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Winter Vacation. Woo.

I�m not going to be at work the rest of the week. I�m not going to be at work the rest of the week. Nanny, nanny boo boo!!! Okay. That doesn�t really work to taunt y�all with in a sing-songy voice. Bummer. Nonetheless, the fact that my taunting didn�t really pan out the way I�d hoped it would really doesn�t negate the utter elation I have for the fact that I am leaving the office for three full days. What does negate the utter elation I have for the fact that I am leaving the office for three full days is the fact that I am headed into the fucking snow.

I didn�t realize it until last night, but I really don�t like cold weather. In fact, I don�t like it so much that I pretty much dress like shit for the four months when it is unbearably cold in Kansas City. My casual winter wardrobe consists of faded Cold Gravy long-sleeved t-shirts and three pairs of jeans. When queried by my husband as to where my warm winter sweaters where, I just stared at him blankly and blinked. Warm winter sweaters? I dunno. I honestly could think of only one such sweater, and every time I�ve ever warn it I sweat so much I smell like the inside of a junior high boys locker room. My lack of sweaters seems to pose a problem, because I�ve been informed that proper ski attire consists of 1) long underwear base layer; 2) turtleneck and warm pants second layer; 3) warm winter sweater third layer; and finally 4) ski coat and ski pants outer layer. Also, somehow, I am supposed to wear something called a neck gator, sock liners, thick outer socks, glove liners, thick outer gloves, ear warmers, headband, stocking cap, goggles and/or expensive sunglasses, lip balm, sunscreen and a partridge in a pear tree. Did I mention I hate turtlenecks or anything that remotely gives me the feeling of choking? This is going to suck.

I�m not really scared of the skiing part. I�ll either figure that out or I won�t. While packing all of those layers of ski attire last night, I realized that being strapped to a couple of pieces of balsa wood and pushed down the side of a frozen mountain isn�t the real threat of skiing. The real threat of skiing is a small toilet stall with a half frozen wet floor and a toilet seat covered in near misses. Seriously. Just to pee, I think I�m going to need a stall the size of the handicapped accessible fitting room from the Banana Republic. What in the hell have I gotten myself into?

Adding to the pleasantry of this winter vacation is the impending doom of a 12 hour drive. Each way. Now I know some of you are freaks and enjoy seeing the sites as you cruise the highways and by-ways of this great nation. Me? I�d rather see the sites from 35,000 feet. 12 hours in a car or 3 hours on a plane? Back row, middle seat between two of our most obese citizens, leaning against the lavatory inhaling the toxic chemicals that bond our collective piss into a giant frozen ball of human waste or front seat of a luxury SUV? I�ll take the ball of human waste, please.

So this should be fun. I�ll report back next week with all the gory details. Later!

9:12 a.m. - March 08, 2005

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