A UCTMW Intervention

Our days here in the Southwest are winding down. After a last day of skiing today with our cute C0-Ed,  Slave will be watching the momentous clash between my alma mater and the dreaded Crimson Tide at a local radio station / bar with a large screen and cheap beer prices. Mistress and daughter will be avoiding my angst by going out for some regional food at another restaurant. Hopefully they will agree to pick me up after the dust settles, regardless of the score.

Despite the presence of our daughter, we have tried to slip in some "maintenance" sex. Luckily she is a heavy sleeper, so our "wake up sex" routine has remained on schedule. And yesterday, we were able to slip in a  apres ski 'nap", allowing Slave to deploy Mistress's favorite power tool, much to her apparent delight.

Obviously, tonite's game has got Slave a little anxious. Yes, it's only a silly game. But the Irish have not claimed the national title since 1988, wheras the Tide has won several in recent years.  It made me recall some other great moments in Crimson Tide history over the weekend:

Like this moment, when George Wallace stood in the school house door to block integration at 'Bama:

Ultimately, with some persuasion by U.S. Marshals and the National Guard, the Crimson Tide discovered there might be some benefit in integrating their sports programs, though it took a while.

Then there was this moment in 1973, when legendary head coach Paul "Bear" Bryant lost the national championship and his trademark hounds tooth fedora to ND head coach Ara Parseghian:

Undeterred, Coach Bryant embraced his inner fashion maven and launched his own fashion line in the mid-70's at Sears Roebuck, called the "Bear Essentials". Don't you like the way the pink checks on his "sport" coat, contrast with the black and white hat?

But while I was getting a little too obsessive in my BCS "pre-gaming", our Senior Correspondent was paying attention to the questionable health care decisions of our Western Correspondent, who seems to have suffered some scary complications as a result of what should have been relatively minor out patient surgery. He seems to have confidence in his doctor, but we would all like him to get a second opinion.  Here is Donna's proposal, which calls for some help from our friends over at All Mine:

Hi Guys,
I'm thinking we may need to do an intervention on the WC.
What would be the harm in just letting another doctor look over his file and take a look at his gut to see that everything is going as it should?
But, if he doesn't want to go that route, Bill (our Director of Security International) is willing to sanitize some tubing the plumber left here after our leak downstairs, and it's not bragging to say that I am a fairly good seamstress.
Bill and I can bring the tubing, the moonshine for sanitizing and my suture kit.
Mick's job is to distract the WC with some legal yackety-yak while Suzanne sneaks up to shove a stick between his teeth to bite on. When he realizes what is happening, Molly can break out her flogger and make sure he understands he won't move. Tammy and Mick can start talking sports to the WC while Bill holds his feet down. Then Sue can read the directions to me from the medical book I have. Well, it isn't actually a medical book, but it's Bill's father's Navy Pharmacist's Mate handbook. And really, how much could have changed since 1942?
I think we're all set. Okay?

Great plan, Donna. Either that or the WC gets in his car and drives down here today for a consult with my new Medical Director, who is a "medical intuitive", "gifted clairvoyant", and can perform "neural and vascular manipulation". He should quickly be able to get to the bottom of the WC's problem.

Count Down to Kick-Off

We've had some unusually cold weather here in the Sangre de Christo Mountains these last few days, with readings of 17 degrees (and worse) below in the pre-dawn hours up on our Ski Mountain. It's generated a bit of whining from the cute Co-Ed, but, thankfully, the sun has been so bright and the skies so clear that it actually seems pretty warm on the slopes, at least until around 2:30 pm when some of the runs lose their sun.

Of course, this generates a need at the end of the ski day to adjourn for a couple of hours to our bedroom and huddle under the sheets for some shared bodily warmth, and other "activities".

"Do you think (our daughter) sees us as anti-social, Slave?"

"No.... just lazy.... she's huddled under her covers too, on the internet....."

This afternoon we may come in off the mountain a tad earlier than usual to catch the Pussycats play the Texans, a game that Slave does not have much hope for. (Though I note a Houstonian friend here has backed off a betting opportunity, poor mouthing his team's chances too.)

But my major focus (other than Mistress's clean shaven folds) over the weekend will be Monday night's historic confrontation between my alma mater and the team from Alabama.

