I wish I was a personal shopper. I really do. Most people gripe and moan about fighting the hustle and bustle of having to park near the equator when they’re at the mall, shoving through sale-hungry crowds that smell like armpits and pretzels, carrying more bags than a desert nomad, and filling their cars with more packages than your average gypsy would feel comfortable with, but not me. No sir. Christmas shopping for other people actually gives me more joy than shopping for myself.
Really though. When I hear people complain about having to Christmas shop, I want to offer to do it for them. Tell me the person’s age, taste, and favorite color, give me a price limit and send me out the door, Mrs. Jones–I’ll do it! The only person I am not able to shop for is my father. Unlike most people, my dad isn’t greedy. Therefore he never wants anything. Unless, of course, it kills a moose, filets a fish, builds a cabin, or brings him back to Canada. Unfortunately I know less about hunting and fishing gear than I do about the engineering that went into Sputnik, which is very, very little. Therefore, every year, my dad acts surprised when he opens up a card containing a gift card to Cabela’s. He’s a good man for acting shocked to receive it, but dad, after you get that six or seven years in a row, it’s okay to make a joke about it. My feelings won’t be hurt.
This year to mix it up and throw him off a bit, I wrapped his tiny little gift card in a large box filled with wasteful amounts of tissue paper. That’ll get him….for a few seconds at least. Ahh. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.
Making snow angels: a favorite pastime of children during the winter months. I get the idea, but kids making angels in the snow gives people the impression that angels are wearing MC Hammer pants. Call me old fashioned, but I’ve never seen an angel partake in hammer time, ya dig? To solve this error, I suggest kids learn a new technique, where instead of making a jumping-jack motion with their knobby little legs, they keep their legs together and do that oblique exercise where they just move them back and forth like a pendulum. Problem solved. They need to may me for this stuff. Private lessons start Tuesdays and Thursdays. Feel free to sign up online.
Reuseable totes. You see them everywhere now in effort to make the world “greener.” I think they’re a great idea, but a better idea would be inventing a way to remember to actually use them. More than once, I have fully intended on bringing my canvas shopping bags with me into the grocery store, as to not waste half a dozen plastic or paper bags afterward, and not one single time have I yet remembered to actually use them. One time I even got as far as remembering to bring them, but then leaving them in my back seat when I entered the super-market. By the time I have my 2%, Cinnamon Life, honey crisp apples, and Wheat Thins piling up into a giant paper bag, it’s too late for me to scurry out into the parking to fetch the other ones. Shame.
I don’t mean to sound impatient, but where is my Purple Heart for being wounded on the great mountain of Vail? I’m starting to wonder if I should perhaps have considered consulting a physician after my horrific knee accident while snowboarding over a week ago. My knee had swollen to enormous proportions, and the bruise that began there creeped all the way down to my ankle, around the back of my knee, and halfway up my thigh, where it continued to spread. According to my dad who has only seen a picture, it appears I have gotten a hematoma, and at least a pint of blood has bled into my surrounding muscles, making it very painful and stiff. Hopefully I don’t lose partial functionality of my knee. I know Dr. House looks good with a cane, but I’m not sure I could pull it off with quite as much class as he does.
Ah. Reminiscing about Colorado makes me pine after the mountains. Returning to Kansas makes me think, “What the f*** am I doing in the midwest?” There’s nothing here to do except meth, and my teeth are too important to me to dabble with that. Vail does have its flaws though. I found out that they’re a little behind the times on some things. For instance, apparently they have never heard of street lights, queso dip, or Blockbuster. For all I know they’re still using dial-up and sending messages via pigeons!
Since I plan to move to Colorado one day very, very soon, I am genuinely concerned about losing my favorite Mexican joint (which in case you’re from New Guinea and don’t know what restaurant I’m referring to, it’s Mi Ranchito–get with the program). Their espinaca dip is so delicious, it makes everyone within a three mile radius orgasm when you eat it. I was dumbfounded to discover that they don’t believe in queso there. So, that’s one of the first things I need to fix upon arrival.
The next, and most obvious problem: no street lights. Can someone explain to me why it makes sense to light the streets in the quietest residential neighborhoods, but not the dangerous, winding, steep, icy inclines on the roads in the Colorado mountains?
The final issue is that there is no Blockbuster in Vail. That’s a cash cow waiting to happen. We had to travel nearly half an hour to get our Dexter fix, which was not desirable. Anyway, I’ve got big plans to fix that town and make it everything I ever hoped for.
Anyhooter, I’m off. I’m busy conning Kim VanNordstrand to do my dirty work for me and find out how to make me famous. As a side note, Kim–making me morbidly obese and then dropping 150 pounds on The Biggest Loser, having 22 children, and growing the longest fingernails ever recorded are not options. Find me a publisher, and I’ll let your kids live.
“On a scale of 1 to Chris Brown, how mad are you?”