Before I can tell you that part of the story, I have to tell you this part first:
- The opposite of Progress is Congress, as in the US House of Representatives.
- No TV show will ever be as funny as 30ROCK, and I speak for every woman when I say, “I love you Tina Fey. Thank God life gives you Lemons sometimes.”
- Just because someone LOOKS like they’re tweaking out on meth… doesn’t mean they are, so don’t judge a book by its cover.
With that, once again – my travel karma was… par for the course. Half of our party couldn’t go; we flew in during a white-out; we flew back the day that Sequestration was scheduled to take effect; and - as usual, my face got so wind and sun burnt that it swelled, freckled and peeled. No, you read that right. My skin was actually flaking off.
Seriously, if the journey of a hundred trillion cells begins with a single nibble, Hannibal Lector or someone on bath salts would have looked at me like a Tootsie-Roll pop and pondered exactly how many licks it would take to get to the center of me. Also…
I had to explain to someone that I was not on meth.
And, as there’s no polite or tactful way to explain what happened, I’m just going to say it. On the way home from Denver, I was at the airport, in the bathroom, near the sink area, BY MYSELF, when my cheeks and chin honestly felt like they were on fire. And I don’t mean a little itch. I mean the kind of itch that you should only scratch at home. Armed with nothing more than Chapstick, brown paper-towels and the sleeve of my Polar Fleece, I began a rub-fest that would send a Labrador Retriever to Nirvana.
It went something like this:
- I rinsed my face with cold water.
- Dried it with the sleeve of my silky, soft Burton ski shell.
- Put Chapstick on a brown paper towel and proceeded to wax myself like a car.
Now, when you’re in said moment, you don’t pay attention to your surroundings. In fact, I would argue you’re so lost in total and complete bliss that you have absolutely no idea people are watching you.
Turns out, one man’s heaven can be another man’s hell. Who knew?
Between the vigorous buffing I was doing and the low moan sounds I was making, the women who, unbeknownst to me, began flooding the bathroom, seemed to have one-of-two reactions:
- Don’t make eye contact with the Junkie at sink two, or
- I’ll have what she’s having.
Now, because I hate awkward and I always feel the need to explain myself, I turned to the person staring at me and said, “I swear I’m not scratching my face off because I’m on meth. I have a really bad sunburn and my DNA has been flaking off everywhere all day. You would NOT want to see this sink under a black light.” Sometimes I wish I would actually listen to the little voice in my head that says, “Please stop talking.”
The GOOD news is that Steamboat was amazing. It was awesome spring skiing at its best. And, though I usually love doing different resorts every year, I may have lost my heart to Steamboat. To quote Tina Fey in 30ROCK, “I want to go to there.” Talk to you later.