THERE COMES A TIME IN EVERY PERSON'S LIFE WHEN THEY GENUINELY FEEL AS IF THEY WERE BORN TO LOSE. SOME PEOPLE GET THAT FEELING ALL THE TIME, AND SOME PEOPLE GET THAT FEELING AS A DIRECT RESULTS OF SOME SHITTY EXPERIENCE OR ANOTHER. I AM A MEMBER OF THE FORMER GROUP. I HAVE A LOT OF “WORST DAYS EVER."

Timbro’s socially disastrous girlfriend nearly gets his face punched in; Night ends in possible date rape

I like to party. There, I said it. I dance, I sing karaoke, I drink beers, and like to play DJ at dance parties. I get down, I get back up, then I go to bed. All innocent fun if you ask me. You see, the thing with me is, I like to think that I keep myself in check. Equal parts well-oiled party machine and well-behaved gentleman, if you like. My wifey is entirely different though. Equal parts social deviant and flagrant party fouler, to keep the “equal parts” train rolling. Don’t get me wrong, she’s radical, funny, smart, and a TFB (total fuckin’ babe), but get a coupla’ cocktails in her, and she gets all antsy in the pantsy to cause some trouble. This is the story of my worst date ever…

So we’re at a house party, all cuttin’ loose and what have you. We’re drinking wine from the bottle, socializing with friends, mingling amongst the party-goers, and having an all around swell time. Admittedly, there was a certain “steak-face” element to the affair, which is something of a rarity in Portland, but that’s the way she goes sometimes. Anyhow, we get to dancing to some cuts out on the dancefloor. Really killing it if you ask me, but you always feel like the world’s best dancer with a bottle of 7-11 merlot splashing ever so gently in your gullet. I suppose this is where the problem started. The DJ was playing nothing but hip-hop, which I suppose is fine for most, but I really feel that you need to mix it up with some club anthems, a la The Presets, Ratatat, or whatever the hip dance crowd is listening to these days. Maybe hit the cross-fader and mix in some 80’s favorites, some Justin Timberlake, and sure, give me some Biggy, gimme some Destiny’s Child, whatever. Just mix it up! So long story longer, wifey gets a bit bored and starts scheming something. I can see it deep in her eyes that she’s no longer paying attention to the moves she’s throwing on the dance floor, but rather focusing on a way to liven things up a bit.

In between songs, she leaves the floor for a hot minute, and comes back with a bottle of champagne. Not thinking much of a little mid-dance refreshment, I carry on with my sweet, sweet dance moves. Then disaster strikes. My lady friend, with an assist from another friend of mine, shakes the bottle and starts spraying champagne this way and that. The drunk dance crowd is fairly into it, but just as a spout of sticky nectar is erupting from the bottle, one of the housemates walks in and fucking flips out. Rightfully so, I suppose. Anyhow, he’s well into beer-muscles phase, and is madder than a wet hen.

“What the fuck!” says the steak necked gentleperson. “Who am I gonna hit!”

Uh oh. Things are going pear-shaped fast for ol’ Timbro at this point. I’m a modern gentleman. A lover of peace. A maker of love, and a not-maker of war. A supporter of fine film, cheeseburgers, and hand-holding. An opponent of uppercuts, karate chops, and almost any scenario where a bottle makes contact with my head. That said, I can’t rightfully let my lady take some heat from a sexually-frustrated former high-school wrestler who may or may not be too drunk to realize hitting people is not really that radical.

“Woah, fella,” I say. “There isn’t a problem here. A little champagne was spilled on the floor. I’ll clean it up. No worries, friend.”

Great. I took the moral high-road here. All is well in my universe again.

“No way, dude. That’s fucked up. That’s my living room, bro! Someone’s gonna get fucked up. Who am I gonna hit!”

God damn it! Didn’t I just say I would clean up any liquid on his floor? I’m not really having this, so I decide to switch gears.

“Alright, man. If that’s how it’s got to be, you can hit me.” I take a step closer. “Do it. Punch me in the face!”

Now, let it be known that this is a pretty dumb move. I’ve actually had it backfire on me before. From personal experience, the worst thing that can happen to you when you ask to get punched in the face, is your counterpart decides to take you up on the offer and land a haymaker right on your dome-piece. Too late now, though. I’ve already got two feet in the pool, and it’s very likely that I’m about to get wet.

