El Nuevo Año.

1 Jan

I know today is New Year’s, because I have seen at least six Facebook status updates along the lines of, “No cell phone” or “Dropped my phone in the toilet.” Ringing in the new year with keg stands, several dozen bags of Franzia, Rumpleminz shots, and gallons upon gallons of cheap champagne is a recipe for cellular disaster. There’s no way around it. You’re either going to stumble into the bathroom with your Droid in your back pocket, crash down onto the toilet with your pants halfway down and dump your phone straight into the toilet bowl, or you’re going to lose it in the street on your drunken rampage back from the bars to your apartment and it’s going to get run over by a Toyota Camry, never to be seen again. You just need to accept it. That’s why my number one new year’s resolution is always to get myself a new and improved cell phone. You should do the same.

The temperature yesterday was subzero. Absolutely abominable. The high was zero degrees. 0. The windchill factor was -26.  That’s not enough degrees. Our new year’s eve afternoon was spent snowboarding at Ski Cooper in Leadville. I prepared for the polar arctic weather by layering as much as was feasibly possible. My getup included an Under Armour shirt, a thermal, my North Face fleece jacket, and my normal Bonfire snowboarding coat, a pair of Under Armour thermal pants, another pair of pajama pants, my Gortex snowboarding pants, a pair of snowboarding socks, a turtle neck that covered my neck and face, my Burton Oven Mitt gloves, hand warmers, foot warmers, and a partridge in a pear tree.

I was freezing.

Within minutes, my toes had lost all feeling, and were aching inside my boots. My fingertips were solid blocks of ice, and my barely exposed nose and cheekbones were frostbitten, red, and throbbing after every run down the mountain. Hypothermia was the new year’s special this year. I will never recover.

I think I have poor circulation. No matter what I do, my hands and feet are always frozen solid. As we speak, I have my legs under the covers of my toasty bed, and my feet are still chilled to the bone. In an attempt to raise my core body temperature overall in hopes of spreading comforting heat to my colder extremities, I layer up my torso as much as humanly possible without restricting my movement by turning myself into Randy from  A Christmas Story.

Until next time, lads.


“I’m about to eat weed candy that is known to make people hallucinate. This is shaping up to be either my best or worst Christmas ever.”


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