Fallin all over again

September 2nd and it's fall time again...well at least it is in the frozen tundra of a town I live in. The leaves are changing, the college brats have returned to campus with a vengeance and subsequently the lines at the liquor store have gotten unbearably long.

This time of year finds me aimlessly wandering the back to school aisles of Target for several minutes before realizing I don't actually go to school anymore. Not that I'm complaining. I like being an old maid. sob.

I don't even know what I like about fall in particular, but I do know that living in a place where the seasons don't change seems like heresy to me. I mean if I lived in such a place, when would I wear any of the 900 scarves that I own? Won't someone think of the scarves!?

There's also something about fall that reminds me of newness--of starting over. Really, what part of the look/smell of dying trees and rotting leaves doesn't signify starting anew? Maybe it's just that during this particular fall I'm painstakingly trying to take the next tiny baby step in the roller coaster that is my life. Although, taking baby steps on a roller coaster would inevitably lead to my untimely demise. Perhaps I should think of a better analogy...

*thinks* Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......

What? No, no I wasn't sleeping. *conspicuously wipes drool from corner of mouth and desk calendar*

Bottom line is, I'm loving up the fall time. But I'm not getting too attached because I realize that fall is not long for this world. It won't be long before fall's loud, drunken, rugby-playing cousin, Big W, comes to town. Then it's really time for my scarves to shine! *wink and nod*

songs

I don't consider myself a music snob and suffice it to say that a tone-deaf monkey has better pitch than I do. But I do consider myself a music lover. If I had to make sweet, sweet love to any genre of entertainment, it would certainly be music (tmi?)

Despite my general love affair with virtually all music all the time, there are a few certain songs that stick with me, that coat themselves over my skin and imbed themselves in my veins, infecting every part of me.

One of these songs is Green by Karen Savoca but you really need to see her in person to get the full life-changing experience. Don't question me, just see her when she next comes through your town.

Another song like this is Corrina, Corrina...the Leo Kottke version. (Save it, I know Bob Dylan is the be all and end all of all music or whatever but Leo Kottke kills this song. I don't know what that means, but I know it's a good thing).
This song stops me in my tracks. My breathing gets shallow and my pulse quickens in complete contrast to the molasses melody. Kottke's velvet voice washes over and engulfs me, invading the deepest parts of me. And when he sings, "cause I can't breathe, when she talks to me" my heart swells with sadness for all the love that's ever been lost or broken in the world.

This song kills me and lifts me up all at the same time.

It's amazing the power music can have over us....or the power we allow it to have over us.

but what are my lucky numbers?

"Life is a journey, not a destination."

So says a tag on the inside of the zipper on a pair of my jeans. Where to begin?

Apparently I have the memory of a hamster because it always catches me by surprise whenever I wear the pants and this cycle of "what does this mean" and "why is it on my crotch" begins all over again.

So why is it there? Presumably as some kind of gentle reminder to live life to the fullest, concealed in a place that only you would see. It's like a little secret between you and the pants that also gives a little confidence boost when you're sitting on the pot thinking about things. It could also be a slightly gimmicky but slightly clever marketing ploy by said jean company that I cannot for the life of me remember the name of (note to self: when blogging about clothes, have them on or nearby) "Crotch slogans! That'll keep 'em coming back for more!" Like reeeeaaaaallly expensive fortune cookies.

During my many musings regarding these pants this weekend (read: bad Mexican food) I wondered why they chose these particular phrase for their crotch-slogan? Is it a favorite adage of the fashion designer? Some kind of company empowerment motto? Random slogan hat drawing party?

Whatever the actual reason, the only logical conclusion to be reached by a gutterball like me is that my nether region is not a destination, it is a journey. Or it's a destination on the journey of pleasuring me...which is really what my life is all about - me being satisfied. Thank you fortune cookie pants for advertising my narcissism for me to potential husband-types. And to those of you lucky enough to stumble upon my flower pot region, heed the fortune cookie pants' innuendo, lest you befall 7 years bad luck and sexual frustration.

