To be honest, my favorite part was when the people who weren’t me fell down.
This might just be the perfect day. Well, the perfect day would probably include my husband,* but other than that, today’s been pretty fucking awesome.
Paul came by at 7:00am this morning, and helped me wrestle Orwell and Edison into his car. I was about as bright eyed and bushy tailed as you’d expect at this time, and also heavily laden with snacks and sodas (it’s genetically impossible for anyone related to my mother to NOT over-pack a whole bunch of treats for road trips). We dashed back to his and Jeff’s place and dropped off the dogs with our friend Christian, who, in a fit of previously undiagnosed brain damage, had agreed to watch all 4 collective dogs for the day while we frolic in the snowy mountains.
It was a sleepy, but utterly blissful 2 hour drive up to (or I guess down to, I’m still pretty hazy on Washington geography) Crystal Mountain. The clearest blue sky you ever saw soared over a twisting mountain road fringed with deep pine and bubbling icy streams. Sheer cliffs glazed with still-life waterfalls of pure ice looked down upon us. My first glance of Mount Rainier came as we turned a corner at the same time the sunrise did.
Basically the whole thing looked like a beer commercial. Or a painting from an insurance company calendar. It’s legitimately breathtaking stuff in person, but when you try to describe it, it’s all so exceptionally lame and cheesy.
Anyway, we made it up here, and I’m now sitting with a frosty pale ale, looking up at a FUCKING MOUNTAIN covered in snow and pine trees. Seriously, this thing is like 10 feet from the window of the lodge I’m sucking down pints in.
I cannot even express how cool this all is.
Living in the city, I always forget how much I miss the woods, and wide open spaces, and just…nature. When we go to visit Jay’s folks in the backwoods of Ontario, I spend most of my time ecstatically looking at trees.**** Just driving up here, I started reminiscing about how my dad used to take my brother and me hiking through the Flint Hills of northeast Kansas, and the times we tracked deer across the Kwanza plains.
That said, most of my family and I are pretty adamant that “Karla’s the ‘Big City’ Pacheco.” I am an urban creature. I like not having to drive, or leave a two block radius for anything I need. I’ve lived in the country before, and I was fucking miserable (of course, I was also in Nebraska, so I would have been miserable regardless of rurality). But when you spend a heartbreakingly gorgeous day soaking up crisp, clean air, snow-topped mountain views, and the spicy aroma of a vibrant pine forest…ditching Seattle’s urine stained downtown and moving to a log cabin in the woods seems like a brilliant idea.
Of course, I’ve also been drinking since 10:00am, so my judgment is not to be trusted. And my view out the lodge window is of the bunny hill and the entrance to the chair lift. So half the time I’m watching stupid little kids fall on their asses, and the other time I’m watching hot-shot douchebags in expensive snow pants misjudge their approach, resulting in them falling on their asses, usually with even less grace than the kids.
What I’m saying is, I’m pretty much having the time of my life. Bravo, Crystal Mountain, bravo.
Much thanks to Paul and Jeff for inviting me to tag along, letting my dogs hang out at your house, and apparently seeing nothing wrong with a tiny woman’s plan to get quietly drunk at a ski lodge all day. I apologize that you didn’t realize that a day of beer, fried foods, and my previous days’ menu of frozen burritos and box wine would require us to drive most of the way home with the window open in 18 degree weather.
In case I was being too subtle, I am sorry that I farted up your car.
But skiing. Dude, that shit is AWESOME. Maybe next time I’ll even try it with skis on.
*If you needed any more proof that I’m completely dick-whipped** it’d be that the entire day I’ve been going “Wow, I bet Jay would LOVE this.” “Jay would be out of his head with this view.” “Oh, man, Jay would probably really like skiing,” and finally…”I wish Jay was here.” Shut up.
** Interestingly, “pussy-whipped” is such a common term, but “dick-whipped” sounds…not good. Which is weird, because technically you CAN whip someone with your dick (the prosecution hereby submits to the court: the entire history of pornography, when guys do that little cock tap thing***). Why didn’t “dick-whipped” ever catch on as an expression? You guys should all start saying “dick-whipped” a lot.
*** By the way, the cock-tap is ridiculous, and if you do it to a girl/boy in real life, you look like an utter tool. It’s not sexy, it’s not cool, and anyone you’ve ever done this to thinks you’re an idiot. Just so you know.
**** And then, burning said trees. I’m kind of famous for my bonfires in Kingston at this point. Jay’s dad actually made that fact the highlight of his speech at our wedding reception.