Closing Day

Instant recap: It's taken oh-so-long for me to learn how to "snowboard". In fact, depending on the day and who's feeling sorry and loving towards me it can be said that after 3 years I still don't know how to snowboard.

I do know how to fall with style, just ask the guys at the Canyons. I slipped off the lift and hung suspended in air for a bit until my shoulder popped, dislodging me and I proceeded to do flips and ninja my way into a standing position. I even offered a few fist pumps into the air. It seemed appropriate for the applause I received.

Now at the end of the season I have a wonderful thing to tell. Yes, I still struggle to point the board downhill—speed is not my thing. Yes, heights terrify me and I have a few choice words for cat trails, steeps and people flying by me. Yes, much like fusball Heelside is da Devil! And linking turns for me means coming to a stop and switching directions. I think I can hear my family weeping softly in their homes wondering how I lack all athletic skills.

Good news family. While I'm a dork strapped into a board and failing around in my straight jacket, I fail beautifully in any direction. I have no dominant foot. I profess to be goofy footed but really can ride switch just as well (almost). And on the last day of this season I had a rare moment of courage, also known as stupidity.

I pulled some tricks. My Ollie ain't bad, and it ain't good either. More impressive was my jump. I launched into the air and feeling nostalgia for my brief cheerleading career threw my body into a spread eagle. It worked, I totally landed that...on my stomach pancake-style. After carefully grooming the trail for the next kid I did my patent ninja twist onto my back, then back onto my stomach because that's how I get up. Slight concussion? Perhaps, but I prefer to think of it as exhilaration after conquering the mountain.

Definition of conquering the mountain: getting beat up while beating up the snow and doing a victory dance afterwards, even if no one is there to see it.

Scandaluminious

This actually happened a week ago, but I'm about to be faced with the same dilemmia of using my cell phone while watching a movie in the dark abyss of a dollar theatre.

Probably you as the reader and fellow champion of law abiding behavior scowled and rolled your eyes over that last comment. Who does that?! you thought unwilling to read further and unable not to quit. I do that just as you most likely check a text when watching a semi-interesting movie in the darkened comfort of your home entertainment center. 

But you are right about one thing  it was wrong. So wrong, in fact, that a movie steward a.k.a. Hater of FUN instructed me to turn of my phone. I immediately jumped and threw my hand toward her face, for all I knew the Shadow Man from the Disney movie had somehow found my unaware. 

And before I could comment on the fact that there were exactly two people in the theatre, my companion and I, the moviemonger manager had disappeared...into the SHADOWS.

So I'm going back tomorrow and if I am one of two people in the theatre I will pull my phone out and use the flashlight as a warning to the staff.

You Don't Know Me

I'm about to blurt and you're about to read it. He's trying to engage me, not in the ceramics-painting-art-is-fun-way or the you-will-learn-to-snowboard-without-injury-way but in the lifelong-teamwork-have-my-babies-way. I blame my cousin Kellie's farewell where he developed baby lust after looking at my little cousins. Just glad he didn't try to take one home.

So in this new life adventure I'm supposed to help procure the most amazing jewelry commitment. A ring I will wear everyday for the rest of my life. It's got to fit every situation and outfit, not only for my current lifestyle but for all fashion and career choices in my future. Terrifying task. I know diamonds and gems are timeless now but in 10, 20, 30, 40 years will that hold true? Probably, it's the golden anniversary I'm worried about. I'll be creeping on 80 and the last thing I'll want is a huge slab of weight on my finger, instead I'd like a cozy crocheted knuckle warmer.

This one decision has kept me up long nights and given me ulcers, until I stumbled on a ring quiz developed for the guy who wanted to capture an unsuspecting girl. I figured I'd let the professionals find my perfect ring and all I had to do was answer four simple questions about me.

Who knew I'd fail? I took, retook and mathematically tried every possiblity ((f)x:4!). Each time a beautiful diamond ring I'd slit my wrists over flashed before me like a punishment. He took it one time and sent me proof of his A+, a ring nearly identical in design to what I'd said I liked.

Question one: dream getaway? outdoor adventure, uptown venues, beach. Umm...what is it I like. I've done them all and loved them all so I sat stumped. It's not like there was only one such getaway that I spent my savings on.
His correct answer: beach

Question two: shoes she always wears? athletic kicks, stiletto heels, bare feet. Hmm. Love heels. Barefoot gives me blisters. An athlete I'm not. I tapped my Vans covered toes on the floor debating between bare and heels. Never mind the brown skate shoes I take off every time I go to someone's home.
His correct answer: athletic.

