So the other day I went to say 'hi' to NCS on her blog and she was all bragging about her skiing abilities. I misquote "I'm awesome at skiing because I have awesome balancing skills and great hair, don't even try to be better at skiing than me because you will FAIL."
I told her my goal was to be the worst, laziest skier on the planet so the joke was on her. Then I told her I'd tell my skiing story after I ate my spider pie.
Here it is ladies and gents, the sordid, embarrassingly sad, details:
Back when I was a cool and happenin' disco (as Brian and jean knee say)(that's what they call clubs) chick, my friend Brenda thought it was a good idea to introduce me to the magical wonderland that is Skiing or as I refer to it "why in the hell would you want to freeze your ass off when there is a perfectly good lodge with hot guys and booze right over there?"
Being from California, skiing was just not something I ever thought about doing. She encouraged me by saying "you'll be fine, it's just a matter of balance!" uh I'd like to state for the record that, yes, my balance was good enough to keep me upright and helped in my learning to walk days but I never attempted to walk on slippery surfaces with butter-knives attached to my tootsies.
But hey! I was about 21-22 so I thought I was immortal why not try skiing?? Sonny Bono hadn't died yet so I had no idea how dangerous it could be.
We went to the local sports store and loaded up on cute outfits, warm socks, a ski jacket (just made sense to buy an expensive jacket for a first time adventure) and a polar bear. How did I pay for all that on my Chicken Joint salary? I had just gotten a new credit card in the mail and I had to pay for all that crap in the years to come. Bastards.
My dear friend Brenda and her friend Leslutty decided to teach me on the "bunny slope". Listen, if that fuckin thing was a bunny slope, my butt is really the same size it was in high school. That was an Elephant slope as far as I was concerned.
These were their instructions to me. AND I AM NOT KIDDING.
If you want to go left, you go like this [moves body to the left] if you want to go right you go like this [moves body to the right] and if you want to stop you go like this [extends arms, digs weird pole things into snow and crosses her skis].
Yeah. Totally. [exhales a cloud of toxic smoke in my direction. Bitch.]
Oh, okay. What can go wrong with those easy instructions?
Lets stop right there and examine that statement m'mkay?
Just because instructions are easy, doesn't mean:
A) they are right
B) they should be followed
C) you won't need hip/face/back replacement surgery when you're done
and the hidden
D) you shouldn't have your fuckin head examined for having friends who want to kill you. In public! In front of children!
Now you will hear my inner thoughts because I remember exactly what I was thinking as if it were yesterday.
"Cool! Man, I must be doing about 30 miles an hour! Yeah! I am so balanced and look how straight I'm going with the proper knee bendyness! Wow looks like I'm headed for those pine trees! Uh, what did she say if I wanted to stop? Oh yeah. Cross skis. … How do I cross my skis they are just not cooperating. Where's the brake lever?? Ummm danger Will Robinson?? Danger. DANGER!!! OH HOLY FUCKIN SHIT! HOW DO I STOP??"
My friend Brenda, who is an excellent skier and I hate her, appeared alongside of me yelling stuff which I interpreted as "keep going you're doing great!" but in reality was "why the fuck aren't you stopping?".
So, I did the thing that I do best. I took matters into my own hands and threw my body backwards. So that I may fall and therefore stopping me from hurting the beautiful pine trees.
Now, I'm not sure if you are familiar with physics and I have to admit to only learning what I needed to to graduate and then replacing those things with images of Brad Pitt, but when you are going at a high velocity and you decide to throw your body on the slippery ground, this means you will be dragged around like a rag doll until:
A) You hit a big boulder
B) Hit a big tree
C) Hit another skier
D) run out of ground and just plummet off the face of the earth
but really it was
E) My ass was just too heavy to be dragged any further.
When I finally came to a stop, and was able to detach my legs from my ears, I dusted myself off. Stared at the long way I had gone and said to my friend Brenda "yeah, that was fun but you know what's more fun? Shooting rockets out of nose! How about I wait for you guys in the
BAR WHILE TAKING SHOTS OF TEQUILA TO MAKE ME FORGET lodge?"
Now, you'd think the story would end there, right?
People, you would be so wrong.
Okay but why don't you go up the ski lift with us and then just come back down the lift?
Well hell! What a great idea!! I can have a nice view of the tops of the pine trees and watch people going down the mountain!!! Brilliant!
So we get on the ski lift, "ooh, pretty" "ahh peaceful" the next thing I know, I feel the chair jerk, see my "friends" on the slopes and then the lift completely stops.
In case you hadn't caught on by now, a person that goes up the ski lift must EXIT the ski lift at the TOP. There are no "ifs ands or buts" about it. Those are the rules. Would you like to know where my skis were? Why sitting right next to me of course! Why would they be on my feet if I'm not going to ski anymore! Silly rabbit!
To my horror, amidst cries of "what the hell are you doing? jump!" from the people in the chairs behind me, out of the little control shed comes this gorgeous, and do I mean drop-dead-knock-out-we-should-give-his-mother-a-standing-ovation-for-producing-such-a-mouth-watering-man, muscular guy in just a sweater and jeans who asks me to throw my skis on the ground and jump into his arms. Because I'm about 7 feet off the ground.
I hesitate since I don't want to be the one responsible for squishing the life out of this magnificent creature. He extends his arms and says "I'll catch you" ::dreamy sigh:: so I jump. Talk about trusting someone with your life. Talk about being a modern day Hercules. Talk about how red my face must have been!
He caught me, gently put me down, grabbed my skis, asked me if I was okay, left me with the mountain police (2 guys about my age) and then went back into his sparkly castle. ::dreamy sigh #2::
The mountain police were okay to look at but they were no match for the guy who held me in his arms. No match.
Anyway, there were only 3 ways off that mountain. You skied down it, out of the fuckin question. You rolled down it, I obviously didn't have a good rolling chance, maybe now but not back then. You WALKED down it. In ginormous ski boots. With drifts up to my waist.
Oh yeah, I forgot to talk about the ski boots. I am 5'2 and at that time was a way smaller size than I am now. Not telling you what size I am now since it's really none of your business and has no relevance to this story. The boots were up to my knees (rented thank god because I would have beat myself if I had bought a pair) and I felt like I was hauling around giant iron beams.
As I was being escorted down the side of the mountain, my two body guards were telling me I should get new friends. That was the best idea I'd heard all day. They also asked me where I lived, did I have a boyfriend and all that other stuff but you don't need to hear about that.
I waited for my "friends" in the lodge and had already made quick friends with the bartender and a few other people by the time they came inside, I also had a lot less brain cells IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. Did I mention it was night skiing?
There you have it NCS. Next time you are swooshing down the mountain, think of me having a Kahlua and cream mmmmm while sitting in front of a nice warm fireplace. Minus the hot guys. Now I only have one hot guy. You know, in my memories. ;o) (kidding babe, you know I meant you)
Don't forget about coming over for our Sunday Comics "Bee n' Andy: Married and sometimes, still in love..." completely illustrated by Andy.