(ps - in case you couldn't tell...coming home from vacation is hard...)

strangers in the night

On Friday night I went to a Meetup with my friend. For those who don't know, Meetup.com is a website in which people with common interests in any given community plan times and places to "meet up" and discuss said interest. This one was for people "new" to the town I live in.

Now, I'm not particularly new to this town but this town does have a reputation of being notoriously difficult for people to make friends. Maybe because all the young people leave town as soon as they have a set of car keys and $26 in their pocket.

I'm not opposed to meeting new people, but I wasn't exactly sure how this meet up of random strangers was going to go. But I knew I was looking forward to it.

I have discovered that I thrive around complete strangers. I'm talkative, funny, witty, polite and just enough out there to make people wonder if I'm actually crazy or just totally awesome (answer: totally awesome).

There is something so freeing about talking to people I suspect I'll never see again. There's really only two possible outcomes. 1. We become instant friends because you too are totally awesome. 2. I never see you again. What is there to lose? Literally nothing.

And of course the group turned to be very nice people (read: they laughed at my jokes!) but it was not without it's....well, "flaws" is a bit harsh but it's 435am and I can't really think of another word. It was more than obvious from the start that Joe Cool sitting next to me was there for the sole purpose of getting some tail. Once he heard the dreaded BF word escape my mouth he turned to my friend with the oh so clever expression of "So, what's your story?" (Ooooooo good one! Sorry to be missing out on that!) I mean he might as well have been wearing a shirt that said "Help. Not getting any." To be fair, my opinion of Joe may have been tainted after he came this close to puking his sushi all over me. (Hint: If you've never been to a sushi bar, don't order actual sushi! Ease into it for goodness sakes!)

Aside from that minor annoyance the evening was fine. I think it's funny I/people like me feel more open and more comfortable being ourselves around complete strangers than people who actually know and love us sometimes. We qualify it by saying "It's okay, they don't know me." This little phrase gives us the courage to be ourselves, say what we want, let it all hang out. But really, shouldn't it be "It's okay, they know me" that gives us that right? Don't our friends choose to be around us for a reason? Aren't they going to love us for who we are, and if they don't then to hell with them? Maybe it's society or maybe it's our attitude but I think I'll try a little more of the opposite. I probably won't start holding things back when it comes to strangers, but I'll work on being a lot more comfortable just being me around those who choose to associate with me. (changes into sweatpants and belches loudly). Ahhhhhhhhh, that's better.

what's in a name?

It occurs to me that one can and should not name one's blog "daileyobservations" if one does not have the intention of blogging every day. Or at least every other day. Sheesh. But I resolve to do better, starting....now.

Soooo, what to blog about today? (drums fingers) How about those Olympics, eh? Still going on for like another week. That's cool.

(flips through newspaper) Paper's sure looking thin. Not much going on there.

(stares blankly at computer screen.......blink.......blink)

Hmm, I may have the answer to my lack of dailey blogging problem. This is curious too as, I'm sure my friends could testify, I usually have a hard time keeping my trap shut for more than 45 seconds. And I relish being the center of attention. So why the e-writer's block? Laziness? Commitment issues (again!)? Trying to hard to be loved by the anonymous internet people? (I'm really starting to sound like I've got major issues. Sweet.)

I suppose the proper solution is just to write what I want, whenever I want it and the Internet People can take it or leave it. Aren't blogs really for our own satisfaction anyways? Like if we put it all out there, it's no longer in here and that makes us feel better for some reason?

Whatever the reason, I kinda like it, more than I thought I would. Mostly, I think I like the idea of sharing my quips and humorous observations with someone, anyone and this is the best venue to do so. As much as I love laughing at my own jokes, I like making other people smile a lot more.

Ahhhh if only I had a clever tagline. Maybe Paul Harvey can come up with one for me....

even i don't look as ridiculous as you....

Yesterday I was at the gym, minding my own business, when this Tooly McToolerson gets on the treadmill next to mine and, after he is up to jogging speed, begins talking on his cell phone....on speaker phone.

Really? Are you that busy and important at 430pm that you can't even take a half hour for yourself? (Judging by his young, unprofessional face and "yeah, man, that's awesome" every other sentence, I'm guessing he's not busy or important).

