I went to downhill skiing today with every intention of being a good student. I got up on time, I washed my pants in the kitchen sink (will explain later), grabbed my trusty chaco sandals and drove to mt. aggie (a feux snow hill on campus). Apparently after the skills test has been completed, you sled down the hill. The last time they did this I skipped class because I was a little reluctant to wake up for a 9:10 class only to goof around (as if skiing isn't goofing around). This led to me overwhelming enthusiasm for barreling down a 100 foot long artificial surface on thin plastic material. It was fun until... CRASH! This hurt like a mother. I actually didn't realize it was this bad until I got back to my truck and reviewed mentioned wound.I really feel like if the teacher had any medical knowledge he would have put me on the last chopper out of 'nam instead of letting me participate (read: dominate) the remaining sled races. I'm not trying to brag about ability to race downhill clinging to a child's toy (clearly, look at my face in that picture), but I am tough as nails.
On to washing clothes in the kitchen sink.... I must admit that I don't actually wash dishes in the kitchen sink. I might be the worst roommate ever, but I really don't do this often. I will load the dishwasher, but if I doesn't go in the dishwasher, it is meant to be dirty. However, after realizing that my fake ski pants weren't clean (and not having enough time for a wash cycle) I had to wash them in the sink. With Dawn. Desperate times call for desperate measures. This worked really well actually. So well that when I found my tumbling shorts in the dirty clothes I took them to the sink and gave them the same treatment. Don't get me wrong, I'm not abandoning my washer (which is older than dinosaur bones, fyi), but this is a very efficient means on clothing my self in clean duds. It's kind of like camping in your house. If that's possible.
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