It's actually chilly here in Texas. It's 70 degrees. At midnight.
I sat on my back porch tonight as I do every night, and actually shivered. It was wonderful. Then 3 minutes later I was pissed because I was cold and had to come in. Gawd, I'm bitchy.
It made me think of growing up in the panhandle of Texas where it was always cool in the evenings, and the wind always blew. ALWAYS.
Then that made me think of when it snowed and how we NEVER got to have bad weather days in Borger. Because if Milton, our superintendent, could get out of his driveway, we had school.
I wanted to go slash his tires or dump 3 pickup loads of snow at the end of driveway, but I never could talk my mom into taking me over there. She was always a party pooper.
Then THAT made me think of how in high school on Fridays we would come to school packed and ready to go to Red River after the last bell for a weekend of fun-filled skiing. Six to eight of us would go almost every weekend that there was snow on the ground and make the 3 1/2 hour trek thru the mountains of New Mexico and room together in our tiny one star motel.
Then THAT made me think of the time we went and there was no heat in the one star motel and we were stupid girls and never complained to management, so to heat up the cabin, burned everything (including the hair out of our brushes) we could in the ashtrays because they had no fireplaces in one star motels, and slept in all the clothing we brought. And Marcy, who was my best friend since first grade, melted her coat on the floor furnace when it decided to come back on in the middle of the night and had to ski in mine.
Then THAT made me think of how I only skied probably ten times all those years, and actually went to look hott in my white ski bibs and new sweaters and sit in the lodge and scan for boys with my other unathletic friend Susie. We always had much more fun than our sweaty, muscular, athletic girlfriends that skied did.
Then THAT made me think of the time I really did ski because the guy I had had a crush on for 3 years was staying in his vacation ski cabin next to our one star hotel and he wanted me to go on some runs with him. Then, because of the combination of altitude, nervousness to ski in front of him and trying to get off the damn lift without biting the dust, being TOO cute and hott in my 28 layers of clothing on, and the aftermath of tying one on the night before, I puked on the mountain in front of him. I don't mean I spit up. I mean I hurled very loudly and unlady-like. I am talking wretched. With the whole knees wobbly/swaying with the slightest breeze/vomit-coughing thing. On skis. On a mountainside. In my white hott ski suit.
Then THAT made me think that's why we aren't married now.
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