Blow it out your Snowblower

It took me about 3 days until Christmas to finally get in the spirit, but like Madonna in concert, I guess better late than never (cone bras not included). I’ve been stressed about finishing my gifts, keeping the cats away from the ornaments, winning at online scrabble, filling out my college bowl pool, and of course, maintaining a snow-free driveway.  It is exhausting.  But finally, as of today, as it dumps snow for the 18th time this December, I am throwing up my hands, sending my gifts late, and sitting back with a brewski in hand.  Crap, I have 86 friends on Facebook…what else does a girl need?

Perhaps another reason I am now in a good mood is  I am done shopping for food in Walmart until after Christmas.  Now you may say, “yeah yeah, it can get crowded.”  However, I dare any one of you, the reader, to step foot in the Walmart here in Vail between the days of December 21st and December 31st, and not find yourself in the belt section, contemplating if the rafters could hold your frantic, 10lb heavier from the holiday cookie eating body.  It is indescribable how utterly insane that place goes the minute the second home owners and tourists show up.  I have witnessed grown women crying in the isles, being consoled by their children.  It is not a place for the faint of heart.

I am also in a good mood because as I type, I have a brand new shiney snowblower in the back of my ride.  Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, gather around to witness the beauty that is Dave, by himself blowing snow into the street while I sit inside my warm home, at the window watching, with a glass of Van Duzer Pinot Noir in one hand, a foam finger pronouncing Dave as #1 in the other and a wickedly large smile on my face. Some dream big……I dream bigger……..

"Keep drinking honey, I've got this all taken care of!"

(By the way, if that thing breaks down at any point during the winter, my tears may act as an acceptable substitute to salting the driveway)

I am a little stressed about one thing and I won’t know the outcome until late day December 30th.  You  see, it is my beloved Ducks.  You may not know, but they are in the Holiday Bowl in beautiful San Diego (that means Whales Vagina, in case you were privy) and they are facing a solid Big 12 team, Oklahoma State.  It has been an interesting year for the Quackers and I have often referred to them as a “mediocre” football team.  I am only one of 14% of bowl pool entrants in my local pool to have picked them to win. Even my own husband took Oklahoma State (but Illinois didn’t even make a bowl, so I will forgive him as this little pool would be his only great victory).  But I have seen signs of greatness and I am hoping for a repeat performance of last year’s bowl, when most people thought we were dead in the ditch after the loss of Dennis Dixon (now I am sad again) and we whopped the shit out of South Florida.   I fond this little montage my brother introduced me to brings me great hope of an upcoming victory:

The run down the sideline by J.J. is incredible.

BTW, if you are looking for a bandwagon NFL team to jump on since the Broncos are bipolar and the Bears are the Bears, may I suggest the Carolina Panthers? I have to admit, I didn’t pay much attention to them until about 5 years ago when my buddy Darden introduced me to the Cardiac Cat call. Even then, I paid attention, but loosly rooted for them.  I didn’t love them, I didn’t hate them.  I was forced to cheer for the Bears (and Sexy Rexy, minus the sexy part), but I find it to be like rooting for the Cubs-unrewarding and full of dispair.  Would it kill the Bears to draft a QB?

Well, then two things happen.  First, the Panthers drafted Jonathan Stewart.  He is my second favorite Jonathan Stewart, behind you know who:

Vanilla Love

Chocolate Love

Are they not both beautiful?  Does it not make you hungry for a soft-swirl fro-yo cone?

Secondly, Dave placed a 50:1 odds bet in Vegas last spring that the Panthers would win the Super Bowl.  50:1. (Brook reflects for a moment) That could really buy me some solid temporary happiness…….or at least a bitchin’ decal for my scooter next spring.

Well friends, enjoy the holiday and enjoy the bowl games.  We are sticking around here for the holidays and look forward to some solid skiing.  If I can leave you will one holiday gift, it is this: Remember, when life hands you lemons, drop them in your vodka.

My charity never ends.

F you “Vail Landmark”

Wow, something really put my granny panties in a twist this past weekend and it wasn’t a squirrel with opposable thumbs.  It is just too cold these days for that to even be feasible.  That reminds me, I have a friend named Cindy who grew up and still lives in New Jersey and she was openly terrified of squirrels in college.  I always found this to be a fascinating phobia.  I mean, it is her god given right to be fearful of anything, but squirrels?  I am personally terrified of stale donuts and groin kicks, but we all have our thing.