“Come on, man. Do it. You said you needed to hit someone. Hit me…do it!”

I don’t like getting punched in the face, but I’m about as mentally prepared for it as I can be at this point. I can almost feel the blow glancing off my eye, immediately causing the skin to redden and swell. I can picture myself trying to hold my ground, but succumbing to the punch-drunk and finding myself tits up on the floor, in front of dozens or party people.

The fellow looks at me intently, squares me up, and says: “I’m not gonna hit anyone…but that was fucked up. That’s my living room, bro!”

Phew. Crisis averted. The conversation had come full circle. An interesting drunk phenomena that we all know. That moment when you forget where in the conversation you are, so your brain just picks back up from the last thing it remembers. Sometimes it’s from a totally different conversation, sometimes it kind of makes sense, and sometimes it saves your ass.

We leave, post haste. For some reason, not only is everyone at the party mad at me (keep in mind I did nothing except make everyone jealous with my dance moves), but all of a sudden my girlfriend was mad at me, too. She claimed I was acting like a tough-guy. Hardly my intent. Whatever. At this point, I was destined to fail. Born to lose. Let’s go home, watch a movie, and see if I can’t win you over and maybe “stuff your guts.” I mean that in the most romantic way possible, mind you. In the words of Tenacious D, I was determined to fuck her gently.

Continue reading…

Part 2: Possible Date Rape

Ok…so the whole “you’re acting like a tough-guy” thing blew over quite quickly when I explained that I was quite ready to take one for the team. I wasn’t trying to be all Joey-like and start a fight. And what’s more, I wasn’t even involved in skirmish-starting scenario in the first place! There I was, making shapes on the floor, when all of a sudden I’m ripped from my beat-induced state of euphoria and placed in a proverbial dude-off. TBO (total bum out).

So my gal and I are all set. Good to go. Things get hot, things get heavy, some morally reprehensible things come from our mouths, good times were had. I actually mentioned some of the dirty talk to a friend of mine and he said that “those words are grounds for couch-sleeping in my house.” I don’t need to go in to too many details here, but let’s just say that it was an epic, mind altering experience. I felt like I had reached my sexual zenith. I was making things happen. People where going to write about this moment in manuals some day. Take notes, dudes. This is how you do it. A little movin’ here, a little shakin’ there, maybe switch it up a bit. A little element of surprise. We finish. I’m feeling great, like a real man. She takes forever to catch her breath and continuously praises me for what was “without a doubt the best sex (she’s) ever had.” I take it all in, and fall asleep with a smile on my face.

The first words out of her mouth when she wakes up are:

“Woah…did we have sex last night?”

Fuck my life.

–Fin

THERE COMES A TIME IN EVERY PERSON'S LIFE WHEN THEY GENUINELY FEEL AS IF THEY WERE BORN TO LOSE. SOME PEOPLE GET THAT FEELING ALL THE TIME, AND SOME PEOPLE GET THAT FEELING AS A DIRECT RESULTS OF SOME SHITTY EXPERIENCE OR ANOTHER. I AM A MEMBER OF THE FORMER GROUP. I HAVE A LOT OF “WORST DAYS EVER."

Timbro’s Worst Opening Day Ever

To start things off, this snowboard season featured my latest opening day ever.  Saturday, January 10th to be exact.  There were all sorts of reasons for this, but the main three were: no snow in the NW, a three-week vacation and a lingering back injury that I got on said vacation.  But I was pretty pumped to get the ‘ol shred legs underneath me again.

I loaded up my mini-van (yes, I have a mini-van, and it’s fucking awesome.  That’s something that you’re going to have to deal with) with all my gear, two roommates, one additional friend, and other items various and sundry. We left SE Portland at 7:10 a.m. eastbound to Mt. Hood Meadows for what was to be a rare sunny day in the NW.

I usually ride weekdays, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect on a weekend day, especially on a bluebird day after a week of pretty intense snow.  Much to my chagrin, we hit traffic early.  Real early.  Like 35 miles to the mountain early.  Steadfast and ever-mellow, our tireless crew carried onwards despite seeing miles of cars with ski racks and dumb stickers.

