leavin' on a suzuki

don't know if i'll be back again
03 March 1999

I'm freaking out. I'm about to go on this big trip and I'm FREAKING out. I'm bad about this "getting ready to leave" part. I start questioning everything. Did I remember to do this? Did I remember to do that?

And of course, since it's the last day, I remember all sorts of stuff that I meant to do that I haven't. I need to get some resumes together, in case someone for some reason asks. You never know. I have to update my resume and then paste them onto my headshots. I have to do that clippy-cut thing because resumes are bigger than headshots (just a little info for those of you not in the acting world...)

I have to pack.

Yesterday I went to the mall to get warm clothes for the trip. I knew that we were going skiing, and I've never skied before, so I don't know everything that I need. Well, I figure I just need some warm clothes. You try finding fleece and wool in Austin, Texas. People were like, "Noooo.... do you know it's eighty degrees outside?"

So I found some knit shirts that I can layer under some other stuff, and I'll take Eric's Steelers jacket, which at least looks like it could get wet without soaking me to the bone. I ended up getting new sports bras, which I needed, but mostly I bought them to treat myself for all the Tae Bo I've been doing. All of my clothes are much roomier lately, and Eric noticed how much smaller my hips were getting. In only two weeks, people. This is the workout of champions.

Well, really, it's the workout of Sinbad, but we're going to ignore that for now.

No one else really notices when I lose weight. Ever. No one ever notices. I'm sure it's because I wear the biggest t-shirts and baggiest jeans I can find, but can't they see how much smaller my wrists have gotten? Don't they see me pulling on my jeans to keep them up?

It doesn't matter, though, right? We exercise so that we feel good about ourselves. Bullshit. I exercise so people notice I've lost weight. The best six words in the world are, "Shutup, you're not fat, I swear."

Anyway, so I go shopping and get myself sports clothes, which give you that great girl-jock feeling. Nothing better than a swoosh on your chest and a little sweat on your tummy to make you feel like an Olympian.

So the mall proved to be a good place to get some new shirts and bras, but not a good place to find warm clothing for this trip. Then this morning I was bugging Eric with questions like, "Can I borrow that shirt for the trip? Don't forget to leave me the Pulp CD for the car. Hey, do you mind if I take the scrambled eggs on the trip? (this is a yellow blanket that looks like a big pile of scrambled eggs. When wrapped around the body, one looks like breakfast) Are you going to come home before I leave, or should you kiss me goodbye now?"

And he's like, "Shouldn't you be sleeping so you can stay up all night tonight?"

And then my brain is thinking, "I should take this nail polish off. It's all chipped."

And then I go to the ski rental place here in Austin. It's much cheaper to rent in Austin than Aspen. I'm going to repeat this again: I've never skied before. Never been on the things. So I go to the rental place and the guy is like, "You need a 187, 168? What?" And I don't know what that means, so he puts a ski up next to me, notes my obvious lack of height, and goes back into the ski place.

Then we had to fill out these cards that had our info/vital signs on them. I guess in case if all they find are the skis, they can find out what body used to be in them. It asked for my weight.

"Forget it," I said. "He doesn't need to know that."

And then the ski guy was like, "I really need you to put your weight down."

And I was like, "Just put three numbers together on the page. It doesn't matter." But I put my weight down and then everyone was all looking at my card upside down to find out how much I weighed. Like I put my real weight down anyway. I just can't do that. I can't put my real weight down on anything. I'm sure I'm going to get on these skis and they are just going to snap in two and float away and I'm going to be out three thousand dollars or whatever skis cost.

I wrote "float away" like I'm going to be skiing on water. That's pretty funny. I guess they slide away. Glide away.

Whatever. I'm not done with the humiliation.

So it's time for me to try on the boot. And he brings one out and I'm like, "Well, my arch is kinda tight in this. Is that good or bad?" And he's like, "I'll get you something a little bigger."

And then every boot that he brought out after that wouldn't go over my big calves.

I have large calves. They are all muscle. I hate them when I'm in a dress. I hate them when I try on clothes. I hate them when I want to be pretty. When I'm being sporty, however, they come in handy. And I'm figuring he's having a problem fitting these boots over my calves, so I make a joke to the others, who are waiting for me to finish up:

"He's all in the back going, 'How is there a woman with such small feet and such enormous calves?'"

So he comes out with another boot and puts it on and it's pinching my calf and he says, "Man! Where did you get such calves!"

I hate myself.

And I start trying to be cool about it to the others. You know, "Oh, well, I used to skateboard." They just gave me the sympathy nod that my brain interprets to mean, "Whatever, fat girl."

The guy brings out a completely different kind of boot, and it starts to fit, and my friends that are feeling bad about my huge calves are all, "Look! You get the special boot!" Just shutup.

And I can't stop thinking about how everyone is thinking about my big calves.

So, I didn't know it takes two hours of your life to get five people fitted for skis and such, but it does. Everyone was out smoking a cigarette and ski boy says to me, "So, are you a cyclist, or something?"

And my brain says, "Oh, man. It was a complement when he was talking about my calves."

"I used to skateboard," I said with a toss of my head.

"That would do it," he said.

And I felt like cool jockgirl again.

So, now when I'm in the car, and we're getting ready to ski and they are like, "Whose skis are these with the big old leg part and tiny foot?" And I'll daintily raise my hand.

So I mailed out the bills that needed to go out. I've gathered the headshots, and I just need to get those resumes taken care of. I still need to pack. I still need to remember the blanket. I need to take this nailpolish off. I need a camera that can work in the snow. And I learned that I will need sunscreen and sunglasses.

I'm so excited. All this for six hours of skiing.

I can't wait to go to the festival. I'm trying to get work to pay for me to go to the SXSW Interactive festival. Then after BS4, I'm just going to sit around and look at all of my badges hanging from a hook. I'm crazy badge girl. Give me some candy.

See you guys Monday.

Be good.