Winter Holiday, Part II

I kicked a door and hurt my foot yesterday. Not very smart, but Joe punching his truck and putting a dent in it is not very smart, either. That happened on the way home from Tahoe.

I wrote "Winter Holiday, Part I" after playing/walking in the snow for three hours. My mind was swimmign with brilliant thoughts, thoghts that rose up while the snow drifted down. Snow is good for thinking. I found an old cemetary and got nearly lost and then was found again--I walked down a dead-end road, turned around, and didn't see my footprints from earlier. Why? Because it snowed over them, duh! But that didn't keep me from panicking for a bit. I made it back okay and then ate a huge-ass lunch. Then I wrote on my laptop until the battery wore out.

Now all of my snow brilliance is lost. It melted. I'm not sure what I was going to say, only that I hope next year we are living in a place with seasons. Fall and Winter and Spring, rain and humidity and ice and leaves turning.

The rest of the trip was fun. The snowboarders returned and we played Pass the Pigs and drank wine and ate veggie chili. I put TVP in the chili and Joe and I had lethal fats for a whole day after.

We needed chains to get out. Joe bought some at a gas station and our good friends spent nearly an hour helping us get them on--otherwise, Joe and I would have been screwed. We're mechanically inept. Then we made it to the ski resort and the parking lot was full (!!), so we rolled on out of town. Once we got down out of the mountains we pulled over and did a very bad job of taking off the chains (hint: when removing snow chains, undo the hook facing the axle FIRST, then undo the one closest to you). Joe had to tear the lid off the cooler and lie down on it to get under the truck and find the back hook. This took about 20 cold, dirty mintues. Joe swore and shook. Initially it scared me, but I stood back and watched the show and admired how manly he was behaving. This is when he punched his truck. Not smart, but he did get the chains off.

As for me, I kicked a door yesterday. My stupid job in the stupid store has no immediate bathroom access. We have to walk down the sidewalk to use a public restroom. I don't mind this, but sometimes there's no soap or toilet paper. Yesterday I walked to work, and by the time I got there I had to go. The public restroom door was locked. I grumbled and decided to try again later. After 30 minutes passed, I tried again. No. Door locked. This is when I kicked the door and yelled GODDAMNIT!!! like a crazy homeless person. The right to take a dump when it's time to take a dump is important to me. I don't want to liken my job to being a POW at Guantanamo Bay.

I was wearing cowboy boots yesterday. They are not very good for kicking, and my foot hurt all day long. What is dumber, punching a truck or kicking a door? A food is harder to fix than a dent, but Joe could have hurt his hand while I merely could have scratched my boot. When Joe has a temper tantrum I usually snicker to myself...but I think all in all, my temper may be worse.