sure!" "OK, then, Rock Garden to Jack's Woods." Oh, OK, now we're talking more like half an hour, but it's a beautiful day and my ride isn't done with her class yet. OK!

We took off, skating quickly over the packed-down base area snow, over to the far side of the lift line. The general public, for some unknown reason, tend to cluster on the closer side of the lift line and thus the far side is always a shorter line. Good thing to know. We poked each other with our poles, joked about classes, talked about our fellow instructors and generally shot the breeze until we were finally set free by the lift operators and ushered onto the long, black plastic chair rapidly ascending the side of the hill. The moguls and tracks fell away beneath us and the chair surged forward up towards to top. The wind pressed against our faces, drawing forth cherry-red cheeks and breathless laughter. As the chair crested the top of the hill, it slowed to allow us to deboard and we slid right, bending at the waists as we slid and snapped our boot buckles closed at the same time. My friend leaped over the side of Elevator Shaft and lightly bounced through the snow. I followed suit, although not nearly as gracefully. We chased each other over to Rock Garden and pounced on the giant piles of snow down the run. We had to skate over to the Ho Chi Minh Trail and cross-country over to Jack's Woods, where we darted in and out of the trees in the giant glade. My thighs burning, we swept down into base of the lift and laughed as the liftie brought the double black chair around to our backs.

We decided that we had had quite enough fun for the day and headed back to ski school. We swept in, snapped off our skis and I picked mine up to take in and put away. As I walked down the metal grate steps, I clutched my gear close so I wouldn't drop it. My plastic boots clanged like bells off each step. I got down to the bottom of the steps, punched in the doorcode to the locker room and quickly changed into warm, dry, cotton clothing. After repacking my gear bag and arranging my locker, I slammed the door shut and went back up the stairs, two at a time. I dropped my bag and went to look for Marshall, who was my ride back to town and to the show.

The show, the show. We had tickets to go see Linkin Park with Speedy, Martini and her friend from school. Fortunately, Speedy and Martini got there first and staked out some amazing seats for me and Marshall. All we had to do was catch the bus and then get down to the Coliseum. We managed to arrive and have Speedy meet me with my ticket right before the opening band went on. They were called Story of the Year and were actually physically painful to watch. The bassist kept doing backflips off the speakers, so that was interesting. However, the music left a little to be desired. Hoobastank and POD were much, much better and really got the crowd going.

However, I would have paid the entire cost of the ticket just to see Linkin Park. They were amazing. It was emotional, energetic, engaging and exciting. It's so refreshing to see a group who not only rocks very hard, but has so much raw talent. Watching Mike Shinoda play piano, listening to Chester's voice, watching their DJ spin...the whole thing was perfect. I go to a lot of shows, and this one was one of the best I've ever seen.

Quote of the Day: I feel so alive/for the very first time/and I think I can fly. Alive, POD

Sunny days and better ways

I'm having an unendingly strange week over here and my mood is changing more often than an exit poll. It's starting to grate, but there really isn't much I can do. I'm not traditionally a moody person, but this week I seem to be on a roller-coaster and I can't quite figure out how to get off. I've tried flagging people down, crying, sulking and a few other tactics, but nothing's worked. I can try screaming--that might actually be fun, I think.

Sunny days in the winter here are few and far between and since my office doesn't have any windows, I don't get to enjoy it as much as I want to. I know I am spending all day tomorrow in the sunshine, but that doesn't mean that I don't want to spend today in it as well.

I am applying for a job in Costa Rica for the simple reason that I want to get the hell away from where I am right now. Things have been going pretty badly for some time, and it looks like I am nearing bottom. Which is a good thing on the one hand because it looks like I can't get any lower, but on the other hand, it's still the bottom. And God knows what kind of muck there is down there. Ewww.

Back to Costa Rica. I think I am a natural for this job, but I guess that I don't know what the timeframe is. I need to know more, but I am afraid to ask. Maybe I go look up the job description again or something.

I'm supposed to go out to dinner with the folks tonight for Dad's birthday, which will be fun, but I'm just hoping I don't get carded since I don't have my ID with me and it's going to be a pain in the ass, blah, blah, blah.

I feel like Strong Bad, when he says "Mglgrph, aslkdha, Yes, I am awesome!"

Quote of the day: What do I have but negativity/'cause I can't justify the way everyone is looking at me/nothing to lose/nothing to gain/hollow and alone/and the fault is my own/and the fault is my own. Linkin Park Somewhere I Belong

Strange fashion statements.

I was standing at my bus stop today (yes, I take mass transit as there is no parking where I work) and one of my fellow losers walks up in yet another one of his Utilikilts. For those of you who are not familiar with this unique and fairly disturbing fashion statement, Utilikilts are the brainchild of a Seattle-based company (not kidding--go check it out here) and are made of everything from denim to canvas and are designed, as far as I can tell, to be skirts for men. Actually, I lied. They are MUGs, which stands for Men's Unbifurcated Garments. The entire website is full of dudes in skirts made from everything from camo to leather. Now, I am not opposed to this idea in theory, but seeing it in practice is a little weird. I understand that this guy perhaps doesn't like pants and all, but as far as I can tell, he's not Scottish and thus doesn't really have a reason to be wearing skirts Every. Single. Day. I'm not sure the guy actually owns pants. I apologize to the non-Scottish and skirt loving faction of men out there, except the hippies. I've seen enough unwashed men (and women, for that matter) in tie-dyed wrap skirts to last the rest of my life, TYVM.

Perhaps I am being judgmental, which is entirely possible, but then again I still think it's weird. It's also entirely possible that I am buying into American society's rigid definition of female and male fashion roles as well as some other form of oppressive thought, but I'd rather think that it's as simple as the fact that I wish this guy would buy a pair of jeans and get it over with. His calves are great and all, but I really don't need to be faced with The Skirt every other day at the bus stop. I'm lucky my eyes are open at that point and I don't need to be faced with more PNW blindingly white skin than absolutely necessary. Ecch...this started as a perfectly normal tangent and seems to have morphed into something a little weird, so I'm going to let it go.

Quote of the day: "I've given up my vices, I'm going back, back to school. Eviction or not, this week's been so hot, I know if I have you I know I'll be cool." Mimi, RENT.

Work, work, work and more work. I am glad to be here after spending nearly 40 hours straight being awake over the weekend. I've decided that teaching skiing lessons to 9 nearly junior high age kids after getting no sleep is really overrated. I've also decided several dozen things about what I am going to change about myself in the next few weeks. I think that I am going to get a new phone and calling plan, I am going to call a lawyer for the first time, I am going to program all of the cab companies in town into my cell phone and I am going to start going to yoga classes.

It's been a bad day again...