We stopped at the Sandy Shell to get some petrol, liquids, and delicious breakfast burritos.  After waiting in a 10 minute line to fill up, we were off, burritos and Gatorades in hand.   About 2 bites into the burrito and a sip of chocolate milk, got the “gut rumblies,” also commonly referred to as rot-gut, doo-doo butter, or bum-oil.  On a scale of 1 to emergency, this was a “how am I going to explain to my friends that I’ve just shit myself.” That’s pretty high.  Still twenty miles to the mountain (with traffic no less), and not much in the way of toilets between myself and the base lodge, I did whatever I could to take my mind off of it.

As we made our way closer to the mountain, I started to sense a feeling of possible victory.  I was thinking about everything from baseball to Betty Davis to try to keep from soiling myself.  As we rounded the corner to head to the main lodge I saw the worst possible thing — a line of stand-still traffic miles long.  Disheartened but determined, I pulled a high speed U-turn and made my way back to the HRM lodge.  Luckily there was no traffic, and I dropped myself off at the lodge while my friends parked the mini.  I ran inside, positive victory was at hand, only to be defeated once again.  There was a line of three dudes waiting for two stalls.  Positive that I had wronged the poo gods in some way, I tried to ignore everything and wait through it.  The dude behind me tried to start a conversation about how bad he had to shit.  I think he saw the ka-ka sweats on my brow and decided that I wasn’t such a good listener at the moment.  I finally made it in the stall, closed my eyes and pretended I was in a private bathroom in a nice executive suite, and did what I had to do.  Nothing else mattered in this moment.  Everything that I had done in my life and everything I will do was a decimal point next to this feeling of exquisite relief.  Until I opened my eyes and realized that there were approximately 6 squares of TP left.  Whatever.  Fuck it.  The hard part was over.  I somehow made it work, but also kind of felt bad for the dude after me.  Oh well, not my problem.

If I had known this would be the best part of my day, I would have cut my losses and went directly back home to bed…

Continue reading…

Dave Appel is a stand-up dude of the highest caliber.  He has a car that goes really fast, a father that looks like he should be in charge of the entire western Navy fleet, and he’s also an award-winning snowboard designer who has done work for Rome and Forum.  We share a birthday, but apparently, this isn’t about me. Some people call him Hollywood, but most simply call him Dave.  He has his finger on the pulse of Orange County, while at the same time being a mellow everyman.  But none of this is why YoBeat is interviewing him. Dave recently parted ways with his employer, The Program, and well in this economy, that’s news.

Timbro: So, word on the street is that you need a job…

Dave Appel:  You never see it coming, that’s for sure.  I came in to work October 16th, and the new GM called me into the office and said, “we are moving Forum Hardgoods to Vermont, and today is your last day.  The HR lady is here to walk you through your exit papers.”  He got up and left the office before I could even say a word.

Timbro:  Woah…that’s how you got let go?

Dave:  Yep, it took longer for me to type that than it took for the whole situation to go down.

Timbro:  What did you do there?

Dave:  Well, it was a lean operation over at The Program.  We all did a lot and wore many hats. I was the Forum Snowboard product manager, plus I engineered all the boards and dealt with the overseas factories on a daily level.  I developed the board line from year to year and worked with all the riders to ensure that they rode exactly what they wanted and needed. I guess that is the general overview.

Timbro:  That’s some pretty high level stuff right there.  So obviously you were the product of our current economic downturn. The economy is in the shitter, unemployment is way up, and nobody can afford to do anything ever.  In your opinion, how has this affected the snowboard industry at large?

Dave:  Well first off, I live in a bubble if you will.  Down here in Southern California, it appears that the weather affects the snowboard industry more than the economy.  With my recent found free time, I have spent a lot of time snowboarding up in Mammoth Lakes, CA.  The economy does not appear to be suffering up there.  Also, I just read that Mt. High in Wrightwood, CA reported sales up 40% for the holiday period compared to last year.  It should be noted that Southern California got over 4 feet of snow right before Christmas.  I’ve also been in retail shops in the area, and they were killing it.  Of course there was a slow start, but once it started snowing, people were buying.  It’s a tough formula to figure out.  Obviously there are people in financial hardships right now, I’m one of them with my recent termination.  However, there are a lot of people that have not spent beyond their means, and they are weathering the storm.  I’m speaking about individuals as well as companies.  The companies that are small and growing steadily and are not greedy with rapid growth are still doing ok. As far as your question of being a product of the economic downturn, and I don’t think that was the case at all.

Timbro:  Oh…juicy.  Do tell.