Question three: favorite concert? loud wild boy music, soft slow snoring music, or Breezy music. I got this one because in the example they listed one band whose concert I've been to and another that I have both alblms of.
His correct answer: Underground indie.

Question four: celebrity style? casual, trendsetter, fabulous. No clue. I don't know what my lack of style is. So I decided that all the Gap clothing forced on me by my sisters years ago defined me—casual. Wrong. And those designer gowns I strut around in made me feel fabulous. Wait, no longer in high school trying on prom dresses. Instead I take cues from rock stars who throw on weird accessories and dark colors.
His correct answer: trendsetter.
The Ring

Finally an approximation to the perfect ring. But it's not because I had already found my perfect ring. Others might not see the 4c's but those who know me will fall in love with it (for me).

Maybe you do know me.

Dear Body

You seem to have forgotten some basic rules so I'm refreshing your memory on "normalcy".

When fifty blankets cover you it is OK to stop shivering,. Really, midnight is not the time to burn the extra calories.

Speaking of calories, I'm fine with leaving food in the digestive tract for digestive purposes for two or more hours. It takes more than that for you to grab the nutrients and use them accordingly. I find you, you gain strength. Anything else is unacceptable.

Water rentention is welcomed in the desert...I'm just saying.

The retainer straightens your teeth. It is not a jaw-locking mechanism.

Bloodshot eyes do not become you. Right back to that whole hold in the moisture thing we were talking about. Oh and maybe the late nights begat early mornings thing.

Just a reminder that you will be here in 50 more years and there will be more chats if you don't control yourself.

Love-ish,

Bre

Declaring War

And I ask, snowball or spitwad from Mother Nature?

Snowball-ish. I volunteered my cracked and soon to be replaced winshield for the ultimate snowball test. Or I just didn't want to be hit with it because the person throwing it could easily throw a piece of ice at me without hesitation.

Splat. I laughed. I tried to wipe it off but it was a little too high for the wipers. So I decided to let it melt. Only by letting it melt I let it dry. With in the snowball was a napkin, old tissue, I'm not really sure but it stuck to the windshield like a spitwad. Stuck there for days.

Until my super-fast driving on the windy canyon roads began to lift the corner. Just a bit. Then a bit more and finally on the fourth day the wind ripped the spitwad right off. Later that night a small snow shower cleaned all evidence of the mess.

Painted Tips

 First grade has served me well and prepared me for my debut Valentine's Day on which I convinced/inspired Skip to throw age to the wind and get down and dirty by painting clay. And since neither of us is particularly skilled with a pencil (although I did create an all-time heart) we painted with our fingers.

Ghetto Stakeout

If ever I needed to train for something it was probably last night's stakeout.


Living in the ghetto presents unique opportunities for personal growth. Qualities like stealth, sneaking, sprinting, sign language, martial arts, self-defense, tantric breathing to warm your body in the sub-zero apt temps. I appreciate these challenges but I'm a little more Chuck Bartowski (without the computer chip brain) than Sydney Bristow. And if you don't watch crazy, romantic and satirical CIA teledramas I'll give you a run down on my spy achievements.

Stealth-Black is the dominate color of my wardrobe.

Sneaking-My joints pop about every hour, that means I have 59 minutes before I get caught.

(Real spies know the difference between stealth and sneaking)

Sign language-Employment has saved me since I know about 15 actual kindergarten signs for food, polite phrases and nouns.

Martial arts-Tai Chi. Took a class in college, watch out.

Self-defense-I can run, although not sprint.

Tantric breathing-That Tai Chi class alternated with yoga and we did learn to do a warming breath although I find that hyperventilating and passing out works just as well.

Now that you know I'm qualified to be running my own secret ops in the Murray Ghetto I'll tell you how it went. The reason for the stakeout was a misplaced phone charger. As I have a car charger I decided that it would be effective to charge my phone in my car. Unfortunately that required me to leave my keys in my car, the car turned on and the doors unlocked. To make sure no unsavory creature tried to open the car door and drive away I parked my car in front of my apt., ran up to my bedroom and sat in the dark staring out the window.

The staring grew old real quick and I turned on my computer. The blue light emanating from the screen was a little too bright and dizzying, even at its lowest setting. The only thing left to do was to grab my keys and spontaneously hit the panic button, especially as unsuspecting persons walked by.