I am the Snowboarding Queen

Run 1

If you called me boring, well, you wouldn't necessarily be wrong. I eat, sleep, go to the toilet, and snowboard.

If you haven't gone snowboarding, then you don't know true exhilaration. Or fear. Depending on your mentality, of course. Now for me, snowboarding is my life. Seriously. I'm dating my fridge and I get up at six to drive two hours to the slopes. What kind of life do you think I have?

A life without a boyfriend, apparently.

😜Gracie White's New Years Resolutions🏂

1) Stop eating so much sugar, you fatty.

2)There's a thing called the gym, Gracie. Use it.

3)Stop spending your money on more shoes. How many pairs do you have now?

4)Stop dating your fridge and get a boyfriend.

5)Also stop telling people you're dating a fridge. It's weird.

These are posted on my fridge, actually. No joke.

🏂

"Pump it! Louder!Pump it! Louder! And Saturday oh-" "thwack"

No matter how photogenic you are, Black Eyed Peas, I still do not appreciate you waking me up. Ever.

"Ugh!" I groaned, and flopped out of my multicolor polka dot duvet and onto the rug adorning my hardwood floor. "urg." I groaned again on impact.

Why hello there, floor. How are you?

As if Pump It! wasn't enough to wake me up, my best friend certainly does the trick.

"Gracie! Gracie!" She screamed, pounding on my front door.

"What?!" I screamed back, wiggling uselessly in my stupid constricting cocoon of blankets. Really I was just getting myself stuck further.

"Open the door!" Sara screamed.

"I can't!" I yelled back. Oh my elderly neighbors were going to love this. "I'm stuck!"

"Is the spare key still in the pot?" Sara called through the mail slot.

"Yes." I grumbled. Sara told me it was too obvious.

There was click and the tell-tale 'snick' of a wooden door being opened.

Sara, being Sara, was not polite enough to spare my door some pain and decided to slam it.

Sara Weissman has been my best friend for ages, starting when we were in preschool together and she pulled my braids for taking her purple crayon.
She's very abusive sometimes, I tell you.

Sara is positively gorgeous, with long, Alice in wonderland hair and big, expressive blue eyes. She's also tall and willowy with curves, while I'm shorter and more muscular. Toned, but with a size 34B. At age nineteen and a half.

I feel like god sometimes wants me to grow up and be a crazy cat lady.
Except, funnily enough, I'm allergic to cats. Chinchillas too. But what the hell do you even do with a chinchilla?

Sorry, went off on a tangent there. Lets go back to Sara.

Who was uselessly staring down at my cocoon of strangling blankets. "You look like a taco." She remarked.

"Thanks?" I said questioningly. I don't know, is it good to be compared to delicious Mexican food?

Sara just kind of stood there like a very blonde potato, not doing anything, so I decided to give her a slap into reality. Metaphorically speaking of course, since I was being a taco and can't move my arms.