So here's my question: Who the Fuck are you talking to!!?!??!!!? Seriously? I can't think of a single person I'd want to talk to while I'm running, panting, grunting or cussing (the Four Stages of "Me at the Gym"). And naturally, I thought he'd hang up but he didn't. After several minutes I became very interested in this guy, waiting for him to a) drop his phone and watch it smash into a thousand pieces; b) get tripped up and fall off the treadmill; or c) both.

Common courtesy aside, you look like a complete dbag. Does it motivate you? Is there no other time you can talk to your friends? Are you that attached to your cell phone you're not sure how to behave if you're not talking/texting every second of the day?

Another time, I saw this girl laying on a mat, talking on her phone, not even pretending to work out or stretch. WTF? Were your roommate and her boyfriend making out on the couch at home so you had to come to the gym to sit on your ass and gab? Does it make you feel accomplished - "well at least I went to the gym today..."

Like I really needed another reason to loathe the gym. (The only reason I've gone every day this week is to watch curling and women's hockey because I don't have cable. USA!)

Next time, I just may say something. Something like, "Hey, douchebag! Hang the fuck up before you fall down and hurt yourself."

maybe it's bob costas...

This week everyone (well everyone I see on a dailey basis ;) is (lady) gaga over the Olympics, and I'm no exception. It's probably the first time I regret not getting MSNBC (but only a tiny bit).

Why do we love the Olympics? Patriotism? Competition? Men in overly-bedazzled spandex?

I've been thinking about it all day and I'm not really sure why I love the Olympics. I thought at first it was because the athletes are just your average shmo people like you or I who happen to excel in a particular sport. But it's not entirely true. Many, if not all, of these athletes have been training since they could walk. They've gone to elite academies. They've been mentored by former Olympians. They were discovered, or discovered their dream, and their parent sacrificed everything to help their children follow said dreams. I also enjoy hearing their stories - getting teary eyed over hearing some random athlete's life story.

I do like that they are not billionaire superstars (except the men's hockey team...don't get me started....grumble grumble). They work so hard and literally sacrifice everything for that one or two shots at a gold medal. That level of dedication and passion is certainly to be admired.

I also like the continual display of global solidarity. I watch athletes of all sports hug their competitors at various finish lines. I love watching them hug each other as if to say, "we made it friend, we're moving on to the next round" or "you kicked my ass, but I'm proud to take 2nd place after you."

I'm still not sure what exactly it is that compels me to watch at least a little bit everyday. I suppose it's simple enough: I like being inspired. And I like thinking about what the world would be like if we all lived our lives like Olympians do every single day.

Yeah, I know, cheesy as ever, but that's just me. And I like me just the way I am. (cue Billy Joel)

all you need is a lengthy explanation

I don't watch a significant amount of television but what I do watch (House, the Office, football) all have a common denominator: Blackberry commercials.

Now, all of the subjects of said commercials are trying to achieve something whether it's forming a successful musical group or traveling back in time and learning how to break dance in preparation for that big Fresh Prince audition. The song in the ad, "All You Need is Love" and the tagline "Do what you love" are always the same. If only it were that simple Blackberry.

So, if it's true that "all" I "need" is, in fact, "love" then wtf do I need a crackberry for? Will it love me? Will love pay for that data plan? And how will the crackberry help me do what I "love?" By making phone calls? Sending texts? Googling things? Isn't this the same drab existence I have achieved with my shitty little flip phone that doesn't cost an arm and a leg?

And then, you want me to "do what I love" and yet provide me with exactly zero reasons why it is crackberry, and only crackberry that will help me reach this goal. Actually, what I would love is for you to stop defiling a perfectly classic Beatles song. And that "band" covering the song should be brought to a nice farm in the country, where it can live out the rest of it's days annoying only the crows and cornfields. It's like the marketing people at Blackberry were sitting around saying, "Sooooooo, what can beat the iphone? Umm, the Beatles?" Good one, team.

