The more you know

Hello, Internets!

Did you miss me? I've missed you, but apparently not enough to crawl out from under the crocheted afghan I've been hiding under whilst I've planted myself in the leather recliner in my parents' living room. Sorry.

Seriously. I've watched more TV in the past 72 hours than I probably have in all of 2008. And I'm TOTALLY OKAY WITH THAT. I'm home in Denver for the holidays and am realizing that almost none of my friends are around here anymore; either that or they all have their own families and traditions going on. Or, I'm just too lazy to crawl out from under said crocheted afghan to call them and hang out. If you just read this last paragraph, scratched your head, and thought, "Hey, LMNT, I still live in Denver, what gives?" Sorry.

I left behind a foot of snow in Seattle to come to Denver--and the trip was just shy of a nightmare. Were it a true nightmare, we would have skidded 200 feet off the runway and burst into flames, but we didn't, so I can't complain too much.

Spending the first 23 years of my life here made me ignorant to a little issue people who are not from here call "being at altitude." However, it only took me six months of not living here to realize that little issue is actually quite a condition. So I'd like to take this opportunity to share my public service announcement to all people not currently living at altitude about what you can expect if you ever find yourself at altitude:

1. There is no air here. Period. End of story. Don't be fooled thinking you are fit and can run up that flight of stairs. You cannot, at least not without wheezing. You may as well just keep that hiney squarely planted on that recliner, under the afghan.

2. Your lips are going to fall off. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I am addicted to chap stick. If I don't have a tube on my person at all times, it is highly likely that I may have a meltdown and end up fetal in the corner tugging on my ears. And, that's anywhere. If I find myself at altitude without my beloved Burt's Bees, the world better watch out. It's a little bit on the dry side here. I'm pretty sure I shed a layer of lippage daily.

3. Blow all you want, nothing will come out. Well, that's not entirely true. At first, because it's so dry here, everything inside your nasal cavity will shrivel up and come out. But once you've lost your sinuses and half your brain out of your nostrils, you'll swear that there's something still in there. And you'll keep blowing, and blowing, and blowing, but to no avail.

4. You will be perpetually parched. You will wake up thirsty and it will stay with you all day. Drink plenty of water--it may also help with your lip leprosy and imaginary booger syndrome (IBS), but don't count on it. Also, if you think you can substitute alcoholic libations for water, think again. Because there is no air here your blood thins, therefore alcohol and its sometimes glorious--sometimes devastating--effects take hold of your body and mind much quicker than when you are at sea level. Consider yourself warned. You may want to remove any people that would be a tempting "drunk dial" from your cell phone before you get here--not that I've done that, I'm just looking out for you, Internets.

5. People may start calling you Rip Van Winkle. Whenever I come back here, I cannot seem to sleep enough. Usually an early riser, I end up sleeping like crazy and always wake up really groggy. And maybe it's the lack of oxygen, or all of the nose blowing, but naps are not a luxury, they are a survival necessity. And I'm sure that has NOTHING to do with me spending the majority of my time under the crocheted afghan on the recliner, it just so happens naps make the hard work of being awake, the inability to breathe, and dealing with the trauma of losing your lips, that much more comfortable.