Maybe I'll Be a Ski Bum for Halloween

So Arapahoe Ski Basin opened up, today!!!!

The White Ribbon of Death is now available for anyone willing to ski down it and ruin the bottoms of their skis.

I am currently devising the shortest route to get home, grab said skis, and get up there before the sun melts it all off.

I desperately miss the mountains, sometimes, even though I really don't live that far away, at all. There is something lovely, and dangerous, and divine about huge mountains, in the same way that there is something equally magical and scary about the ocean. But you get less sand up your butt when you ski, so I gravitated towards the mountains. Princesses don't really do sand up the butt.

Princesses don't really do "cold," either, but we do do cute ski pants and boots, so it's a decent trade off. Not to mention, you can eat all sorts of fondue and chalet-appropriate food and hide it under a cute sweater, instead of having to nibble frozen bits of flavored ice to keep your bikini figure. Score 1 for the mountains.

Mmmm. Cheese.

Plus, Norway is cold, so I have been in training. Although they do have beaches there, too, supposedly.

Colorado is a good transitional state, in any case.

I heard from The Pink Shoe that it SNOWED in Ohio, yesterday. I am supremely jealous. I am very ready for a little snow around here. (I will regret saying that the moment I get caught without my jacket. Then you will hear me whine about why-isn't-it-summer-already-fuck-this-snow-crap.) It's something of a tradition that it snows on Halloween around here, and all the little Princess Jasmines and Harry Potters arrive with their buckets of candy and bulky snow jackets on. I love that.

Although I have noticed that the whole trick-or-treat phenomenon has died down, since I was a kid. I remember putting in hours and hours into a perfect corn on the cob costume (oh yes, I was. I wore a milk jug on my head to keep the shape and everything. Fuck the traditional witch-stuff. Why be a devil when you can be CORN ON THE COB?) and the streets being mobbed with tons of other kids. I feel like that it has died off into a trickle of somewhat-only-kinda-costumed-not-very-exciting-kids. Where did they go?

Dum dum dum. Seems like an appropriate conversation for Friday the 13th.

We didn't get a single trick-or-treater last year.

That could be because we were living in a small, trendy, urban apartment building that was locked down tighter than a Swiss Bank Account, with no kids in residence. Or maybe it's due to costumed-child snatching gnomes. I just don't know.

This year we're in a house in a neighborhood full of yuppies and toddlers. I expect SOME trick-or-treaters, even if kids these days are fun haters and don't put out the kind of effort we did, back in my day. Burning poop and raiding candy bowls left out by stupid people who think there's any sort of honor system amongst masked, cracked-out-on-sugar 10-year-olds. Ah. Those were the days.

Hi, when did I turn into a surly old lady?

Off to buy a cane (perhaps in pink?) and whine about my every ache and pain. But I promise to give you really good candy, if you come to my house in a really good costume. I pinky swear. And back in my day, that meant something.