I am living in a fantasy world, and let me tell you why.

I work at a ski resort, making $12 per hour plus tips along with seventy other people to ski. Over the last few weeks PCMR has sold at least 2000 lift tickets per day. Plus lessons, plus overpriced food. Lift tickets cost $81. Pretty impressive that a fun thing to do is worth so much to so many people. It's better than Disneyland, I'll tell you that much.

I have moved into my new house at the riverwoods. It's a fixer-upper, of course, but what college kid house isn't. Within the course of two days it went from being occupied solely by Todd to having me, Kenny King, Brett Denney, and one other guy move in. So it is now full. Pretty impressive. I think that I am going to have to give up my faux king size bed. I'll sure miss it. I get paid on Monday, so hopefully my bank account will have more money in it than my wallet does.

I am excited to have three days off of work, I have been going pretty much nonstop since the 26th, and that is tiring. That means waking up at 630, getting out the door, and driving up the canyon every day for that last 12. Some people have been doing it for twenty or more though, so I have nothing to complain about.

There is a crazy man named Pat Cawley who works for the kids ski school. he stays exclusively with the three to five year olds, and has been there for 12 years, though he has taught skiing at almost all levels. I shadowed him my first day at work, he is a little bit slow. Think an IQ of 70 or so. Also he drools when it is cold out. Also he talks real loud and says things like "It's all good today! Everything's good!" and "We're gonna have a catered lunch today!" even though the lunch is great for kids, bad for adults. The whole reason for describing Pat, who is referred to and refers to himself as Patty Cakes, is a dream that I recently recovered from. Patty Cakes and I were in a police car just outside of Heber, a Crown Vic with undercover lights, and we were just waiting for someone to break the law. We saw a car speeding and took off after it. For some reason, we didn't turn on our siren, Patty Cakes just started flashing out headlights. He was driving, and when the van that we stopped pulled over, he got out of the car and walked up to the guy, said some nonsensical gibberish, as usual, and walked back to the car. I was thoroughly impressed when I woke up. My conclusion: my brain has become a toxic waste dump.

I wish I blogged as much as austin.

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