So last Saturday, a bunch of us hit the slopes for the first time this season.  I knew it would be a 2 hour, 3 tops kinda day because, well, I am out of shape and don’t have the mentality to tough it out for more than that.  We had our friend Mike and his buddy up from Denver, so I felt confident those fools wouldn’t last any longer than me.  Plus, we all like beer and that is located at the bottom of the mountain.  Who am I to question gravity?

We hit up the Bully and got nice and saucy for 3 or 4 hours (noticeably longer than we skied).  Even though I routinely question the service policies at the Bully (ie-you have to order and stand AT the bar in order to receive happy hour prices despite the fact that your friend has a 2 year old with them and needs a table in order to keep them calm and occupied AND you are a very frequent customer), I just can’t give up the Dunkel beer and delicious, alcohol fueled Mudslides.  We laughed, we cried and we paid our bill.  My buzz was in full effect, strong enough to thwart off the cold temps mommy nature was throwing our way.

I was bummed when I heard we were heading to the Red Lion.  It sounded crowded, smelly and uncomfortable.  BUT, sometimes when you roll with a group, you gotta roll with a group, ya  here?  I had a momentary flashback of the last time I entered to Red Lion.  Oh wait, scratch that, they wouldn’t let us in the Red Lion.  Now you would think if a group of attractive, drunk-in-a- good-way girls (this author clearly excluded) showed up at a bar in August in Vail, which is not exactly the busiest time of year, we would be greeted with open arms and a free shot or two.  But were we?  Oh, quite the contrary.  It had something to do with the six foot tall inflatable penis we were dragging along for Diana’s bachelorette party…..the good old Captain Pecker Party Wrecker.  Apparently this novelty wasn’t something the Red Lion was interested in having in their bar……shit, this is the Red Lion, not a Debutant Ball.

Is this too big?

That’s ok, we got back them by stabbing unsuspecting patrons in the back with Captain Pecker through the windows.  Don’t try to hold back a drunk bachelorette party…..we are too ingenious.

So, back to last Saturday.  I decide to be a better person for once, not complain and head to the Red Lion.  Yes, it was crowded and yes I felt uncomfortable.  But hey, I was with friends, having a good time.  That was until, one of these most ridiculous bar rules was forced upon our table.  I am warning you, you may want to grab a paper bag and sit down because this bullshit will either make you hyperventilate or throw up.  Maybe both, who knows.

Around 8 pm, an inaudible announcement was made over the microphone, which of course we all ignored because none of us had any interest in the 80s tunes that are constantly belted out at this place.  Then, as few minutes later our waitress, who I might add was a good waitress and very pleasant, so I in no way hold her responsible for what she was instructed to come tell us.  Since it was one of the most ridiculous policies ever uttered, we made her repeat it:

“You guys are going to have to leave by 9 o’clock, because no ski gear is allowed in here after 9.  You can change and come back if you want”

What.

The.

Fuck.

I’m sorry, is this not a SKI TOWN we live in and is your biggest industry not SKI TOURISM?  You are telling me, with a straight face, that since I am wearing ski pants after 9 pm, I am no longer allowed to stay and purchase beverage and food that adds to your bottom line?  You are telling me that despite the fact that you haven’t dropped an effing dime into this place and the music played is still from the 80s, my good friends can’t stay to give your waitstaff an even bigger tip?  Wait wait wait…..are you saying to me that even though both the men’s and women’s restrooms only have one light working in each of them AND the men’s restroom floor is covered in an inch of urine, my buddy’s ski boots are totally unacceptable?

Needless to say, I didn’t want to spend on more second in there.  I told Dave I would meet him at Vendetta’s because I was hungry and I was fairly confident Vendetta’s would let me in, even if I was wearing ski pants AND holding a giant inflatable penis.  Dave was happily staying at the Red Lion until they tossed him out.  Spoiler Alert:  They promptly tossed Dave out at 9 pm.  As I left, I witnessed two guys trying to come grab a beer and get turned away at the door for wearing ski pants.  This guy was clearly a tourist and was clearly as pissed off as I was.

So, Red Lion, why this ricockulous rule?  You give me a good reason and we will talk.  Otherwise, good luck with the business……I will never step foot in your establishment again.

Later Dumbasses

Rhymes with Wizz

I’m very busy playing scrabble, but I wanted to post this video prior to my next post.  I find it therapeutic: