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Thursday, February 25, 2010


My body is tired and I miss brunching. That is how it is. Yet, today, I ski. This will be my 40th day of the year. Not bad for a newbie.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Hot Older Women

As a 15-year-old, I remember being hesitant to wear eyeliner because I heard it would give me more wrinkles in my thirties. I still have trouble using heat styling tools on my hair because of the damage I fear they will do long term. Essentially, I'm willing to sacrifice quite a bit of looking good and hip now, in the hopes that I'll be a hot older woman, and here is why: I'm slightly obsessed with being a cougar. Always have been, always will be. When I hear people say phrases like, I'm in better shape at 40 than I was at 20, I get a little buzz of excitement. I think, hell ya, my future. My mind is taken over by visions of my all organic kitchen, green tea addiction, and the six pack I got from trying to keep up with my kids, just like Sarah Jessica Parker. Hey, you can't choose your fantasies. This is mine. All I can do is enjoy it.

I was blessed with a cougar filled day out on the slopes, that started with four moms on the shuttle from the parking lot talking alternately about their kids classes and the runs they were going to do that day. These woman were classic moms, except for one thing. They spend their weekends down-hill skiing at one of the most challenging mountains possible. Well, that, and for post pregnancy bodies, they were all bodacious. To say how bodacious, I must say that they looked bodacious in ski attire, which means they are not only cute, but can find ski pants that accentuates their butts. These are hot woman in ever sense. Not, Los Angeles, I will do anything to look like I am 20 hot, but like, I'm still super active, loving life, and an expert shopper hot. These woman spurred me to pay more attention through out the day to all the woman 40 plus on the slopes. It seemed everywhere I looked some silver fox was swishing around me, and I was happy to have it happen. If you're in your sixties and wanna fly past me, spraying me in the face with your snow, I ain't gonna hate. Celebrate! The death of aging like a wimp. I want to age like these badass'. In honor, at the end of the day, when my badass boyfriend led me over to the half pipe I gave it a go. Not, because I wasn't freaked out, but because there was a woman ahead of me encouraging her six-year-old son to try it. Not just try it, but to "see how big you can go." He did. She was laughing, saying, "God, I hope this doesn't make me a bad mother."

My reply: "No way. This makes you a badass mother. At least, he isn't going to live life filled with fear." With that, the woman said, "Yeah!" Turned to her husband with a huge grin and said, "Hope I'm not to old to try this!" She took off down the half-pipe, shrieking with delight. I followed. No big air was had, but I did laugh like a three-year-old who was just thrown into a foam pit at Chuck-E-Cheese for the first time. That type of joy is elusive and can only be found by trying new things, something that is harder to do as you get older and are doing fewer things for the first time. The harder it is to accomplish, the more badass it is though. I've known that since birth. So, at 15, I could have been a little sexier with eye liner and flat-ironed hair, but I'm saving that sexiness for later. When it will be really impressive. A weekend that could have been devoted to botox will now be devoted to skiing. Maybe I'm alone in my thinking, but to me, that's hot.

warning: skiing is very damaging to the skin and sunscreen must be applied. do not get all crazy "I don't care how I look." you will have missed the point entirely.

Friday, February 12, 2010

The Ski Bunny is Back

My ski boots have been adjusted, and while my deformity is still bringing me pain, I skied today and yesterday. What can I say? Today was a powder day, meaning fresh snow, and what kind of ski bum would I be if I let a calcium deposit that looks like a bone deformity keep me from the hill?

For my bravery and dedication, God game me two gifts today. I got some fresh tracks in powder, which feels like gliding over butter, and a bit like flying. Plus, I got to cockily pass a group of four dudes to go through some rough terrain. They were all, "Oh, sorry. Let us get out of your way." I was all, "Why thank you gentlemen. I would wait, but I have a devotion to the freshies. That's short for fresh snow. Laters, boys."

Really, I just passed them with a smile, but they knew. They could see, I'm a badass skier, even if only in the eyes of some lost out-of-towners.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Today, I Give Up.

Ok, ya'll. I'm officially deformed and I'm not ok with it, yet. It's not really official, either, but I have a strong feeling that my foot will never be the same. The other day, I was skiing, and my foot had a new inconvienient type of pain on the side by the pinkie toe. Not a major pain, just something I thought I would look into later. As someone who frequently runs into walls while walking and smacks my hands into near by tables and such, I've learned to ignore a lot of pain. Yes, I should pay more attention and go slower, but jesus, I'm doing my fucking best, ok? So, I feel the little pain, assume it will dissappear, but the next day the pain is still there. Only, then, and by then I mean last night, so I sit down and take a look at the problem area. Expecting to find nothing, instead I find my bone right under my pinkie toe is engorged. The damn thing is poking out more than it used to. What? What? What?

