Skiing Metalhead

So last night I'm out for the last hurrah and I have to school Rob on a little something something:

"Rob.  You've known me for three years.  Does it LOOK like I'm the type of person who will strap on some skis?"

To which, (one of the things I love about the dude) he asks if I've ever in my life skied before.  No.  But that isn't the point.

Later in the same night, Robert and his wife (three Roberts in one night is quite an evening, let me tell you) shock my never observant but no where near "colorblind" arse with a pronouncement of Robert's wife's mad Bones skills (aka Dominos).  Really?  Really?  Not the bones part...I get that.  But how in the heckfire have I seen this woman at least a handful of times and talked to her at least as many times and NEVER picked up on the fact that she's Puerto Rican?  My sistah.  Oh my word.

And if that didn't cap it all off.  We get home, I go my way, he goes his.  Except when I meet back up with him, he's watching MtV2 Icon...Metallica. 

Now.

I am no metalhead.  I had come downstairs to cry on hubby's shoulder because I'd read Ben Smith's BLOG POST at Politico and couldn't help but to think how I so wish my grandmother could be here right now.

Sure, she would probably take issue with my choice of mate.  But only (and I seriously mean ONLY) for the fact that my music choices all went downhill once I hooked up with that other lighter shade of vanilla dude for the starter marriage. 

Couldn't help thinking of that last night because just when I had finally come back to the dark side with my music choices, here I was staying up to all unGodly hours of the night saying things like "hey, that song isn't that bad."

Now to only move out to Snoqualamie so we can hit the casino and ski all night.

Right. 

Go Penn State!  Got my white on, ready to roll. 

Right after I remember to download The Rest of Everest.