So, like, my publicist friend totally said that I need to start doing this blog thingy, which is totally like, you know, a diary, and I was all like, sure, and stuff.

So I wanted to talk about, you know, stuff, and I thought about a couple of weeks ago when my BFF totally did a major FAIL while skiing, and I was like totally ROFL and LMAO!

Then I saw that there was like, blood, and stuff, and his eyes were totally closed and he wasn’t moving, and I totally went ZOMG!!! That jump pwned him!!!

Okay, enough of that shit.

A couple of weeks ago I did in fact go skiing with my best friend, and he did knock his ass out cold. We’re pretty hardcore, which is another way of saying “stupid.” I’m 40 and he’s 38, and some might say we’re kind of old to be catching big air, but we do it anyway. The boarders in the terrain park always look at us like WTF are you doing here?

Because there wasn’t much fresh snow we were getting our fun by hitting the jumps hard. We’d just gone through the top section and had both nailed the biggest, freakiest jump. It has what appears to be an almost vertical lip with about a 25 foot long table top. You absolutely must hit it at top speed or you’re ass is in deep shit because you land on the flat. If you do go fast enough then you clear the top and land softly on a nice downward slope.

It scares the shit out of me every time because I’m skiing as fast as I can towards what looks like a wall. My balls get pulled up somewhere in the vicinity of my gall bladder, and it is only the knowledge that I must go fast that prevents me from wimping out.

Anyway, that’s not how my friend bailed. He nailed the big one perfectly and we went down to the lower section and then he went off this piddly little one, leaned too far forward, popped right out of his skis and “ker-smash” – he did a complete lip stand then skidded along on his face for about 15 feet. We both wear helmets, but those don’t do much to prevent damage from a face plant.

I saw the blood before I reached him and popped off my skis and put them in an “X” at the top of the jump to signal both “distress” and “it would be real swell if you didn't go over this jump and land on top of us.” My friend looked like he was asleep, and he stayed that way for about a minute. I was in the process of giving birth to a Volkswagon when a snowboarder came by and I told him to get the ski patrol.

Then his eyes opened and he started to groan like he too was calving a foreign import. I kept asking if he was okay for a couple of minutes and he finally sat up and said, “Yeah, I’m good.”

The fact that he could sit up was a major relief because I had been thinking about severed spinal columns and things like that. “No, you’re not,” I said. “You’ve got a big gash in the bridge of your nose and it definitely needs stitches.”

“Okay.” He stood up.

“Where’s the ski patrol hut?” I asked him. It had been ten years since I’d needed the services of the ski patrol and I knew they’d moved it, but I wasn’t sure where to.

“Fucked if I know.” Verbatim, that is what he said, and this confused me because he’s a paramedic for the town nearby and fetches dumbasses that hurt themselves on this hill all the time. Spaz that I am it didn’t occur to me that his brain had been rattled and he wasn’t thinking clearly.

At that point the ski patrol guy pulled up and my friend was grabbing his skis and putting them on. “My friend needs stitches,” I said. “Can you lead us to the hut?” Then my friend took off on his own down the hill and I hurriedly put mine on and the patroller and I skied after him.

Turns out that he did know where the hut was because we met him there. They cleaned him up and I then drove him to the local hospital for stitches where the paramedics, nurses and doctors he works with all came around to make fun of him. I learned that he had done what paramedics refer to as an FDGB: Fall Down Go Boom.

While we were waiting for the X-ray on his thumb (sprained, not broken) he said, “So, what happened anyway?” It turns out the last thing he remembers is the big jump he did about a minute before he wiped out, and he barely remembers skiing down to the patrol hut. He lost at least ten minutes of memory.

My wife is a family doctor and after she chewed me out for letting him ski down to the hut (apparently a second fall could have killed him), she insisted he stay at our place for a couple of days so she could keep an eye on him.

The next day the right side of his face looked like he'd... well, I'll use his words: "It looks like I've been bitch-slapped by a badger."

Anyway, I decided to write this tale because my friend and I are returning to the scene of the crime tomorrow. The place has been getting hit hard with tons of snow for the past three days, which means no jumps and soft landings for damaged brains.