I made it through the holidays without any major casualties, other than an exhausted mind and a sore body. Since Thanksgiving I've been to Palm Springs twice, Catalina Island, the Monterey Bay area, Las Vegas, a snowboarding trip to Dodge Ridge near Yosemite, and Big Bear Lake. And somewhere between all the travelling, my parents visited for a week and work was nuts.

Yesterday at work, we launched the site that I've been designing for the past few months, and now my workload has practically disappeared. Well - relative to what it used to be. So I've taken to cleaning up my computer and shooting pics of my workspace. With the future of the company being somewhat foggy at this point, I figured I needed some sort of mememto to look back upon when I'm at home in two months, jobless, watching The View.

So all of the business and things that have kept me extrememly busy for the past couple of months have suddenly ended, and I feel somewhat lost... a bit like a truckstop whore whose been rode hard and dropped off again to once again resume the life of a lonely lot lizard. Bored, exhausted, yet still horned, looking for the next trick...

"Nothin' to do, nowhere to go. I wanna be sedated."

This weekend will be the first in some time without plans, so I plan on using it to rest a bit. But most of you who actually know me, also know that I can't sit still for too long. I've managed to pick up a small freelance job, and I definitely need to redesign my portfolio site. And you know, I think I'll go snowboarding again on Sunday. But tonight and Saturday are reserved for a little sedation.

So don't fuckin' call me until sunday

The thing that I love most about Southern California - other than the warm, friendly, humble people, of course - is that I have the ability to snowboard all winter and surf all year. I've done them both in the same weekend on several occasions, but it's always been a goal of mine to do both in one day.

I got up this morning at 6am, packed up the SUV and headed to Snow Summit. I was there by 8:15 and on the lift by 8:30. The snow was great, but the wind was ferocious, stopping people dead in their tracks as they were exiting the lift or trying make their first few turns. By 11am, the wind had blown off the snow in a lot places, leaving solid blue ice.

I was on the road again by 11:30 and back in Long Beach by 1pm. I unpacked my snowboarding gear, loaded up my surfing gear - along with Jaeger and Larry - and was riding waves by 2:30. It's now 4:50pm and I'm sitting on the couch grinning from ear to ear as I watch a surf flick.

Ok - you can touch me now. I said you can fuckin touch me!

I could blame it on all the travel I've done in the past 6 weeks. Excess is usually a good scapegoat. Or, I could place the blame on others, which is generally the easiest route. So as I sit here in a feverish state, nursing an extremely swollen and sore throat, my initial thought is to blame my boyfriend. Afterall, even though we went on a trip with a group of fellow barflies, it turns out that Larry didn't want to hang out in bars. Go figure. Wish I would have known that BEFORE the trip began because it would have made for a happier Larry. But you know what they say about hindsight. Then again, he didn't exactly twist my arm and make me drink excessively and go skinny-dippin night after night in the 45 degree moonlight of Palm Springs which resulted in this feverish condition that is currently producing these evil thoughts. Is he responsible for that? No. So I'll choose not to play the blame game. Instead, I'll just say that my New Years weekend, on a scale ranging from Cold Turd to Shit Hot, was just plain Crap.

There were other incidents that brought a depressing tone to the weekend's festivities, but you all don't know me that well yet. And I just don't feel comfortable enough at this juncture in my blogging career to reveal such horrid and personal things.

All that said, I'm certainly not trying to give the impression that I didn't have any fun, because there was certainly plenty of that. It's just that in my current feverish state of hindsight, its all the bad things that have brought about the rating of 'Crap'. So I'll move on to the good stuff.

There was the incident of Stacy, who came to our private resort with nothing but a condom on her head, a bum leg, and skid-marks in her underwear. Jaeger thought she was a little off, but the rest of us thought she was pretty bitchen.

There was also a conversation that my friend Dennis had with a Daddy at the Toolshed:

Dennis: "You're from Palm Springs, aren't you?"
Toolshed Daddy: "Yeah. How did you know?"
Dennis: "Because you look puffy."

Good times!

It was the company of friends like these - old and new - that really saved the weekend for me. For example, to overcome the problem of Larry's snoring, I enlisted the help of my old friend, Xanax, and my new friend, Macks Pillow Soft Earplugs. Xanny, baby - you've always been there for me. But there's no way I could have gotten through the weekend without, you Mack.

Then there were Matthew and Raymond - old friends of mine from St. Louis - who introduced Larry and I to a wonderful restaurant called The Blue Coyote and the tiki heaven/hell of Toucans. My new friend, Julian, provided for me the joy of being drunk at noon. And my oldest new friend, Eric, stuck his tongue down my throat at the Toolshed and made me know what it's like to kiss my sister.

I think the real saving grace of the trip was the private resort where we took residence. Bacchanal is a private resort tucked away amongst all the other gay resorts in the Warm Sands area of Palm Springs. The pool was perfect. The jaccuzi was amazing. The beds were sinfully comfortable and the LCD screens were elegantly addictive. Most importantly, the hospitality provided by general manager Tom - affectionately known as Ducky - was impeccable. He was gracious to all of our guests that came to visit us, providing snacks and a warm attitude. He was even nice to Stacy. And he's a dog lover and owner and runs his resort with peoples pets in mind which allowed us to bring Jaeger. Ducky provided a truly laid-back atmosphere that we enjoyed every afternoon by laying in the sun around the pool.

In fact, our next trip to Palm Springs will be spent exclusively at the Bacchanal... in room #53... poolside... with the dog... or in front of the tv. Maybe I'll be able avoid a little grief and a lousy sore throat. But you know, hindsight is..... aw, fuck it.