One of the fab members of my crit group, the Non-Biscuit Ninjas of Death, is going skiing. Skiing and I do not get along. In fact, if our crit group was called the Non-Biscuit Skiing Ninjas of Death, I wouldn't have joined. I would have run screaming with fear in the opposite direction.
But lucky for me, it isn't. Because the addition of another word would screw with our acronym, which is N-NOD. It sounds like a league of superpeepul or a weapons system designed by the goverment. Can't you just hear some general shouting, "The shaved sasquatch are attacking! Arm N-NOD!"
Back to skiing. See, the first (and only) time I went downhill skiing, I was in Quebec. My dad lived there, on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere kinda like a hermit. And a couple of mountains over, there was a ski resort. Now, you also need to know that I don't speak French. The only complete sentence I can say in French translates as "Do it to me harder, my little love pig," which is not exactly the best way to impress your father with your mad language skilz.
So we went skiing. And I soon learned that I was meant to do a lot of things, but sailing around with boards strapped to my feet was not one of them. The tow rope on the bunny slope tried to eat me. It jerked; I fell down, and one of my gloves stuck to it, dragging me up the hill on my face and nearly towing me into the gears at the top before someone turned it off. I finally got down the hill, only halfway there I realized that my instructor hadn't ever told me how to stop. (I hate that instructor with the fire of a thousand suns. I don't care how cute he was.) So I ended up rolling to a stop with my skis crossed over this Quebecish guy with bad breath. Probably had something to do with the fact that they dip their french fries in mayo. And he's yelling right in my face. In French.
Later on, my boyfriend told me that the guy was calling me an idiotic American butt monkey. I'm pretty sure he was kidding, but the operative word in that sentence is "pretty." I'm not entirely sure.
Needless to say, after I untangled my skis and wiped the mayo-scented spittle off my face, I went inside and drank hot chocolate the rest of the day. I've never gone skiing again, and I never will. I'm too afraid of the angry French people.
skiing is a skill I never care to take up but cursing in foreign tongues is.
I'm not a skiier either. The only time I did ski, I fell down the tow rope taking people down with me. Angry Wisconsin people :0) THey weren't speaking French but there was an F word involved.
There there, little bunny -- you don't have to go skiing if you don't want to. I don't recall Bryan inviting anyone else, anyway.
Your 'mayo-breath Quebecish guy' still has me chortling.
I live amidst the greatest snow on earth! Even the Olympics thought so...
But I would never know because I hate skiing. I hate snow. I hate cold. And I hate being wet and cold IN the snow. Ugh!
Interesting about the fry thing. Here, we mix mayo and ketchup and call it fry sauce. It's pink. And very good. But strange if you've never heard of it before. It probably makes my breath stink...
*covers mouth and looks away*
Don't feel bad, Ying hates skiing too. I would tell you the story, but other than the injury it's rather boring.
"Do it to me harder" -- OMG! That's funny!
BTW Carrie -- I nominated you for an award on my blog. How do you say "scrap" in French?
Why in the world do you know how to say "Do it to me harder, my little love pig" in French???
I tried it once--it was a deadly combo: a single friend with moderate skiing skillz who promised to show me how to ski, and a cute little blonde who came with us and had been skiiing since she was five.
Short version: he showed me how to stand up and go down the bunny hill, but before showing me how to stop, turn, etc, he insisted we follow said ski bunny to the top of Mount Spokane. By the time I got to the bottom, I was red-faced angry, and had one ski and 1 1/2 poles left for equipment. Luckily, it was rented equipment--the $1 insurance policy was the best money I ever spent.
I have not been skiing or snow boarding yet, but my man insists we'll go one day. Escapes me why he would want to go again after breaking his wrist one time and getting a concussion the other!?!?!
See, there's a big thing missing in your description of my ski trip to Colorado...yeah, I'm taking 50 teenagers - on a bus.
So, any jealously can be wiped away now.
I love snowboarding. I'd move to Colorado if I could find a job.
Ray: C'mon, man - you're invited.
Carrie: Sorry, we're all full.
Ray: We can sneek a Guinness session.
Carrie: Really, we're full.
And yes N-NOD sounds fierce. Because it is.
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