So I will keep doing what I love and loving what I do any only needing love. Keep trying Blackberry. Unless what you love is looking completely asinine.

st. phonytine's day

This time of year there are really only two bandwagons one can jump on. a) I *heart* Valentine's Day! Buy my pretty things and candy! Nom nom nom! or b) I hate this big, dumb, made-up holiday and everything it stands for.

I'll give you three guesses as to which bandwagon on which I am a frequent flier.

And, per usual, after standing tall and proud on my status-soapbox, spewing about why I'm so cool for hating the big V day, someone writes "aren't all holidays made up?"

What is this week? Call me out on everything I say/do/believe week? Could someone please let me know in advance next time?

Hello, humble pie. Nice to see you again. You're looking quite well. Me? Oh, I'm okay....you know how it goes, you win some, you lose some. Yes, I realize I'm talking to a pie.

It's true that really, all holidays are made up. Somewhere along the line, some Joe Christian said, you know what, Jesus was born on ohhhhhhh let's say December 25th. What? That's a major Pagan holiday? Hmm, what a coincidence. Let's move on.

Now one could get into a deeply existential argument about the reality of anything. (You mean I may not actually be eating a pie? sob) But I won't do that because I don't know what the F I'd be talking about. It's not that all holidays are made up that bothers me. What bothers me is this particular holiday. Ok, if the Christians find it significant to celebrate Jesus' bday, then go ahead, assign it to a random day of the year. If environmentalists want everyone to plant a tree on Arbor Day because we're burning through trees like Elizabeth Taylor through husbands then, fine, April 27 it is. I completely understand assigning random dates to things that need to be remembered/celebrated/honored/etc. MLK Day, Presidents Day, Memorial Day, bring 'em on!

What I cannot get behind is a holiday in which you buy a bunch of fattening/wilting/ugly/useless crap to tell your other how much you looooooooooooooooooooooooooove them. Give me a fucking break. Presumably, if this person has continued to date/be married to you for this long don't you think they actually do love you, like every day? And vice versa? Don't you say "i love you" a hundred times a day to said person already? What's with all the pink-hearted crap? And if you're a bitter singleton, you don't need this phony mcphoneyson holiday anyways. You've got family and friends that love you every day too. I just don't get it. Why pick a special day to show significance to something that should have significance all the time? (And why show it in such a materialistic way?)

Ok, all that being said, I'd like to make a declaration of true love. I love you, soapbox. You keep everything so very sudsy.

Go, spread love. And eat chocolates since they're there anyways.

i can call you betty

So this afternoon, as I was sitting in the tub feeling sorry for myself and the world, I heard this come from my computer:

"I said, hey, you know, breakdowns come and breakdowns go. So, what are you going to do about it, that's what I'd like to know."

(eyebrows raise) Did I just get called out by Paul Simon?

After several minutes of wondering WWPSD (how would one affix diamonds to the soles of their shoes?) I snapped back to reality.

It's not really about what Paul Simon would do (must resist Simon Sez joke...), he wants to know what I'm going to do about it. So I rub-a-dub'd my blues away, got myself a latte and went and sat down by the Big Lake. I listened to the ice snap, crackle and pop as the water underneath heaved and hoed (ho'd?). And it felt good.

The moral of the story is that breakdowns will certainly come and go, but it's what we do about it that really matters. After all, Paul Simon wants what's best for us, so shouldn't we want what's best for us too?

sunshine and lovebeams

It has become apparent that I suck at blogging every single day as I had once intentioned. So I sat down, knowing it had been way too many days and logged in.

And nothing came.

............

And still nothing.

I had a hard day yesterday. My job is one that is filled with sadness and yesterday was particularly so...it will take a long time to get over. I find myself forever caught somewhere between counting my abundant blessings and being totally depressed about how unfair and unjust the world is. Either way, I feel like a damn fool.

