A nose-smushing, snow-ploughing, leg-splitting weekend

I couldn't contain my excitedly summersaulting heart as we boarded the plane for Denver last Thursday. Imagine - my first ski trip ever!! Everyone was full of all manner of sage wisdoms for this first-timer.
"Be careful you don't break any bones," Azdadoobie and Ilajna advised sagely.
"Be prepared for a lot of face-time with the snow," Metrohom added his ever-ready dose of reality.
"Come back in one piece, we need our HR bod," urged Big Boss M.
Seagull, with his usual buoyant optimism, pshawed the spate of warnings dismissively. "Don't worry, no matter what you'll have a great time!"

And indeed he was right - the only thing I hadn't been prepared for was just how great a time it would be. Skiing, to my surprize, turned out to be relatively easy to pick up. Of course I had my share of tumbles. Of course there were moments I found myself semi-buried in the snow, sunglasses askew and skis asunder.

But you learn as much from your spills as from your successes don't you. Like for instance that it isn't necessarily a good idea to hurtle down the hill at breakneck speed before you've learnt how to brake. Or turn. And that the ski lift doesn't have eyes. Once you get off you HAVE to ski away immediately otherwise there's a pretty high chance of getting knocked over like a skittle. Which I, uhmm, learnt by watching someone else, of course.

But all in all how could it not have been a killer weekend?! What with Danby's famous chilli dinner for twelve. And Speshi's hidden talents at Connect Four. And Forness' little bathroom debacle. What with Metrohom commandeering the music, Bradstreet the telly and Seagull the beverages.

The weekend has synthesized itself into a blurred memory of breathtaking vistas, skimming down ski slopes, soaking in the hot tub, traipsing around in the woods in the dark, cooking together, drinking together, and much much laughter. I even have a vague recollection of an evening of grey goose, sake bombs, copious quantities of unidentifiable sushi, dancing and darts.

But all too soon, with a bleary-eyed sigh, the red-eye had brought us back to New York and real life.

"I learnt to ski!!!" I told everyone who would listen excitedly.
"Great why don't we go on a ski trip at the end of March?" asked Dub and Milo. No kidding. I can hardly believe it.

A meaningful Sunday of nothingness

I awoke on Sunday to one of the most beautiful sights I have ever witnessed. We were in the midst of a real blizzard, greeted with the view of unrelenting snowfall as far as the eye could see in any direction.

The streets and cars were already blanketed under more than a foot of snow, covering New York with an unearthly purity which brimmed within me and swelled the heart.

Ilajna bounded into my room, and we stuck our faces to the large window in silenced awe. Neither of us could bring ourselves to leave the sight, so I phoned Azdadoobie from my room. "Doobs get over here and check out the view," I urged, and soon a sleepy Azdadoobie trudged into the room too.

It wasn't long before the three of us were seated round our dining table sipping cups of chai, as has become our customary Sunday morning ritual. Each Sunday commences with a round table breakfast conversation, which, before we know it, stretches to lunch and then dinner, and all of a sudden we realise its time for bed and we haven't actually moved from the table all day. Not to mention the chores which still lie untouched.

In a vain attempt to pretend these idled hours are made up of substantial and meaningful discussion, we started a new notebook of our discussions: "The Breakfast Club: The Book of Secret Lists".

And in this book we've started listing all the the important facts of life:
- the kind of people we hate (eg aggressive people; and know-it-alls; and girls who act dumb)
- movies we have to (re-)watch (eg Love Actually; and About a Boy; and Kissing Jessica Stein)
- new bars tried and liked

When we ran out of ideas we kept the book aside and trundled to Azdadoobie's room to watch a movie. "We'll continue on the book next Sunday," we agreed.

Exhaustion is...

...When you suddenly open your eyes in the subway and realise you are at your stop.

And realise just how lucky you were to open your eyes at that exact moment, because you had somehow managed to fall into a deep sleep during the ten minute subway ride home.

And realise [to your chagrin] that you had fallen asleep with your head on some mortified stranger's shoulder.

That's when its time to give a quick apologetic glance and smile, and leap out of the train into the welcoming anonymity of the crowded platform.

Fancy New Hair

Weds afternoon, at work
Fran: Haircuts are such a pain when you're a lady. Mine always costs about $100
MePaJoe: Gosh its easier when you're a guy, even the fancy ones only cost 50
Seagull: I always get mine from my local barber, only costs me 20 bux
Me: Well I'm going to get mine for free.

Everyone turned to gape at me.

Me: Well my roomie offered to cut my hair for me.
Fran: You're so lucky, you have a roommate who's a professional hairdresser?!
Me: Nope.
Fran: Then...?
Me: Well, she offered to cut my hair, and I said yes.

So then....

And...
And then ....

Saturday evening, Azdadoobie, Dub and me

Azdadoobie: Dub - do you notice something different about Ficali's hair?!
Dub [squirming]: Err.... uhmmm... It's ..err.... different?
Azdadoobie: Yes, but different how?
Dub [mortified]: It's err... uhmm... better.
Azdadoobie [Spanish Inquisition]: Yes but better how?
Dub [terrified]: Uhmm... err... aahh... the layering?

Azdadoobie beamed

Dub [more confident]: Yes, Ficali, your hair is layered very well!

Grin. Thanks, Ilajna.

My taste of stardom

This morning as I was walking in to work, I passed a site which was cordoned off for a movie filming. Instantly intrigued, I paused and joined the small crowd of meerkat neck-craners to try and get a view of any celebrities that might be around. Not that I'd recognise them if I saw them. But, you know. It's all quite exciting.

There were a couple of people standing around next to me in the costumes of striking construction workers. They were dressed in full contruction gear and were wearing full-size sandwich boards proclaiming a long list of reasons behind the strike. I decided they were my foot in the door to stardom.

"So.... whats the movie about?" I entered into conversation nonchalantly with the chap closer to me.
"Dunno," he shrugged.
"You don't know what the movie's about?!"
He shook his head.
"You don't even know what you're supposed to be striking about?! That's ridiculous. How would you be expected to be convincing if you don't even know the context behind it all?!"

They both turned to me indignantly.

Turns out they weren't part of the movie at all, they were real strikers, and the moviemakers had gone and plonked themselves in the middle of the strike.

Who woulda' thunk.