A Snowboarding Story
Mood:  accident prone
Now Playing: UB40
So here I am—still in moving Hell. It hasn’t rained in like 142,000 days in Phoenix and I pick the one day to move that it fricking rains and rains and rains. Good news? My mover cancelled until Tuesday which gives me more time to pack so that those poor bastards can schlep my crap instead of me. (This is my 5th move in 4 years—the movers are taking everything I can shove in a box and tape shut).

Usually when the forecasters say we have a 10% chance or greater of rain it means absolutely dick. It never happens. They may as well say that Phoenix has a 30% chance of snow because it’s got the same probability—none. That is until this weekend. Not only is it raining like no one’s business this weekend, all weekend thanks very little, it’s actually snowing in Scottsdale. It’s such a ginormous deal that it’s actually made national television. I know there is something rather freaky about seeing snow piled up on cactus but please. Apparently, a slow news weekend.

I’d love to drag out the snowboard and go hit the Scottsdale 'slopes' and cause some damage…to myself…but I need to keep at it.

But speaking of snowboarding, here is a Meg snowboarding story.

A few years ago, I was visiting family in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. My sister-in-law and I decided to hit the slopes one day. We ended up going over to Truckee, Idaho, in order to hang more with locals and not so much with the Hollywood/hoi polloi crowd who are more concerned with what they are wearing, how they are looking and who is looking at them then in just hitting the slopes for some fun.

So there we are swooshing away. Me on my board and Darci on her skis just having a good ol’ time. Then Darci goes over a mogul and disappears from view. Before I can react AKA stop my silly ass, I am flying over a mogul that has about a 4-ft drop on the other side. Now I love to board but I’m not all that good as I have the sense of balance God gave dry wall plaster. Combine that with an unexpected obstacle and you know what happened. I went down like a sack of fricking potatoes. Kablam!

The next thing I know, I open my eyes and there’s Jesus, looking pretty scraggy, gazing down at me. I ask “Am I dead?” and Jesus says “No, you’re fine.” And I reply “Are you sure?” and Jesus responds, laughing, “Yes, I’m sure.” So I say “Well, if I’m not dead, how come I see a dirty Jesus?”

All of a sudden, I hear lots of people laughing. I look around and I realize that it’s not Jesus, it’s some long haired, bearded dude from the ski patrol who came to help me after I clubbed myself into unconsciousness—no small feat considering I was wearing a helmet.

So I ended up with a slight concussion, which didn’t stop me from drinking the minute we hit the lodge, and an enemy for life. Apparently the other snow patrol dudes thought “Dirty Jesus” was so funny, it became the guy’s new nickname. Sorry dude. I call ‘em like I see ‘em, head trauma or not....