So here's what helped me yesterday and today. Let it be said that yes, I am a Christian and no, I don't care what you are or what you believe or don't believe. Take it or leave it or find a way to apply it to your own life or don't. I don't want to convert you or offend you or cater to you. I just want to be me, and me needs this today. I hope it helps you in some way too. Or I hope you find whatever it is that helps you get through this life when it's not exactly sunshine and lovebeams.

blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
blessed are they who mourn,
for they shall be comforted.
blessed are the meek,
for they shall inherit the earth.
blessed are they that hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they shall be satisfied.
blessed are the merciful,
for they shall obtain mercy.
blessed are the pure of heart,
for they shall see God.
blessed are the peacemakers,
for they shall be called children of God.
blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

i am punxsutawney phil, resistance is futile

I'm sure everyone has heard that PETA wants to replace Punxsutawney Phil with a robot groundhog. They seem to think that it's not right to subject the animal to the "bright lights" and "huge crowds" every Groundhog Day.

Yes. That is one tortured looking groundhog. Now, I can't say that being coddled by a fat man in a top hat in front of thousands of people is my idea of a picnic, but the difference is I'm a person. I'm privileged enough to choose who coddles me and how many people are allowed to watch. And while I'm sure P squared is devastated by his inability to waddle and frolic with his wild cousin groundhogs, a robotic Phil is a bad idea for exactly three reasons:

1. Punxsutawney Phil has been living in the lap of luxury for some time now. He has a climate controlled habitat, all the food he could ever want, no predators, all for working for approximately 10 minutes a year. Were he to be suddenly released into the wild, he would, within several minutes no doubt, be eaten alive by whatever eats groundhogs (much like if Paris Hilton were to suddenly become poor).

2. Why would we take away the groundhog's only hero? Won't someone think of the baby groundhog cubs dreaming that maybe they, someday, could rise up, overcoming life's many obstacles and dangers to become the next Punxsutawney Phil? Don't robots already have enough heroes like Conky and Tony Dungy?

3. Really PETA? Don't you think there may be slightly bigger animal problems in the world like oh, I don't know, illegal dolphin hunting off the coast of Japan and the over-harvesting of many, many fish species in the oceans? How about people abusing their pets or trying to domesticate exotic animals? What about the circus? Why won't you do something to put an end to the freaking circus!?!?!

I say let Phil stay. The unfortunate reality is this groundhog has it better than most people in this country, let alone the world. Maybe someone should start a new organization, PETOP, People for the Ethical Treatment Of People. (Watch out! I have a soapbox and I know how to use it!)

I thought briefly of a forth reason being a general fear that the electronic groundhog would turn on the Top Hat Man and run amok in the streets of PA. But then I thought that would be ridiculous. Or would it.......

pandora roulette

Pandora is such a brilliant thing. It speaks to all of the lazy/experimental/musically challenged people of the internet. "Oh, you like that song eh? Ok, we'll just play songs that sound like that. Cool?" What could possibly go wrong?

I usually have Pandora on at work given the ridiculously long shifts I work. Friday night Pandora perfection was acheived. I put on my Sara Bareilles (aka sad white girl music) station and I couldn't believe what I heard - a wide variety of songs from a wide variety of artists with no repeats? (looks like I've finally got that karma back on track) And the songs were in perfect sequence, as if I had my own DJ in the closet who knew exactly which songs I wanted to hear next (new life goal?). I revelled in my music-induced bliss.

Saturday night brought all that bliss tumbling down like so many Jenga towers. It was a whole lotta bad, and for some reason it kept repeating itself. What's the deal Pandora? Don't want anyone to get too close? Not ready to committ? Oh, ok Joe Cool, you be that way, see if I care. Go ahead and go! And take your bipolar music with you! I don't need you!

(sobs)

*ahem* Anyways, let it simply be said that pandora is indeed a cruel mistress. I guess I'll continue to place my bets and pray for black. I'm sure there's some life metaphor in there somewhere but I prefer to leave it open for the reader's interpretation (read: lazy).

working on the night moves

It's more than Seger, it's a way of life for some people. People like me for instance. I go to work when it's dark and usually come home when it's dark thanks to this frigid death trap we call a state (can anyone say vitamin d deficiency?)

All bitterness aside, there are some definite perks to working the night shift.

Perk #1 - I only work three days a week. Yeahhhhh, just let that sink in. Mmmmmm. That's nice.