Dave:  “For the record”…I don’t think I was a product of the economic downturn at all.  I was a product of piss-poor management.  When I started at Forum, snowboards made up less than 50% of the hardgoods department and when I left, it made up 67%, not too mention my category had the highest grossing margin at The Program.  Also, for the first time in Forum’s history, they won 4 Goodwood awards, 2 years in a row while I was there. In regards to the way the boards ride and hold up, I was a one-man show.  The graphics of course were done by the artists we all know and love.  So,  “They” “downsized” and relocated my department from one person (me) to a team of 8 people.  It was complete and utter bullshit.  Basically I did it my way. I didn’t follow the “Process.”  I was not comfortable with f’ing factories over to increase my profit margin.  I didn’t have to.  Forum was making money and the factories were making money.  I think the factories would agree that we had a great working relationship.  Bottom line is, some Martial Arts enthusiast got placed as a scapegoat at The Program.  In the midst of all of the Directors quitting, he decided to reduce some overhead, so I got the ax, once the 2010 board line was done.  I’m bummed that I don’t get to design snowboards anymore, but I never compromised my values and I get to look my face in the mirror every morning and smile.  Not to mention, you wouldn’t believe the amount of days you get to go snowboarding once you get axed from the world’s largest snowboard company.  It’s awesome!  As I mentioned before the West Coast has been getting it’s fair share of snow, and I have been riding a lot of powder.  Which, to quote my favorite Forum rider Jake Bauvelt, “That’s what it’s all about.”

Timbro:  Yes!  I’m so sick of people beating around the bush.  You just dropped some science right there. Ok then…what do you do from here? Most people say that “higher-ups” in snowboard companies can never readjust to the non-bro sector.  Any thoughts on that?

Dave: Are you considering me a “higher up?”

Timbro:  Hey…I’m asking the questions here! Yes…yes I am.

Dave:  Oh, in that case, well…I never really thought of myself as a higher up. But to answer your question, it’s really simple.  I’m currently doing this interview, so all the bros will be reading it, and if some people don’t like what I’m saying, then, I wouldn’t want to work for them.  On the flipside, I have a mechanical engineering degree, and I can function just fine in the non-bro sector, I’ve done it before (you all enjoy box wine and nacho cheese sauce don’t you?)  It’s actually not that bad.  Basically there are people that can make decisions and those that can’t.  Fortunately, I can, and if there is a snowboard company out there that wants to hire me, great. I love making snowboards.   I love snowboarding and it will be a major part of my life forever no matter what my job is.

Timbro:  Ok…now that we know about Dave Chapelle the employee, let’s talk about Dave Attel the man. I really like your father.  How does that make you feel?

Dave:  It’s where I get all my confidence from.  My father is awesome, he’s my biggest influence in life.  Without him knowing it, his actions are punk rock and true.  That, is character and attitude.

Timbro:  Heck yes.  As a follow up, I want to get in his golf tourney this year.  Tell him I shot an 84 last summer, and I’ll bring plenty of hot ladies.

Dave:  You are always welcome to my Dad’s golf tourney.  In fact everybody is.  The one bummer is that it falls on the same weekend as the West Coast Invitational in Mammoth.  I’m trying to get Oren to change the contest date.  My Dad’s tourney came first.  Plus, a lot of snowboarders play golf as well, and they should be able to do both.

THE CAPTAIN. GTMO 1957.

Timbro: This one time when I was hanging out with you, we were walking around Government Camp, and all these pro dudes (Kier Dillon, Jussi Oksanen, etc) were stopping to chat you up.  Did you pay them to do that? I thought that was pretty cool.  I don’t really know any “celebrities.”  I met Bob Villa once on Newbury St. in Boston.  He was such a dick.  Honestly, I want everybody to know that.  Bob Villa is a complete cock hole.

Dave:  I don’t pay anybody, I’m broke.  I guess when you are involved in snowboarding for a long time, you see a lot of the same people, it’s a small industry if you will.  Since we’re on the subject of pro dudes though, I mentioned before that I worked with pro riders to design exactly what they want and need.  Honestly, that was the best part of my job.  To work with those dudes is such an honor and amazing.  I hope on some level, the last thing they are thinking of is their snowboard when they are standing up on some cliff or drop-in ramp ready to hit some potentially life-ending feature.  Government Camp in the summertime is the best place ever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I love that place.  Snowboarding, lakes, skating, six-packs of tall boys at the bar, huckleberry shakes, do I need to continue?  If I could afford a “Summer Home” it would be there.  By the way, HCSC does an awesome job making it FUN!  That is not a plug, they actually kicked me out of their park last year because Forum didn’t sponsor the camp (budget cuts).  Anyway, I still like what they are doing for snowboarding, whether or not I get to ride their park or skate their bowl.

