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Keystone 2005

That was quite possibly the worst vacation ever. The skiing part was okay, and had things worked out a bit better, I might have actually enjoyed that part of things. Hell, if I were single, I would have been in hog heaven with the tall, muscular and beautifully accented Kiwi ski instructor that was Doug. Ahhh Doug. He was everything one would expect out of a ski instructor. Worldly, adventurous, fucking hot. We had booked a private lesson with Doug � wait � I�m getting ahead of myself. Shitty trip � reasons why�

This was our second vacation with another couple. The first vacation was with Mo and her husband. It rocked. They are laid back, fun-loving people who know how to relax and enjoy themselves. They probably hated vacationing with Ryan and me, but we had a great time. For this ski vacation, we found ourselves with Kramer vs. Kramer. First off, let�s be clear here. I am 100% guilty of resorting to sarcasm to communicate my displeasure with things and sometimes mask a true opinion with an upbeat comment dripping with insincerity. I try not to do this often and certainly aspire to be direct with someone when something is bothering me, but I am not always successful. After spending a few days with a couple that has taken those bad habits of mine to an extreme, I am inspired to work a bit harder to be kind and direct in my communications � especially with Ryan. I have now experienced, firsthand, the downward spiral of allowing yourself to say negative things to the ones you love � even if they were originally meant in jest. I don�t often think of myself as a positive person � i.e. I�m not all hearts and flowers and I don�t think of myself as always looking on the bright side of life (insert Monty Python whistling here). After this trip, I think I could be a motivational speaker.

Here�s a little tip if you might categorize yourself as someone who can�t roll with the punches. Overreacting is overrated. People stop believing you. Spending time with people who say hateful things to each other, overreact to minor setbacks and who give off the appearance that they don�t respect one another is a horrible way to spend a vacation. To all seven of my faithful readers � the next time you find yourself snapping at a loved one for making a left turn when they should�ve made a right or when your soup is a bit hotter than you�d like or when forget where you put your gloves, yell at someone who is lying on the floor shrinking away from the light and the noise due to a migraine headache for purposely hiding them from you, bitch that you can�t possibly be expected to SURVIVE in the COLD without them, then discover that the gloves were in your GODDAMN POSSESSION THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME � take a deep breath, exhale and think of alternatives to sounding like a raving lunatic. I promise you, there is usually more than one way to react to every situation and some ways are more effective than others.

We had some good times on the trip for sure, but unfortunately, each good time was overshadowed by something else. Ryan hurt his lower back on the first morning of skiing, and Mrs. Kramer was done skiing for the day after our three hour private hunk fest with Doug. Only Doug wasn�t able to take us past the basics of snow plowing because Mrs. Kramer wasn�t catching on too quickly, so I couldn�t continue practicing because there was no one to teach me. Back at the cabin, a relaxing afternoon turned into a battle of the gurgling stomach as my body reacted to the altitude. I dared not complain though, as I knew Ryan was pretty bummed about not being able to snowboard. Poor guy � he�d been so looking forward to it! The afternoon spilled into the evening, and our silence paved the way for a few terse exchanges regarding a variety of subjects such as the quality of programming on daytime television, the lack of Advil and having only one bottle opener provided to us at our cabin. We did our best to keep things light, but trying to dodge every subject that might lead to negative comments is next to impossible and quite exhausting. Even a lovely meal was soured by a lone sushi chef trying to keep up with the rush of the spring break crowd. Comments were made, eyes were rolled, napkins were thrown down, and tips were slashed. Wonderful.

