Hey guys, I’m alive again and there’s strips and stuff!

After my puke festival last time, I’m feeling much better!  Not perfect, but better.

For some reason I’ve been feeling pretty dizzy, but I think that’s due to the new lightbulb I got last week, which is way too bright.  Seriously, when that thing’s on it feels like beams of light are burning into my brain.

Fortunately, my brain has yet to catch fire.  I’d knock on wood, but my table is metal and plastic, and I’m pretty sure the walls are sheetrock.

There’s a wooden bureau in my room, but it’s just out of arms reach.

I’ll knock on that once I’m done typing this up.

That bureau, by the way, still has the small tub of dried out spackle on it (for those of you who know about that).

Anyways, I had that ski trip last weekend, and I really didn’t get into much detail about it on Monday, so here goes!

This was the third year we had done the trip, and the skiing this time was absolutely fantastic.  In years past, there was a portion of the mountain that I hadn’t had the chance to ski down, so I really wanted to make sure that we did it this time around.  My friend Brenda and I took the first lift half way up the mountain, and then skied down to a second lift to take us to the top.

Then we walked about a quarter of a mile slightly uphill on skis to the desired run.  That’s not entirely correct; Brenda was able to make it all the way on her skis, I gave up half way and walked with my skis over my shoulder.

Anyways, we got there, skied the trail, and it was totally worth the trek.  It also landed us at a new ski-lift which would take us back to the very top.  Sweet!

Along this lift, there was an intermediate station where you could get off or continue to the top.  We decided to continue.  Now, when approaching a lift station, you’re supposed to raise up your skis.

I was aware of this.

If you’re continuing past that station and not getting off, you’re also supposed to lift up your poles.

I was not aware of this.

SCCCRRRRREEEEEEEKLKLKKKKKASKKASDHIFGAHDKFJDDFGHH

As loudly as it was able, a pole of mine scraped across the floor of the lift station, the horrible sound subsiding only after the lift carried us higher.

Man, that was annoying-oh crap.

My ski pole had been bent at roughly a forty-five degree angle.  I figured this was no big deal and attempted to bend it back into-

SNAP

Oh crap, again.

The pole had, unsurprisingly, broken in half.  Once we got off at the final lift station, the operator yelled for me to put the broken pole on the station porch.  I waddled my way over and saw a huge pile of broken poles; apparently I wasn’t the only idiot that day.

With one remaining ski pole, I went back down to the lodge and asked the attendant how much it would cost for a replacement (I was using rental gear).

“I dunno,” the lady said, pointing down the hall, “ask over there.”

I arrived at a new desk and asked an employee about the replacement cost.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he said.

It could have ended right there.  I could have said something to the effect of, “Oh, cool, thanks!” and that would have been it.

But no, I’m a dummy.  I insisted that I pay for the pole, and it cost me fourteen bucks.  That’s like, a ton of rice.

Or bread.

Or Chef Boyardee.

Finally, a quick livestream update!  Things are a bit tight for me this week, so the stream will resume next Friday (March 8th)!  See you then!