Timbro: That reminds me, do you ever read Sarah Morrison’s “Best Week Ever” here on yobeat?  Well…she used to live in Burlington when I did.  Back before she was “famous on the internet,” she worked in the Verizon store.  She was the greeter.  Anyway, one day I go in there and I tell her that I need to get a phone asap because mine broke and I needed to be on a plane in a few hours.  She asked me where I was going.  I told her I was heading to Hood.  She then shouted “Volcano Cones!”  I thought that was pretty weird.  Anyway, I think she’s kind of a babe, and if she saw this she might want smooch.  You don’t really need to respond to this. Holla atcha’ boy, Sarah.

Dave:  wow! Volcano Cones are delicious!  I do remember introducing you to my friend Megan from Newport Beach, when we all lived in Vermont, and you were kind of in to her done up look.

Timbro:  If she’s back in the O.C., you may tell her I said hello, and that I will gladly buy her a taco at her earliest convenience. Moving on. My friend Tom says hi.  Do you remember that time me and him were in your hot tub in Mammoth drinking Wine Coolers?  That was awesome.  His head is fucking huge.  I think it was a combination of the altitude and the water temperature, but we each had, like, two “Blue Hawaii” flavored wine coolers and were drunk off our tits.  When we woke up, we had these really burning doo-doo’s, too.  It was weird.  Care to add anything to that?

Dave: Tom fixed my Mom’s iMac. “He was such a nice boy.” Anyway, see, this is what I’m talking about with snowboarding.  Hot tubs and wine coolers.  We used to have this springtime routine in Mammoth, we would ride and then hang out by the pool drinking wine coolers. So awesome.

Timbro:  Used to? You should never retire from fun times.

Dave:  Yeah, My friend’s wife loves the wine coolers, so I guess we are keeping it going.  Speaking of fun times, the best times of my life have been while I was unemployed. I didn’t have a job when I got married and that was awesome!  Ask anyone who showed up…

Timbro: Dude!  That was a low blow! I felt terrible about that.  In fact I still have your wedding party favor. True story. Stop commandeering my interview!

Dave:  Plus the last couple months, I have been shredding and sledding and drinking and having a great time!  In fact, not to sound like a surf dick here, but I got “laid off” so long ago, that I had some great days at the beach surfing.

Timbro:  True or false, the words “surfing is for jerks” has been uttered from your lips.

Dave:  Since you brought it up, it’s probably true.  Here is the deal.  Surfing is fun. Period.  However, the competition aspect and the “geographical territory thing,” and the “I just moved here from the East Coast and I fuckin’ surf all the time bro,” — I hate that shit.  Go surf, have fun.  I don’t care where you are from or where you live, if you like it, do it.  Just don’t tell me about it.  I grew up 20 miles from the ocean, so before you can drive, that’s a long way.  So, I skated.  No one in skating ever talks about how their spot is cooler than yours.  Whatever, where was I going?  Some of my best friends are “surfers,” that’s just what they got into.  I guess I just hate office surf talk.

Timbro:  I can back that. Moving on…Do people tell you that you look like anybody?  I get Jason Schwartzman sometimes.  Not sure what to make of that.

Dave:  That’s funny.  I can see that.  I used to dye my hair black and I got the “you look like Nick Cage” thing.  I think from Valley Girl to be exact.  It was fine, until one of my best friend’s said he thought Nick Cage was a douche bag.  Oh well.  Do like Dillinger Four?  I really like them, but sometimes I think they get overlooked, at least in my playlist.

Timbro:  They are ok, I guess.  I never really got into punk rock. Except for Clean X. They were boss. Wait, has this interview been mostly about me?

Dave:  Kind of going that direction

Timbro: Ok…down to business for the last one.  What makes you marketable?  Why should a snowboard business hire you?

Dave:  Oh man, well, I do a great job.  I’m educated, motivated, and I actually snowboard and love it.  I will make a snowboard company money while maintaining the integrity of SNOWBOARDING (that is what we all love and got into this mess for.) as well as maintaining mine and the company’s values.

