I Miss The Snow, No Really I Do.

I mean seriously folks it's 54 degrees here and I walked to work in a fleece and a DOWN VEST. It's 54 degrees! It's the middle of January! Where's winter? Where's the snow? The world is ugly without snow in the winter. You get to see all that Deadness just hanging out in plain sight. In Minneapolis, the snow comes around the first of November and doesn't leave until April. A tad excessive? Yes, but you get my point. In Texas, we get no winter. Just temps that flirt with freezing and spring back up to 75 degrees in one day. And yes, I'm complaining.

During my first winter in Minneapolis not only was I shocked by The Cold, I was also shocked by how much people frolicked in it. Outside in the winter? Wow, these people were hardcore. There's figure skating, sledding, hockey, snow mobiling, ice fishing and of course skiing. Being wrapped in all this Winter Love I decided to mark one of those off my Things I Should ReallyDo list – skiing.

(And folks this is where we segue)

I had never skied before and when it was suggested on one lazy Saturday I thought, what the hell let's do this you only live once. I dressed as though we were headed to Antarctica with no less than eleventy frillion layers on. On the car ride out to the "resort" I started to play scenes of horrific skiing crashes in my head, and I was starting to get a little nervous. But no worries because my friend Nikki reassured that she hadn't skied in YEARS so she would be just as bad. Okay, no big deal.

I signed away my first born child to purchase a lift ticket that let us ski for the rest of the night. (We had arrived at around 4:30, probably because we were all really hungover and couldn't up and moving before then. I digress) I signed away my first child's college education to rent my ski equipment. Some perpetually stoned teenager asked if I what level of skier I was, and I instantly turned into a southern girl and began to talk incestantly about useless nonsense about my life. Mid way through me explaining that my family just never thought about skiing we would rather camp in the mountains he shouts to no one in particular BEGINNER! I was already humiliated and I hadn't even been on the slopes. I hear him ask Nikki the same question, and she replies Intermediate. INTERMEDIATE? What was all that crap about not skiing in FOR. EVER, Nikki? She gave me some bullshit about ski size and yada yada yada, but she still assured me she was going to be as bad as me on the hill. You can all see where this is going, can't you?

I put on my skis, and head outside into the snow. What no one prepared me for was how slapping two six foot planks on your feet seriously decreases your mobility. In order to move two inches I was expending about 90% of my energy. I FINALLY got on the lift. I still had no inclination of the upcoming hell. I still thought this was going to be SO. MUCH. FUN. Me, Nikki, and the rest of the crew just moseying on down the slopes. Then I saw it, the end of the lift. I started to panic. "How do we get off the lift?" I asked Nikki. "Flackety poo-poo!" she tells me. FLACKETY POO-POO?!? Nikki suddenly began speaking another language. And then it happened, it was go time – time to get off the lift. I would give my liftmates, Nikki and Taber, a perfect score for their dismount as for me? A negative 29. I fell. Hard. I screamed, "How do I get up?" Taber said something like, "Just gibblety gawker faddy da." RIGHT. I could have burned a hole straight through his skull with the lasers beams shooting out of my eyes at that point. Nikki was no help because she was off to the side laughing her ass off at my plight. All I heard was the alternating shouts of "Oh my god, I'm going to piss myself, AH HA HA HA!" and "GIBBELTY! THEN GAWKER FADDY DA! GIBBELTY!"

This was going to be a long night.

The lift operator didn't shut down the lift so I would just about stand I would get plowed over by some two year old getting of the lift, and the process would start over. After 20 minutes I was able to stand. I just wanted to get down the hill and never ski again, but unfortunately getting down the hill involved well, skiing. Of which I did not know how to do. After Nikki regained her bladder control I asked her, "Okay, do you know how to ski?" She assures me that all I needed to do was point my skis in the general direction that I wanted to go, and voila I would be skiing. I thought, okay I can do that. And then – wait for it, wait for it – FACE PLANT. See you just can't "point" your skis where you want to go, it doesn't work that way – again no one told me this. I looked back up the hill. I had gone 8 feet.

And that's how the rest of the virginal ski run would go: me flailing uncontrollably in 8 foot increments.