On the second day of skiing, I woke up, walked across the room to Ryan�s twin bed and peered into a pair of really sad brown eyes. We spent the early morning stretching, trying to ease the muscles in his tense lower back, but as I watched him strain, I could tell we weren�t making the progress we needed too. Sadly, he subjected himself to a day in the cabin watching a Newlyweds and Ashlee marathon while I packed on the layers for a day of skiing. The minutes ticked by, and finally, at 9:45 am, we heard the blow dryer blowing. The goal had been to catch the 8:30 am shuttle to the lifts. We caught the 10:45 shuttle and promptly, at 11:15 am, Mrs. Kramer fell on her first trip down the practice hill and �sprained� her rotator cuff trying to get up. Ryan was summoned to remove the ice pack from his back to drive to the base to pick up Mrs. Kramer. Mr. Kramer was instructed to escort Mrs. Kramer on the gondola ride back to the base. Ryan was then directed to the medical center where he would wait for Mrs. Kramer to be examined. Meanwhile, ill-instructed, I stared down the gentle practice slope in front of me, cursed the hours spent teaching Mrs. Kramer how to snow plow and taught myself how to turn and how to slow down and how to get on a ski lift and all that jazz. It felt good, and I will hold on to that memory when I think back on this trip. For now, though, I�m going to type out all the rest of the negative shit in the hopes that I can purge it from my system.

After delivering Mrs. Kramer to Ryan, Mr. Kramer met me back at the top of the mountain. Mr. Kramer is a great guy. He was so patient as I worked my way down the side of the mountain. I fell four times, and each time was a bitch as I hadn�t been taught how to get up. My muscles were tired, my patience thin and my ski boots pieces of peanut filled shit. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn�t get them to snap back in the skis. Exhausted and almost defeated, I spotted a ski lift at one point and suggested to Mr. Kramer that I just take it back down the mountain. He lied to me and told me it only took passengers up the mountain and not back down. Remind me to thank him for that lie later. My confidence shaky and my knees trembling from misuse, I wove my way down the mountain teaching the young skiers that whizzed past me words their parents had sheltered and protected them from for years. When I fell for the fourth and final time, I called Schoolmarm, the three and a half mile course I was skiing on, a fucking whore. Somewhere, nearby, an innocent child cried.

The end of Schoolmarm is a gentle curving path that winds through majestic evergreens and provides a soft landing spot for tired beginners like myself. I felt victorious as I rounded the corner and glided towards my injured husband who hobbled across the parking lot from the medical center. The glory of the moment faded quickly as we hurried to prepare the way for the injured Mrs. Kramer. Seconds after she entered the car, arm in sling, the fighting began about the fact that the medical center didn�t take her insurance and how I had suggested heat for Ryan�s back when all he should ever have is ice, and speaking of ice, FUCK! THEY DIDN�T GIVE ME MY FUCKING ICE PACK! WHY DIDN�T YOU REMIND THEM TO GIVE IT TO ME???? WE HAVE TO GO BACK!

Later that evening, we embarked on the most expensive meal I�ve ever paid for with my own money. I had raised concerns about the price prior to making the reservations, but Mr. Kramer booked us a table nonetheless. Later that same night, Mrs. Kramer suggested that we cancel the overpriced dining experience because she can�t believe that anyone would book a meal costing that much, however Mr. Kramer informed us that there was a $20 cancellation fee per person, so dinner was on. Knowing that this would be the most expensive meal I have ever paid for with my own money, I put it in my head that I would do everything in my power to make it a pleasant experience. In order to do this, I morphed into Corporate Jen.

Corporate Jen is a personality that lives deep within me and that I would prefer Ryan didn�t have to experience. I compare Corporate Jen to a high-end car salesperson - a bit more classy than the guy selling used Chevys, but still very plastic, mostly insincere, but very persuasive. As we settled into our seats, Corporate Jen appeared and steered the conversation for the evening asking thoughtful questions of each of the people at the dinner table and deftly diverting the conversation around potentially sore subjects like one�s inability to butter a roll due to a faked injury. I literally buttered her damn bread before she had a chance to bitch about it all the while asking deep meaningful questions about her husband�s latest project at work. I laughed at crappy jokes, sympathized with the unjustness of roadwork that will add minutes to a daily commute and begged for more stories about their dog. By the end of the meal, I probably could have sold them a bronzed rabbit turd had that been my goal.

