Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Ain't Nothing Worse Than Icicles and Feet

Over the weekend, I had an abundance of family members occupying my house.  Unwashed, some who had even clearly soiled themselves, they squatted in my house until their demands were met.  They wanted what we all want on a short weekend trip to Denver.  To be shown a great time, play in snow, and have their diapers changed every 2 hours.  These few, these huddled few, banded together (or squished together in my car) and experienced all the thrills of a Denver winter.

Upon arrival, unaccustomed to the air at one mile high, I did the most reasonable thing possible.  I immediately drove them an additional 1.5 miles higher (and colder) into the rocky mountains, and encased them in a castle made of ice.  Only one of us was really even dressed appropriately:


Every winter in Breckenridge, some guy decides he's going to try and make the fortress of solitude out of ice.  What starts out as a worthy endeavor quickly devolves into a madman's pursuit of creating an ice prison.  This prison is fraught with peril, as at any moment, the warm Colorado sun can melt the ice and drop one of the deadly stalagtites of ice above into, and through your skull.  And they would never even be able to rule out homicide, since the weapon that caused your death would melt before the authorities arrived!  But, despite these dangers, I swallowed my own personal fear of death by icicle and wandered into something that could only be described as a Cold Cautionary Cave of Calm Calamity.  Seriously, tha'ts the only way you could describe that.  No other way at all.  Anyways, here's whats I'm talkin' bout:

Not Pictured:  My sister, who was loudly dying in a corner from the cold and altitude.







Everyone referred to this guy as "the creator."  PS - Nobody referred to this guy at all.
The rest of the weekend was pretty relaxed.  There were dinners, breakfasts, an hour at the park, and like 6 trips to Target.  The rest of the time was wholly occupied by the recitation of a Dr. Suess adjacent (as my sister basically described it) book called The Foot Book. 

Because if standing under 3 foot long icicles wasn't enough, I also had to spend 3 days listening to people talk about the grossest part of the human body:  the foot.  This book is apparently the only thing that can both calm my niece down, and then amp her up after about the 6th repetition of the book.  The book itself is a tale of misery, considering all the sawed off feet I guess it's referring to.  I bet the book was really written by the infamous foot chopper in Florida, as a way for him to remember his inventory of collected feet.  He had left feet, right feet, front feet, back feet, low feet and high feet and so many other disgusting things, I can't even continue the retelling.  I told my brother that based on my niece's excitement during this book being read, he needs to keep a close eye on her for any other sociopathic tendencies she may exhibit.

But let's pretend that she is normal for just a second.  Maybe she CAN grow up to lead a normal life.  I noticed that in her off time, when she's not collecting feet, my niece also likes to approve loans to her mom:






And eat basketballs......

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