So, how was your weekend? Lovely? Fun? Boring? Horrible? Well, I hope it was fabulous. It’s getting to that time of year when weekends are uber-crazy. Everything is just wacky, everyone is busy, and there’s always something going on. I’m okay with that, I think. Yes, I love sleeping in (and did so on Saturday until about 10:30 a.m.) and killing time in the kitchen by trying out new recipes (I did THAT on Sunday. Sweet potato fries with fancy dip, breakfast tartlets, and brownies). But there’s nothing wrong with hanging out and seeing friends (did that on Friday night after going to the Timberwolves game with Geo) or spending time with family (yup, did that tonight. Had dinner at my parents house and helped my mom construct a collage-y type thing of family photos).
The one major kink in the chain this weekend, though, was the rando ice storm that jacked up Minnesota on Saturday night. I spent the day running errands and cooking above-average tasting stuff. Then at about 11 p.m., Geo had this genius idea to go to Perkins in our pajamas. For pretty much no reason. Again: Rando. I brushed my hair for the first time that day and we bundled up to go out for unlimited diet Cokes and probably a Chocolate Chipper Sundae or something. Zummy! We walked outside and I came thisclose to wiping out on our front steps. In the past few hours, the rain had turned into a deadly ice trap and there was like 1/2 inch of ice covering everything. Still determined, we started driving away, but my car slid right through the first stop sign. Strike one. Then we slipped right through a second one. Strike two. Then, after deciding that driving to a ghetto Perkins in our pajamas during an ice storm was just not a sane plan, we turned around to go home. I barely had to turn the wheel to pull an impromptu U-turn because my car just skidded to wherever it wanted. Strike three. We’re out. Totally crazy-fun Saturday night ruined.
Then this morning, Geo asked me if I wanted to go run around the street sliding around on the ice. Normal people ask that, right? No. No, DOGS want to do those kinds of things. Anyway, I politely declined, noting my inherent ability for tripping and falling at the mere SIGHT of slippery surfaces. To tempt those icy fates would be dental suicide. I keep having these visions of me slipping face-first onto some ice and knocking out my front teeth, and I’m particularly fond of those particular teeth. In response to that fear, Geo said, “Well, Pharon, that’s why you don’t fall ON YOUR FACE. You fall BACKWARDS.” Really? Gee, thanks Isaac Newton for explaining that to me. All these years, I missed that basic concept.
Historically, I don’t do well “walking” in the “winter”. There was that time I slipped on the ice outside a hotel in Iowa City in front of a massive post-bar close crowd. I slipped while trying to get over a huge mound of snow to get to my car and fell face-first into a snow bank, dumping all the contents of my purse into the snowy gutter. And in general, I just look like a dog on a skating rink whenever I go anywhere. I’m uncomfortable. I’m uneasy. I’m an accident waiting to happen.
So besides the ice in a vodka tonic, I prefer to keep far away from the frozen death trap. I hate that feeling I get right BEFORE I slam onto my tailbone and/or face. You know the one: the momentary airiness of your legs, the reflex to try and stabilize yourself with the other foot, only to do a little awkward shuffle before becoming all too aware of the weight of your own body and that evil, evil beyotch that is Gravity. Well, call me crazy, but I’ll do whatever I can to, eh hem, sidestep that landmine.
Okay, folks. Let’s keep our feet firmly planted on the ground this week, shall we? We’ve only got a few more days before the holiday season really kicks off, and I’d like to make it through 2010 with all my original teeth.