My lovely boyfriend is there for this experience. Now, my boyfriend really is lovely. He also has an amazingly wicked sense of humor. He's also really good looking. He was also raised on a farm, is used to bodies getting fucked up by being over-worked, and as a child was run over by a truck. Not much phases this guy. I tell you all this because in the moment I discovered my deformed foot, he laughed at me and said, "Well, I told you to get your ski boot re-fitted. At least now you will."

Obviously, I love him less now. I'm f-ing deformed and the bastard laughed at me and pointed out how my negligence lead to my downfall. Yes, he's right. I'm to blame. My ski boots don't fit right and, apparently, as I've been told many times, it's very important that ski boots fit right. Sorry, dudes. I'm not used to activites that include changing the shape of your bones as a consequence. It has never entered my conciousness that something like that can happen.

Last year, I lost both my toe nails to ski boots. Turns out, your toe nails fall off, it isn't pretty, but they grow back and everything is ok and it doesn't hurt that much. I'm trying to put this whole foot deformity thing in perspective, using how I was really upset to be losing my toe nails, but I survived and thrived as a base for...

No. No. I'm sorry. I just want to move back to Los Angeles or some other form of civilization that has cheep pedicure places and try to become a trophy wife. That's where I'm at today. I was born with wide feet that I've always called dinosoaur feet and been insecure about and now they may just be getting wider and freakier.

Today, my foot hurts and I don't give a damn about becoming a badass. I'd like to stay here writing and try to find some positivity, but I've gotta go get my boot re-fitted. I'm either doing that, or eating toaster struddles and look at apartments in Los Angeles online.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Even a Badass Cries

Out of no where, yesterday my friend told me a story about skiing with a totally badass chick who does lots of heli-skiing or something. I guess this girl was hucking (skiing off) cliffs and badassing around. My badass-in-many-ways-but-not-so-much-extreme-skiing friend was giving the girl massive props. "Damn, girl. You are so fucking tough and badass."

The girl had been telling stories of injuries and adventures. Her response: "Yeah, but I still cry."

I don't really know the whole story. Bits and pieces were told to me at a keg party. Brings me comfort to know that even badass's cry too. So, to reference my last blog, maybe crying doesn't suck that bad. Maybe, just letting the crying stop you from continuing sucks.

Monday, February 1, 2010


In working out, there is the good pain and the bad pain. Pushing your muscles to grow always hurts, but pushing your muscles too far and causing damage hurts bad, real bad and for a while.

As a geeky, overly analytical lady, I love when I experience metaphors physically for things I assume must also be emotionally true. Metaphors are so fun! With skiing recently, I've been experiencing a lot of the type of pain that no one talks about. The in-between pain. This pain is most commonly experienced by twisting an ankle (or in skiing by getting the damn skis stuck around a tree or something). Everyone misplaces a foot now and again when walking and, tweek, there is that pain. It f-ing hurts, it might for a bit, but by the end of the day, it will be forgotten. This is the type of pain that really makes you stronger. In the book, Younger Next Year, by Chris Crowley and Dr. Harry Lodge, they talk eloquently about this topic. I'm gonna break it down for you like you are a three year old. When you challenge the tiny muscles of your joints, you are stretching them and forcing them to re-build and become stronger. Just like lifting weights causes tears in your muscles that must be repaired hence getting bigger, every tweek of the ankle is actually like a couple of push ups for the thing. It's better if you don't have to feel the pain. Your ankle being so flexible that it never tweeks is ideal, but at least, with the pain, you can know that soon you will be stronger and better able to wildly conga on that ankle.

I really hope the concept applies as a metaphor for emotional experiences too. Let's face it. That shit hurts worse. As a child, I was so shy that I would cry if a stranger talked to me. I would just panic. I also had no concept of irony, sarcasm, or humor. Just a very literal tyke. Any joke, therefore, seemed really mean and I would cry again. This is not something I'm proud of, but hey, I was four. I can't take full responsibility for my actions. Something I've learned since then, though, is crying sucks. Sometimes necessary, like during holiday movies, but in general, feels bad, makes it harder to function, think, or move on. I'm still a bit of a sensitive ninny, but I'd like to think that every time I feel a tweek, and don't let it get to me, I'm getting stronger and more capable of fun in any scenario. By the time I'm 90, someone could drop me in the middle of the jungle, surrounded by bitchy hyenas with the magical ability to talk, like a cartoon, and I'll be so strong and charming that we'll all end up doing each others nails. If I cried in that scenario, I'm sure they would just eat me.

In conclusion, pain is ok, crying sucks.