At the bottom of the hill I began to pick up a little momentum, and that's when the warning bells started to go off in my head. YOU'RE GOING TOO FAST TO SURVIVE! I began wailing at people down below to move out of my way because I had no idea how I was going to stop. And then my mind screamed, SACRAFICE YOUR BODY, IT'S THE ONLY WAY TO ESCAPE DEATH! So I ungracefully flopped onto my side and rolled to a stop. Thank God, I lived.

Somehow I managed to get myself back to my feet. I was exhausted. Mentally and physically. I looked back up from whence I came. I had traveled (maybe) 100 feet at about a 15 degree decline. The hill basically amounted to a glorified snow covered driveway.

I had fallen 700 times.

All my friends chimed in at once in that annoying sing-songy cheerleader tone, "Wanna go again?" I declined citing something like, "FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKERS I'VE FUCKING HAD ENOUGH. WHERE THE FUCK IS THE FUCKING LODGE WHERE I CAN FUCKING GET A FUCKING DRINK?" All the while I was trying to stomp off, but ended up more like a hamster in its exercise wheel. And that was it, my breaking point.

I yelled, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" and it could be heard in Canada. I clicked off my skis and threw them off to the side.

And because life already didn't suck enough, when I got to the lodge I realized I would be having drinks with Charlie's date. Oh what? I didn't mention that? That's right Charlie (we were not dating at the time, but I still had a wicked crush on him) had a "Friend" in town to "hang out" with. Sometimes there's just not enough joy in the world.

Our conversation went a lot like this:

The "Friend": Isn't Charlie the best? Isn't he just so sweet? Don't you just love him? We just love watching movies together, and I can't wait to marry him, blah blah BLAHBLAH!

Me: SHUT UP! FUUUUUUUUCK!

After becoming sufficiently buzzed on Captains and Coke, the gang joined the Charlie-Love-Fest in the lodge and asked if we were going back on the hill. Charlie's "Friend" said she didn't really feel like skiing anymore, she was just going to sit at the lodge and drink.

I was DEFINITELY going back outside.

The next trip down the hill was considerably better. Perhaps I was getting the hang of it, or perhaps it was the Captain Morgan. (the latter of course) When I fell, I laughed. And then very slowly I started to get the hang of it. I made one turn successfully and then another. The second post-Captains run I didn't fall once, and I realized why people would drop small car payments on this crap. The wind in your hair, the swish swish swish of your skis, the crunching of the snow, the two year olds screaming down the hill already forty times better than you would ever be – it was fucking awesome.

And then Nikki suggested we try some of the other runs.

"SURE! NO PROBLEM! ALCOHOL TALKING!"

We arrived at the top of the Black Diamond, which in fairness would have been the bunny slopes anywhere else. I was scared shitless. Captain Morgan took a hike. Nikki says something like, FINALLY we can do some real skiing.

BURN IN HELL, NIKKI.

It took me 45 minutes to get down that hill. It was a painfully slow process of criss crossing from one side of the mountain to the other, decreasing my elevation by about one foot each time. And if I got going to fast (i.e. over 2 mph) I would plop down on my butt.

And you know who stayed with me the whole way down? Charlie? That would have been sweet, huh. But alas, no he and Nikki were firing down the hill at warp speed. Instead it was Taber. After like ten minutes of getting NO. WHERE. I pleaded with him to go on down the hill. He was like no big deal, I don't want you to have to do this on your own. And he stayed with me the enitre way. How sweet was that? (YES, Charlie I'm looking at you!)

I didn't ski the big bad Black Diamond again, but I did return to the my lovely driveway, and skied by myself for about an hour. And it was one of the most peaceful times of my life. It was so quiet on the hill, except for the occasional two year old totally kicking my ass. But there I was, skiing! ME!

On the last ride up the ski lift I rode with Charlie. He looked at me and said, "Man you're awesome. I feel like I wasted my money on the "Friend" because she didn't ski. But you got back out here after that first time sucked, and still went for it." And I thought to myself, yeah I went for it. And that sums up that first year in Minneapolis – I WENT FOR IT.

And then I thought, I am SO TOTALLY over my crush on you , Charlie.

Heh.