M is for Motormouth

Sunday, lazy Sunday. Resting today after a crazy weekend in the mountains. Ugh.

First, apologies to anyone who actually listened to that entire, rambling audio post. Good grief, woman. Learn to tighten it up and make it funny (as Phil is famous for saying). You are a real trooper if you listened to that entire, ding dang thing. I blush from the embarrassing rambling you must have rolled your eyes at.

Clarification to the audio post: It was not four adults and one child to our Porter three in the condo. Oh, no. It was SEVEN adults and one child in addition to our wee clan. Somehow, we fit all of those people into our two-story accommodations. Partyin', hollerin', whoopin', and a lot o' drankin' did occur. I bordered on becoming Britney Spears in snow boots. It was that crazy.

Pic I took to blackmail comedian Bryan Kellen. Woohaha.

Bob the Drunk Trainer (go to Bally's, y'all) attempts to make 2-foot high snow angels on one of the one-thousand decks that the condo had.

Keeping up our good parenting skills, here is Phil with our very awake baby at 1:23 am (according to the microwave). No, Phil's shirt is not proclaiming that he is "hard." It actually says, "Math is hard."

We Porters turned in at a respectable 2 am, but the hordes downstairs carried on forever. At some point they hit the hot tub, which was below our room (therefore, I can tell you every word that was said. Heh.). Phil tells me that sometime in the night, the condo complex manager stopped by. Not to warn our downstairs horde of their decibels, no. Rather, to ask to join the party since he was coming home drunk from the bar. Right on, Breckenridge. Right on.

It really is true that alcohol hits you hard and fast at a high elevation. Our hardened livers were no match for 9,600 feet.


It was a beautiful day, Saturday. The fog and snowy skies had cleared to reveal white-covered mountains and a gorgeous, snow-filled town. I would like to say that even though I am sticking to my thoughts that the town should call itself "Breck is for Bubbas" (because there are no less than two restaurants with the word "Bubbas" in the name), Breckenridge is also full of beautiful, young snow bunnies and dudes who are just looking to hang, man. They come by the hundreds to work in restaurants, retail, and hotels to just get one more run on the snowboard. Some were nice, some were surly, but mostly, they give an air to Breckenridge (just like many Colorado ski towns) of a place that is firmly planting its ganga-smoking roots into the snow and being chillaxed. (Did I really just type "chillaxed"? *shudder*)


See the ski runs? Gorgeous.

So, lack of sleep and extremely dry air (despite four feet of snow) rattled our lungs and our brains. We did not go snowshoeing. Boo! We did have a stop at the local bank where the ladies cooed over Amos. (Note to traveling comedians and/or performers: when in doubt, always cash your check at a bank in the same town as the gig. Word from the wise, I tells ya.) We headed over to something called a Salt Lick or Lick Rub or something for a messy breakfast. Good stuff.


A snow plow blocked our car in while we dined. Apparently, the driver just gave up behind our car and decided to chillax (*shudder*). Phil eventually found him with his crew, shoveling snow and ice for one of the shopping areas. Thanks, snow plow driver. (He arrived just as I took this picture. I'm sure he thought I was gathering evidence to sue him. Heheh.)

The highlight for me was the drive coming out of Breckenridge toward Frisco. We were passing the Dillon Reservoir, which was completely iced over. People were doing only what I can best describe as snow-sailing. They had a big parasail or kite thingy up in the air, and then they let the sail drag them across the ice. I think they used snowboards, but it was hard to tell. It was very, very cool to watch, making me declare, "I WANNA!" Someday, Sarah. Someday.


Hard to see them, but the wee people with the wee sails are out there. I give you giant pics so that you can see the sails.






On the way out of the mountains, we passed through Georgetown. The lake there is also frozen over, so much so, that they were able to drive CARS onto the lake. I've never seen cars on a lake before. Wacky stuff, man. WACKY!

So, we're home. We watched one of the Bourne Ultimatum Die Dead Faster movies and slept like dead people. Today, our speed is set at slow. Looking forward to watching The Ex, one of those adorable Zach Braff movies. Phil is playing with Amos on the playmat. He is holding Amos' foot and yelling, "Turtle! Foot! Turtle! Foot!" while Amos is giggling.


Life is good.