Perk #2 - I finally, finally have a legitimate excuse to sleep all day.

Perk #3 - I feel like I've played this great trick on the world that only I know about. My drive home inevitably consists of one or more of these comments:
"Look at those kids waiting for the bus! You have to go to school alllllll day! Ha! I'm going to bed!"
"Look at that guy putting gas in his car in his suit! Going to work? Well! I'm going to bed! I already worked! Ha!"
"Look at this lady walking her dogs! Fresh air? Exercise? Sunshine? Nuts to that I'm going to sleep now!"

It's a secret, non-conformist euphoria that only us night hawks can appreciate.

There are con's a-plenty, as with any job, but I try not to dwell on them. Sure working "regular" hours might be nice, but I'd trade it all for the smug satisfaction that comes with being tucked in, snug as a bug while the rest of the world goes about its' daytime business without me.

everyday questions

Friday was haircut day. Haircut day is an important day, right up there with oh, I don't know, kindergarten graduation. Not necessarily photo-worthy, but bound to have a significant impact on your life depending on a positive vs. negative outcome.

So after my foil and brow wax (both excruciating in their own way) came the big cut. I explained that I would like an inverted bob with the longest piece at my chin, a total of 5-6 inches cut off. The following is the actual conversation that took place:

She: "Why so short?"
Me: "Oh, time for a change! I like having short hair"
She: "But that's really short."
Me: "Yep."
She: "Just wanting a change huh?"
Me: "Yep."
She: "So you're not depressed or pregnant or anything?"
Me: "Ummm, I don't think so?"

I won't delve into the plethora of thoughts rolling around in my head at this point but I will say this - depressed or pregnant!? Is a major haircut some kind of secret coping mechanism sought after by depressed and/or pregnant people? I guess depressed I can see, but haven't pregnant women already made enough bad choices? Do I look depressed? Or pregnant!??! (puts down bag of chocolates) Why can't I just get my haircut?

Well, despite that very awkward moment, cut my hair she did. And it looked so nice that I spent the rest of the night flipping it back and forth like a shorter-haired Cher. And it did make me feel happier, but it did not make me feel any less pregnant.

Later that night, at some point between the car and the front door, my euphoria overshadowed the icy sidewalk of death in front of my house. I fell, and every last ounce of my weight landed on my right elbow. The massive swelling, agonizing pain and my Hulk-like reaction made for an uncomfortable, albeit slightly comical, evening for my house guests. Thankfully the elbow is fine, though why it has started hurting again today after almost a week worries and depresses me.

Maybe time for a new haircut??

is this hell? or just the twighlight zone?

Well I hit the cross country ski trails yesterday armed only with an over-inflated ego. "I can read a map" I thought. "I won't get lost" I thought.

Nearing what I perceived as the end of the 3k easy loop I began patting myself on the back. "That 3k was easy. And didn't take me very long at all!" At the last fork in the road I glanced at the map and took off on my final little loop back to the parking lot. 15 minutes later, the end still hadn't come. "Boy," I thought, "That map must not be to scale. I'll just keep going."

A few minutes later I was back at the same fork in the trail, staring at the same map. "Oh! I see! I went the wrong way! Foolish girl! I'm supposed to go this other way!" I chuckled at my foible and headed down the other path, certain of my eventual victory.

Another 20 minutes or so and there I stood - back at the same map.

Now I was certain that I had read the map wrong. Still feeling mostly cheery, I took the first path again, knowing I would be back in the car in no time, laughing at my skiing misadventures.

Nope. Upon reaching that fork AGAIN my now completely deflated ego was quickly replaced with an over-active imagination. "Is this the Twilight Zone? Is there some kind of black hole on this trail that no one told me about? *gasp!* Maybe it's worse than that. What if I fell and hit my head and died and this is hell and I have to go around this loop for all eternityahhhhhhhh!!"

"Get ahold of yourself!" I ordered myself. I couldn't let my new found Sisyphus-complex get the better of me. I took the first loop again, knowing that's where I was supposed to go.