Timbro:  Well said.  Thanks for your time Dave.  Remember us little people when you’re back on top.

Dave:  It’s all about the little people, myself included. I’ve never been on top, and I never want to be.  I’m just stoked to be A PART of snowboarding.  It’s given me more than I deserve in life and I hope I can return the favor.

Read part one so you are not blowing it.

After a victorious, but very long walk to the parking lot, I met up with my crew, who were already suited up by this point.  Unfortunately, I had to head back to the other lodge to pick up my pass, so I cut those dudes loose, and said I would meet up with them shortly.  I fired up the mini, put on some good tunes, and headed over to the main base.  I noticed that the traffic heading to the HRM lot was getting pretty thick, but didn’t really think much of it.  When I rounded the corner to the other side of the hill, I was met by two traffic attendants who said that the main lot and all the annex lots on that side of the mountain were completely full, and that they weren’t allowing any more cars up that way.  I turned around towards HRM, ubiquitous feeling of defeat in tow.  As I rounded the corner going the opposite direction, I saw another line of standstill traffic that was miles long.  Fuck my life.  Fuck it right in the ear.  I had to wait 50 minutes to end up in the same lot that I had just left.

So I get out of my car, put on all my shit, and wait in another huge line to hop on a shuttle to the other side.  The line looked like something you’d find out in front of a Bruce Springsteen concert at The Meadowlands. After I watch about six shuttles come and get filled up with pissed off weekenders, it is almost my turn.  At this moment a “mountain ambassador” walks up to the line and yells “Attention!  Anything that you want to do at the main lodge, you can do at this one!  This includes pass pictures, pass pick ups and day tickets!”

Well, shit.  Good thing I’ve been waiting for a useless shuttle for the past half hour.  I walk into the lodge, and see another huge line of people waiting for customer service. I had nothing to do but stare at the wall and listen to stupid people’s even stupider conversations.  After another half hour, it was finally my turn.  Despite my near insanity, I politely asked to get my pass.  I was hastily and rudely told that I would need to go to the other side of the mountain to get my pass.  I told her about what the ambassador said.  She didn’t care.  No pass services on this side of the mountain.  Instead, I received a one-ride voucher so I could take the lift up on this side, ride down to the other side, and get my pass there.  Fine.  Whatever.  Give me the fucking voucher.

I walked over to the HRM lift line, which was fucking huge, and tried to kill time by sending sexual innuendo-laden text messagesAfter another 30 minute wait, I was on my way up.  I made it up and back down to the other lodge in record time, and without consequence.  Good form.

I carried my board inside, went to pass services, and nearly started crying.  The line here was absolutely outrageous.  It made the Sprinsteen-esque shuttle line look a normal queue at the grocery store.  It was fucking massive.  Wal-Mart-on-Black-Friday massive. Kurt-Cobain-coming-back-to-life-for-one-day-and-performing-a-one-off-Nirvana-concert-under-the-Space-Needle massive.  Only-one-computer-on-Earth-has-free-porn massive. You get the idea.  But I was stuck.  My car was on the other side, I was told my lift ticket was only temporarily good, and I wasn’t about to wait in the shuttle line again.  I was going to get my fucking pass.

As I made my way towards the end of the line, an ambassador offered me a cookie.  Already massively distrustful of her type, I apprehensively agreed to a yummy cookie.  I was promptly told that I may only have one, as if I had some sort of cookie-aholism that would cause me to steal all her cookies, raise hell, quit my job, and move in to my parent’s basement.  I took the one cookie, and it sucked.

I waited in this line for two hours.  Two hours.  Two hours of my life were wasted listening moronic conversations about sororities, make up, and cute outfits.  Two hours of nothing to do but wait.  Two hours of wishing I had another cookie, even though they sucked.  Two hours of wishing I was in bed scratching my ass like I should be.

I eventually made my way up to the counter, got my picture taken, received my pass, and went outside.  I waited in line for a half hour.  Again.  When I got to the top, I realized that I was already late to meet my friends to head home, and had to go straight back to the lodge that I started at.  Someone asked me how my day was, I kind of made a joke out of it, but just under the surface my blood was boiling.  Critical mass. Tipping point.

One the way home we stopped for some pizza.  I got the shits again.  I held my cheeks together for 30 minutes again wishing that I were anywhere else.  I got home, dookied again, and realized I was twenty minutes late for work.

It was the worst opening day ever.