Ski, Pee, and Blog.

Hey Y'all,

I know I have been a slacker, recently. (Hi, Tara! Can't wait to meet you in September!) But I have a good excuse. I was skiing, yesterday. Mmmm. I forgot how much I love skiing. It was a gorgeous, sunny, warm day. The conditions were still good, the snow was awesome, and I was with a fun group of people. All of whom (including the 82 year old... I kid you not!) were in better shape than I am.

It is kind of sad how mushy my “muscles” are. But we were having such a good time that I really didn't want to get left behind. So I skied my little heart out, and just about died. Fortunately, one girl has a really bad knee AND a herniated disc in her spine, so she reluctantly asked if we could go in after about six hours of non-stop downhill. (I exaggerate. There was a quick stop at the top of the mountain for sandwiches and beer, mid-day.) At this point, I was not really in control of my body, anymore. My legs were shaking so badly when we stopped that I would sit down, so that they wouldn't suspect me of seizuring, mid-slope. When I did the bumps, I prayed to the snow gods and just closed my eyes, hoping not to break a femur at the top of each mogul.

So when she asked if we could maybe call it a day, I said, “Oh, I guess. This has just been so much fun, it's sad to stop,” and then I turned into a puddle of pain and pointed my skis at the base lodge, and didn't look back until I was alone in my car and debated crying at the relief of taking my ski boots off.

Glorious!

Then I had a quick glass of wine with the crew, petted a very chill dog, chugged some water, and drove home. About a quarter of the way back, I was headed up a pass, dodging snowflakes, and I realized I had to pee. Very, very badly.

But there was nowhere good to pull over. So I kept going. Only an hour and a half left, I could make it. I unbottoned my pants. I squirmed in my seat. I called my mother as a distraction. And while she did talk for the next 50 minutes, it did not take my mind off my bulging bladder, like I had hoped.

I passed signs for gas stations. I dispise public restrooms, and was so exhausted I was sure that if I stopped I would fall asleep, so I gritted my teeth and kept driving.

The.

Last.

Ten.

Miles.

Took.

What-

Felt-

Like

Hours.

To.

Drive.

Through.

I finally made it, and did not stop to kiss The Funasaurus on my mad, cross-legged dash to the bathroom.

Peeing was bliss.

And I realize that is waaaaaaaay too much information to post on the World Wide Web, but, oh God! It felt so good.

Then I took the next 2.3 minutes to consume the rest of the pizza The Funasarus had ordered for dinner, drink a tall glass of Gatorade, and promptly crash across his lap, impeding his attempts at SuperBowl victory on the Play Station.

Good day.

This morning I woke up and checked some of my favorite blogs. And y'all? Should read THIS. My dear friend Murphy is a brilliant actress, (of previous Steel Magnolias fame) and has led a life stranger than fiction. When someone suggested she turn her life into a one-woman show, she took them seriously, and is in the throes of writing. (Last I checked, she was up at 1:00 a.m. simultaneously typing and pounding merlot, with her precious daughter sound asleep upstairs, while a rock star played Flamenco music in her living room. I aspire to be half the woman she is, someday.) Anywhos... she's posting some of her early drafts for the show on a blog, to get feedback from a potential audience. How often do you get to have a hand in a live theater production? Go, go!