Laundry detergent brands are really into the holidays. Tide? Joy? They’re inadvertently keeping the Christmas spirit alive all through the year.
I really, REALLY love Christmastime. Nothing brings me more joy than blinking lights strewn about pine trees and gutters, red and green splashed all over the inside of department stores, Christmas carols beating through the speakers of my car and at the mall, big, creepy Santa-impersonators in the stores, 600 million metric tons of snow covering the ground, and The Grinch playing in my DVD player day in and day out. Ahhh, it spikes my blood sugar just thinking about it.
Or maybe that was the pint of blueberry pomegranate ice cream I just consumed, and the two dozen sugar cookies I’m about to inhale. I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.
I am so white. So. White. It’s been at least two years since I’ve allowed myself to reach the epitome of paleness that I have reached at this facet in time. Usually I tan pretty regularly, keeping the albino in me at bay. But with all the moving around I’ve been doing lately, my flesh has slowly but surely evolved into a state of complete transparency. You can see the intricacies of my veins and arteries through my skin. It’s nauseating, really. I had to go buy the palest of all makeups this week. At this point, it’s going to take at least 200 minutes of intense tanning bed action to get me back to a color that suggests life exists in my carcass. Someone buy me a tanning package. I mean, it IS the holidays after all.
Not only am I whiter than Vanilla Ice, but I am also zapped of any and all moisture. My skin is cracking and flaking. I am drier than Ben Stein’s sense of humor. I need to hook myself up to an IV and pump fluids into my vessel before I wither away completely. There isn’t enough St. Ives in the world to fix my dehydrated epidermis. I guess this is the end.
Since Vail is a tropical rainforest this week, yesterday Trent and I drove out to Breckenridge where it was actually snowing for a day of snowboarding con mi hermano. It was a good five hour stint when all was said and done. Today I woke up with sore muscles that I didn’t even know existed in my ass. How does this happen?
My neighbor won’t stop hammering. First I thought he was knocking angrily at the window as my dog shit in his front yard (I pretended not to notice), but then it continued long after we came inside. Can’t people understand I’m trying to concentrate over here? Well, I am.
Even though I’m not really doing anything.
And by “not really” I mean that I’m just…not.
“You don’t need to have kids. If someone needs birthing that bad, they’ll come out of someone else.”