And what did I find when I got to where trail split off? (something that had apparently alluded me on 2 previous trips) The steepest, curviest, icy-ist, scariest hill EVER. It became quickly clear to me what happened. The part of my brain that values my limbs being in tact had hog-tied and gagged the part of my brain that allows me to follow simple directions. And now I know why.

I'll spare you my inglorious decent (on my getting-tougher-by-the-day ass) but I finally made it to the car, one hour later than I was supposed to. Se la vie.

I took today off from skiing. But! Next time I KNOW I'll be able to find my way. And since my ego can't take much more of a beating, I'll only have to worry about breaking every bone in my body! Stay tuned!

first sign of the apocalypse

This weekend I experienced a phenomenon I've only read about in fairy tales and fitness magazines (ok, same thing). I was warm, outside, in the winter, in Minnesota. And I'm not talking "Oh boy was that fun! And look, only three of my toes are black with frostbite! Could someone please finish my sentences until the feeling comes back to my face" warm that I usually experience. I actually thought I had too many layers on. And what could cause such a delightful warmness in such a delicate woodland creature as myself?

Drugs!!

No, only kidding! Cough.

This weekend marked my cross country skiing debut. I went in determined, fearless, and confident. 3K easy loop? Piece of cake! And that piece of cake tasted like misreading-of-the-map-ending-up-on-a-6k-intermediate-loop-baptism-by-fire goodness! Yum! The plus side? If you connect the bruises on my ass it kind of looks like a T-Rex.

But then, as I collapsed into the car, I felt this warmness...this watery substance started seeping from my pores (could this be "sweating" that the common folk speak of?). Warm in the winter and working out? Too good to be true? Apocalypse now? I'll let the reader decide.

Things got even more interesting on the way home between my co-skier and I:
He: "Do you want to know a secret?"
Me: eyes widening "Yeeeeeeees"
He: "If you keep pushing yourself, go skiing everyday for a week or so, you'll break that plateau and you won't be sore anymore...like athletes. And you'll actually tone up a little and be stronger too."
Me: eyes wiiiiiiiiiidening "Me? Athlete? Toned? Warm???"

And yes, I've gone skiing everyday since. I'm proud to say I've even learned how to fall "properly." (Sitting back and sliding down hill on already bruised, cushioned butt cheek = good. Getting your skis crossed and falling forward with all your weight on one rolled ankle = bad) And I've enjoyed myself. Dare I say I even wish it was a little bit *colder* outside? (cowers under desk waiting for snowy, icy, windy, inevitble blizzard of death)
My new found smug sense of self-satisfaction and I wonder if there's anything we can't do? Climb Mt. Everest? Find the Loch Ness Monster? Bring about world peace? Drugs?

No, no, scratch that last one. Cough.

is this the end??

Ok all Simpson's quoting aside, it's time I talked about something else I pretend to know a lot about but actually know very little about: Pro Football.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Oh great, another dumb girl talking about football." To which I would respond, "Shut up. I'm cuter/smarter/funnier than your girlfriend/boyfriend/partner/divorced parent that you're living with right now." But I digress...

This weekend, four football games were played, three of which were predictable. Just as they should be. 2 #1 seeds and one #2 seed moving on. Ho hum. And then Rex "Yes-I-really-am-this-jolly-all-the-time" Ryan's JETS decimated and humiliated Norv "Anything-resembling-a-smile-will-certainly-crack-my-face-in-half" Turner's highly favored Chargers. It. was. amazing. Left with a renewed sense of anything-can-happenness and an insatiable crush on Mark "I-look-like-I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing-but-I'm-playing-in-the-AFC-Championship-so-all-you-naysayers-can-shove-it-up-your-ass" Sanchez, I can't wait for next Sunday.

In other news, welcome to my blog whomever you are. Suffice it to say I like bringing smiles to people's faces. I tried the whole deep, personal, woe is me blog and promptly quit (committment phobe? trust issues? choose you're own disorder!) Even if you don't think my blog is funny (but how could you not...seriously). Smile. You'll feel better.

And now you know the rest of the story. (That's not copyrighted, right??)