#ApresLife

I’ve been kicking around the idea of hitting a few open mics. I’m starting to get the impression that my schtick would sound better performed as opposed to read. I already have several hundred thousand words of content ready to go, I just have to stand up there and read it. I think I would be a storytelling comic, social commentary mash up…I’m thinking Jim Jeffries meets Bill Burr.

That said, I’m not sure the same shit that gets a laugh in real life is what will also make people laugh in a club. For example, I have this little life hack that any of you that have spent time with me will be familiar with. If you are ever with your friends and want to get a guaranteed laugh, create an ironic acronym.

Like if your buddy is telling you a story about a time when he got a blowjob in a car…while the girl was driving! and you shout out some shit like “Ahhhh the Olllld RRH.”

Pause. “RRH?”

Reverse road head…it’s a classic.

This will make anyone within earshot fall to the floor laughing because it’s ridiculous. Reverse road head is extremely rare. What is even less likely is that someone uses it so commonly in every day conversation that they have associated a literary device to abbreviate it.

I do this a lot. Especially when I’m drinking, I will turn everything into an acronym because it’s funny and it presupposes that the outrageous things my friends and I talk about are in fact commonplace.

Over the weekend, I went to Park City with a bunch of friends. I spent about a billion dollars but I didn’t care because I was having fun. Monday morning I had a $135 cab, which to be fair drove me for 40 minutes, but it’s more than double anything I have ever paid. This is the type of shit that can ruin a trip.

Furthermore, once I got out of that $135 cab I got onto a 5:30 flight, landed at LAX at 7, went to my car, drove to Burbank to pick up some bullshit for work, drove to work, drove back to fucking Burbank, came back to work and then went home at 7pm…roughly 18 hours after I had woken up in Utah I was back home. This is the type of shit that can ruin a trip.

I had 30 beers on Sunday and did all the aforementioned bullshit. I was so strung out yesterday I think I know what a heroin comedown feels like. This is the type of shit that can ruin a trip.

But none of it could, because our trip was fucking money.

Friday night I hopped the last bird out of town and pulled up to the Grand Summit Canyons at around midnight. The next 48 hours were…aggressive.

Saturday

I always say I’m going to get first tracks on my first day skiing. In theory I am freshest on the first day and the least hungover. But in practice I have 3 double whiskeys on my flight and 6 beers between midnight and 3am. So of course I woke up at 8am after cuddling with Smolen for 5 hours, feeling like shit. Smash a couple Morning Brews TM(Coors and a Coffee) and then head to the lifts, shit it’s basically time for lunch, which means more pitchers and the countdown to Apres. I would like to say that I went on a ski trip, but it majorly revolved around Apres. This is not a bad thing.

After bombing the Apex Ridge a few times and a nice top downer on Doc’s, it was tome for my favorite part of the day: Umbrella bar, Hot Tub, steam.  Being that this was our only night to burn it down in the village, it was important to get some relaxation involved first

Per usual, we tried to get into High West. Per usual, they were cunts. We settled on a nice pizza place and sat next to a table full of drag queens. I have to be honest with you, the LGBTQFGTDBJZZ42? Movement can go as far as it wants, I will never not laugh at a tranny. What followed was a long dinner followed by a long night of dancing, followed by an even longer night back home of the Eight of Mundt* no one was banned…but unfortunately, we all went to bed around 3am nearing black out.

*The Eight of Mundt is a simple drinking game in which all the cards are dealt and whoever gets the 8 of Hearts has 2 minutes to drink 2 beers or they are banned for life. It sounds easy right? Not if you get hit 3 times in a row.

Sunday

After again cuddling with Smolen for 5 hours I woke up feeling like shit. As one does when they are hungover, I tried an unsafely hot shower. When that failed to work I tried an unsafe amount of coffee. When that failed to work I decided to go nuclear*

*Going nuclear is a tactic used when all other options are gone. Example: In an argument with your boss he tells you that he would like you to start coming in earlier. In a rage you decide to tell him you fucked his wife and know about the time he sucked a dude’s dick in college! You then throw two middle fingers in the air and walk out.

In this situation, going nuclear was pounding whiskey shots until my hangover went away. It took about seven…and let me tell you this, while it might not be the safest option; skiing drunk is amazing.

All of a sudden I had that fearlessness that 10 year olds have. I bombed down runs I had no business attempting because I didn’t give a shit. I fell a few times, but it didn’t hurt. And every time I went over a bridge or under a tunnel I fucking celebrated for no other reason than it looks cool. Going through a tunnel on a mountain is always a good time but the OBE (Over bridge experience) is wildly underrated.

The good thing about ski jackets is the outrageous amount of pockets, I didn’t know what they were for until this weekend. They each comfortably fit about two beers.

I didn’t know why ski lift rides were so fucking long until this weekend. They last the length of a beer.

The next 6 hours. Apres, Hot tub, steam, Oscars, Eight of Mundt, all ending with me passed out on the floor unpacked with an alarm set for 3:30am. And then I had my Monday from Hell that was previously discussed.

Monday was a bad day.

Tuesday wasn’t much better.

Today I fell on my Razor scooter right outside a bunch of hot chicks at Red Bull and I may have broken my fucking wrist…again. But it was still the best day of the week so far.

Long story short, vacations are awesome and work will still be less awesome than vacation even if you’re well rested. Spend everything you can on travel and worry about the rest later. If you never get married and are forced to rent forever at least you’ll have some fun stories.

I spent today booking flights for the rest of the summer because I so thoroughly enjoying reliving it all through columns like this. You can't take the money with you and debt is always one Chapter 11 from going away before you turn 40. Sacramento, Bloomington, Chicago, San Diego, Austin, Park City (again!) I’m fucking coming for you.