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There are three types of time one experiences in life. The first is normal time, that’s when you’re at the grocery store looking for the canola oil; it’s where most of us live our lives. It’s also what makes postal workers bring guns to work and corporate executives swan dive from their balconies. Which is why I have a strict policy against more than 40 hours per week of normal time, it just isn’t healthy.

For this reason I decided to skip out on school for a few days and take a ski vacation. Unfortunately ski resorts on powder days turn into slalom races. Not the good kind of race, where you’re dodging gates at 60 mph and racing against a clock that doesn’t care about excuses; it’s the kind of race where you’re dodging the upper crust of society in $1,000 ski suits with bored New York attorneys. With this in mind, my friend Josh and I had set out to hike a few miles into the backcountry and earn some turns.

There I was sitting on my couch watching Jeopardy, which, as a 23 year old single male, is one of my preferred ways to spend a Friday night.

"She popping she rolling she rolling
She climbing that pole and
I'm in love with a stripper
She tripping she playing she playing
I'm not going nowhere girl, I'm staying
I'm in love with a stripper"

Hmm, that's weird music for Jeopardy to have playing. Oh shit, wait, that's my phone. Now, before you get all over me for having that ringer on my phone, I'd like to point out that only a few people on my phone get the honor of having that particular ringer. They're all females, so that makes it better, I like to think.

“Por placer, sin duda o miedo,” she said. For pleasure, without doubt or fear. In spite of knowing little Spanish, the toast was easy to understand. We drank.

As the liquor settled in our bellies I noticed how the hue of Ana’s eyes matched the Jack Daniels now warming me. Her shoulder-length black hair flowed with a life of its own as she laughed at Ryan’s awkward Spanish. Their conversation moved haltingly, she knew little English and Ryan little Spanish. I sat, completely unaware of what they spoke, but contented with the drinks, the falling mid-August snow, and her well-arranged cleavage. Sabine returned with more drinks. She was Austrian, vacationing here in Argentina with her parents. In contrast to Ana’s brown eyes and black hair, she was blonde, with stunning blue eyes; her cleavage was just as well-arranged though. Although her English was only slightly better than Ana’s, we got on well enough with my shaky German and her English.

Bars are the primordial soup from which most of my greatest achievements evolved. Tonight’s ingredients were typical: three of my best friends, some blurry digital camera photos, and a girl I had been smitten with for months, along with ten or twelve empty pitchers of PBR. Sitting at the table, surrounded by friends, girls, and alcohol I reflected upon the particular evolution of what we had planned for tomorrow.

Friday began 750 miles away, bright and early at 7:00 AM. I have often joked with friends that there are only two things will get me up before 8:00 AM; today was skiing three feet of virgin powder. Eight hours and thirty-five thousand vertical feet of bliss later, I was back in my car heading for North Idaho. I had an important date with three friends and another storm.

“Hey, are you from Huntington Beach?” Turning around to see who was asking such an odd question for our surroundings, I saw a gorgeous Greek girl hustling up the street behind me. My friends and I all stopped walking and waited for her to catch up.

“Are you from Huntington Beach?” she repeated.

“No, uh, why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s just your sweatshirt and all…” she said pointing out the fact that my sweatshirt was from Jack’s Surf Shop in Huntington Beach.