Nonetheless, the dinner went great, and as we retired to a sitting room for our coffee and dessert, I actually found myself enjoying the evening. That is until the bill arrived. I had already done the mental math and knew that we would be up over $100 per person once beverages, tip and tax got added in to the already high four course dinner price. The bill came as absolutely no shock to Ryan and me, but the Kramers were incredulous at the total at the end of the tab. The scrutinized every line item, downgraded the level of service and eventually managed to justify giving the waitress a piddly little tip saying she didn�t deserve the customary 15 � 20% even though she had well exceeded any server I�d ever had. It wasn�t that they chose to tip poorly that pissed me off � that is their own business. My problem with the situation was how their bickering and bitching capped off a perfectly good evening on a very sour note.

I actually cried that night because I was so frustrated at how the trip was going, how my husband was hurt and couldn�t enjoy skiing as he�d planned, how I felt the need to walk on eggshells around them, how I was sleeping in a twin bed and couldn�t poke Ryan to tell him he was snoring, how we were spending so much money to spend time with people who would make you think they couldn�t stand to be around each other. I don�t cry about stuff like that often, but I was at a breaking point, and there was just no getting around it. Oh, and I was totally PMSing. Ryan sympathized with me and soon had me feeling better and he even laughed appreciatively at my story about breaking the news to Mr. Kramer that Mrs. Kramer had hurt her shoulder. I don�t know if I can do it justice here, but basically we were standing at the top of the mountain, and they started bickering after I had to break the news to Mr. Kramer because Mrs. Kramer refused to talk. Only I was still in my skis and lacked the ability to move out of the way while they fought so instead I just rotated my torso away from the conversation and stood there awkwardly until they were done fighting. Funny shit if you can imagine that.

Saturday was shaping up to be a great day. Ryan decided to throw caution to the wind and strapped on the snowboard for the last day of fun. After a few practice runs, Mr. Kramer, Ryan and I tackled the slopes together, and I�m proud to say I didn�t fall once. In fact, I pulled off a recovery from an almost fall that was nothing short of spectacular. Something spooked me as I was gliding down a hill, and I found myself falling forward when I jabbed a ski pole into the snow flipped myself around so that I could slide down the hill backwards, ass in the air, poles flailing about. Sexy. Somehow, I managed to get upright and flipped around facing the right direction and then coast to a stop. I raised my poles in the air and gave a loud �Woo hoo!!!� to a complete stranger just as Ryan found his way to me. Glorious! As I referenced earlier, however, the glory soon faded into the discomfort of watching two people disrespect each other and everyone around them.

I�m picking on Mrs. Kramer in this entry, and I should say that she isn�t as completely evil as one would believe after reading this. In my opinion, she is high strung and insecure, and hasn�t developed the ability to cope with the curve balls life throws at you. Mind you, she is two years older than me, but age doesn�t always beget maturity, and that became evident on this trip. I hate that I focus on the negative aspects of being around her, and she isn�t totally to blame for the sour experience that was Keystone 2005, but she certainly didn�t make things easier. I spent Saturday night in utter agony as I was gripped with a migraine headache that kept me up puking my guts out all night. That wasn�t her fault, but her bitching at me about misplacing her own gloves didn�t improve my mood much.

After ten hours in the car, we were dropped off last evening in time to watch The Contender. I hope the next time I am frustrated with someone or something, I remember the lessons I learned on this trip. I hope that I am mature enough to push aside all of the bad things and focus in on the good of the trip. I hope I can dissociate the bad company with the activity so that I don�t avoid ski trips for the rest of my life. I hope that I never make Ryan feel as small as I would feel if some of the things they said to each other were said to me. Most of all, I hope that the Kramers aren�t as unhappy as they appear.

1:47 p.m. - March 14, 2005

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