22 Feb

Tiger Woods has finally realized that claiming he did not cheat on his wife is about as believable as Star Jones telling people she lost all her weight by simply cutting soda out of her diet. Since the cat is out of the bag and there’s no use attempting to cover it up, Woods is now offering his wife 60 million dollars to stay with him for, and I quote, “at least two more years.”


Alright—Tiger, a marriage is not like a Verizon Wireless contract. You can’t resign it for another two years. What kind of deal is this? What kind of factors went into calculating this money figure? Like how do you put a price on faking a relationship for a certain period of time? And why? I have so many questions. On the other hand, for sixty million dollars, I would probably stay married to William Hung and his grandfather. What are the rules in this little contract? Does she have to live with him? Sleep with him? Continue to wear her wedding band?

I’m starting to think that Tiger Woods has some deeper psychological issues going on here. What sane individual pays such an enormous sum of money to force someone who hates them to hang around? This just doesn’t make sense. Listen, Tiger. The woman hates you. She hates your guts. If she wasn’t good enough for you in the first place and made you feel like you had to run off and cheat, then it is safe to assume you don’t care to be in wedlock with her… Insanity.

So I’m in Vail, Colorado, snowboarding my life away, slurping hot cocoa, wearing entirely gray (ew). On my first day on the mountain, I ripped around a tight corner, and skidded across a solid sheet of ice going a million miles per hour. Needless to say, that didn’t end well. Instantly I smacked my knee, and pain shot through my entire body. It was bad. It took me a few moments to be able to even get up, but I was in such excruciating pain that I actually felt stomach sick for at least five minutes. I sadly snowplowed the rest of my way down, cringing in pain, and then hobbled back to the condo to check out the damage.

My knee was instantly swollen to the size of a large grapefruit. It was hideous. We iced the shit out of it to keep it from getting worse, but the mountain definitely won that battle for that day. The swelling literally swallowed my kneecap. Gone. It is the size of Rhode Island, and the colors of the Northern Lights. Unfortunately, sitting in the condo all day eating Triscuits and watching The Weather Channel isn’t exactly my type of vacation, so I decided I would go back out anyway the next day, because I’d rather break my knee cap shredding than lay on my back and Facebook stalk all afternoon. It’s a fine plan, as long as I don’t fall on it again. I would scream so loud an avalanche would start, mark my word. We’ll see how things go.

On the plus side, I do have some very exciting news. The following day, Trent and I headed up to the very top of Vail Mountain. It was snowing heavily, the trees were covered, the view was amazing. After we got off the lift, Trent went over to “check out a trail map,” but soon called me over and told me to unstrap and come look at the map with him. After climbing through the roped off section where the map was, I looked up to see Trent on one knee, ring in hand, ready to propose. 🙂 It was perfect! Very tip top of the mountain, my favorite place on earth, favorite time of year, snowing—ahhh. I’m so happy! He is the best.

WELL, I’m off to watch Dexter (my new addiction), snuggle up with my man, and sip hot cocoa. And then eat pasta. And then watch more Dexter. Then bed.

Trent: “We should have that photographer take some pictures!”
Me: “We could…but that costs money.”
Trent: “…..babe, we just got engaged to be married. I think it’s okay.”



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