Our daughter set the tone when she gave me the Christmas gift, shown below:

I know, if I am a true fan, I'd fire up the grill, or stick this sucker in our Kiva fire place, and brand my team's insignia on a handy apendage prior to game time!  (Maybe only if we win!)

Truth be told, my enthusiasm for this particular university has waned a bit in the last year, as they unnecessarily waded into a fight over whether religious institutions should be required to provide the same health benefits (including birth control coverage) that regular employers must provide.  As a father of girls, I sure think so!  This article in the Washington Post talks about that, and whether the affinity for those of my generation who grew up Catholic should automatically be fans of the Fighting Irish.

But while I may have a bone to pick with the current administration, my Irish blood runs deep, and I have to admire a group of players and coaches who have fought through adversity to put together a (so far) perfect season. Indeed, our family lore includes a story about my long departed grandmother fingering a rosary while listening on her old table top radio to Notre Dame games.

Plus, look at the opposition. A school most memorable for the moment in my adolescence when George Corley Wallace stood on the steps to bar the admission of an African American student!  And while the University, with the assistance of some Federal Marshalls and the National Guard came around to learn the competitive benefits of adding some "color" to their sports teams, I'm not persuaded that their color has really changed all that much.

I mean, what's with the symbol of the GOP as their team "mascot"?

And why would you name your team after a laundry detergent?  Just for product placement kick backs?

Yes, ND is clearly the underdog in this big game. But our team has played that role to some success in the past, including a bowl game in 1973 against 'Bama when a national title was on the line.  Bear Bryant nearly ate his famous fedora after that one.

Mistress and the cute Co-Ed are already making alternative plans for Monday night, knowing that being near me at moments like this can be less than relaxing.

I may even have to go find a rosary!

The Co-Ed Has Landed

We've had two great ski days here at the mountain hideaway, though its been a little cold overnight: 8 below at sunrise these last two mornings. But the southwest sun lights things up nicely, warming our days and making the slopes tolerable if you bundle up nicely.

Then last night, Mistress and Slave slogged down to the airport (a 3 hour drive) to pick up our cute Co-Ed who will join us for a few days of skiing and eating at some of her favorite local joints.

It means Mistress and Slave will have to tone things down a bit.

"Remember to close the bedroom door, Slave....."

"Yes, Mistress....."

In the meantime, we're a little worried about the WC who has a bit of a medical relapse. Maybe he's done a little too much heavy lifting (or chicken choking?) over the holidays. If he's not careful, I;m going to force hime to undergo an IME from UCTMW's new medical director / soothsayer, who touts himself as a "Physical Pain & Emotional Trauma Relief Specialist" who no doubt can get to the bottom of this new development. So you better be careful, big guy! Get some rest and make someone else do the cooking and driving until you heal properly!

Happy New Year!

Mistress and Slave had what amounted to an almost pure day of rest yesterday, as snow gently fell here on our high desert hideaway.

While Molly did catch that 9 am Yoga class, after she was done channeling all that positive energy, she adjourned to our couch in front of a glowing fireplace for some reading, napping, reading, and napping.

Slave was happy to join in.

Then, at around 6:30 pm we bundled up and trundled down through the snow to a local restaurant in the neighborhood that had a romantic fixed menu New Year's Eve dinner for all of us locals brave enough to wander out into the cold.

Bubbly was consumed, and we struck up a conversation with none other than "Mattress Mary" and her artist husband. Mary has been mentioned here before - she runs a local mattress / furnishings store that advertises on the solar radio station where she also does occasional movie reviews. We toasted the memory of her dog Molly, who famously disappeared in August from the place she was boarded while Mary was off on a buying trip to the Big Apple.

She's hoping Molly was taken for a stray by some loving passers by and now has a new home. (As opposed to being eaten by bears or flattened by a semi).

It's always fun to make new friends on New Year's Eve!

On the walk home,  snow still falling, we strolled by the local Catholic Church, where Mass was just letting out and the parishioners were wishing the Padre a happy anno nuevo.

We agreed it was one of our nicest New Year's Eves ever. We hope yours was a good one too, compadres!

Now for some wake-up sex and  deep powder skiing!