Tag Archives: winter

Cold vs. Hot

COLD HOTPart 3 of My Reader’s Suggestions.  This one is about Cold vs. Hot.  And what I prefer.  Well, I like my wine room temperature…oh wait.  I don’t think that’s what she meant.

I know this is a really dumb time for me to bring this up because everyone from Timbuktu to the North Pole are freezing their asses off, but what is best?  Being hot or being cold?

Personally, you know, for me?  I’ve always thought hot.  I have had this conversation with myself before.  For years, I’ve been having this conversation.  And even though it can get pretty damn hot around here in August, I feel like there is some way to cool off.

You can take off your clothes and run through a sprinkler.  Jump in the lake and blow a fan on yourself (well, I wouldn’t recommend doing them together because you can electrocute yourself and probably die).  You can take a cold shower and run an ice cube on your face (this you can do together – you will not probably die).  Sleep on the basement floor and sit under a shady tree drinking soda pop (that’s what I do, don’t you?).

I don't know.  I look kinda miserable cold.  Don't you think?

I don’t know. I look kinda miserable when I’m cold. Don’t you think?

When it’s super cold out?  Well, you can stay inside and hide under a down comforter all winter.  You know, hibernate?  But when it’s super cold outside and you have to actually go outside?  I don’t care if you are an eskimo, there is no trick short of duct taping every inch of whatever to keep the dang cold out.

I can put on three layers of wool socks and my snow boots that promise to keep my feet warm in below freezing temps and my toes will still feel like they are suffering from hypothermia after 10 minutes.  My parka is awesome, but on those freaking bone chilling days, even that doesn’t work.  Forget about gloves.  Those mothers are just useless.

The cold permeates through every window.  Under every door.  When I’m in my car and I lower the temperature a smidge, and I mean a smidge, my car feels like the inside of an ice ball after 3 minutes.  Of course, if you know what the inside of an ice ball feels like.  I happen to know because I LIVE IN ONE!!!

I'm feeling pretty damn hot here.  Phew.  But sure do look happier than when I'm cold.

I’m feeling pretty damn hot here. Phew. But sure do look happier than when I’m cold.

So, I guess I like being hot better.  Five months until August.  Let’s have this conversation then, shall we?  If my memory serves me right, I’m pretty sure I was cursing up the sun and wishing for winter.  I may have even done the Winter Dance.

Oh sorry, my bad.  Don’t worry, I can start doing the Summer Dance.  Oh wait.  Look where that got us.  Never mind.  I’ll just sit here with my room temperature wine, down comforter and cable TV until the sun comes out and melts all the snow.  See you in June.

Oh Pool Boy, Another Margarita Over Here…I’m On Brain-cation

Look, I know I’m not alone when I say that I am so damn sick of this ever-loving winter that seems to be droning on and on and on.  I can’t seem to look out the window without seeing a flake fall from the sky.  And the piles of snow?  Really.  Where are we supposed to put it all?  Is there a snow dump we don’t know about?

The sky just keeps vomiting snow.  We are in some serious danger of drowning in the shit.  Shit.  Yes, I said it.  Because that’s what it looks like after mere hours after it stops.  The white turns brown and gets all over our cars, our boots, our pants.  I have permanent snow shit on the back of a brand new pair of slacks I recently splurged on.  I even tried getting out the snow poo with OxyClean.  It didn’t work.  I may send Mother Nature the dry cleaning bill.  And charge her extra for pain and  suffering.

I can see you all rolling your eyeballs at me.  “Shut up already.  We know you are annoyed.  You’ve said it a thousand times in the last month.  Embrace it, lady.”  Well, guess what?  I don’t want to embrace it.  I’m done embracing it.  Besides, I’m not a hugger.  Okay, well that’s not entirely true.  I am.  Sometimes.

Which brings me to my next thought…vacation.  I want one.  I don’t care what I have to do to get myself one.  I’m not talking about a weekend in Maine.  Or 4 days in the Poconos.  I’m talking full on Caribbean island I don’t care where as long as there are 80 degree days, trade winds, white sand, the ocean and a drink boy.  Or drink girl for that matter.  As long as he/she is capable of carrying a margarita on a tray without spilling a drop.  I’ll tip generously, I promise.  The only ice I want to see from here on out is the ice in my drink.  Or I may lose my mind.

Am I going on vacation?  No.  There’s school for The Kid.  Work for DH.  And me?  Well, I’m kind of free but no one is available to take me.  The only vacation I’m going on is the vacation inside my head.  It’s not that bad.  If I sit in the window facing due West at about 2:26pm with a pair of sunglasses on I do a pretty good impression of the summertime me sitting on a beach.  Accompanied by palm trees, salty air and seagulls.

Except that would be a margarita and I would be glasses of the shaded kind.

My brain-cation sunny spot.  Except that would be a margarita and I would be wearing glasses of the shaded kind.

Unfortunately, the sun has to be out so my mind vacation doesn’t happen often.  But when it does, boy is there a party up in there.  Who wants to join me?  I’ll bring the tequila.

This post was inspired by Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop.  The word “Vacation”… 

Mama’s Losin’ It

Snow Day Fun In a Handbasket

When did I start to hate snow?  Like really, really hate it?  Probably yesterday.  Seriously.  I complain about the stuff, but secretly I enjoy a good snow day.  I mean, if I don’t have to go anywhere.  Or shovel it.  Or play in it.  Or stand outside.  Or touch it.

All was fine and dandy with the world, until DH had the bright idea to help him shovel the 200,000 pounds of snow off of the deck.  Some crap about the weight blah blah collapsing blah blah blah.  If you’ve been to my house and had the pleasure of enjoying a margarita on my deck when it is a balmy summer evening, then you know that my deck is just about as big as the smallest island of Hawaii.  What’s it called?  Kahoolawe?  Yeah, I just looked that up.  And I am exaggerating a little.  Obviously.  But it is big.  My deck.

A teeny of the deck from hell BEFORE the big lift

A teeny portion of the deck from hell BEFORE the big lift

You know that expression that you bit off more than you can chew?  Yeah, well, I just took a huge chunk out of Antarctica.  And it wasn’t going down.  DH was helping me.  Then he left to rake snow off the roof so we didn’t have another episode of ice damming.  And he raked the snow off the boat.  And he snow blowed the driveway.  And he snow blowed the walkway.  And shoveled the front stoop.  In other words, he was busy.

When I realized I was probably going to have to finish the job alone, I started to cry.  Not the “I’m sad because my goldfish just died” kind of cry.  It was the “holy freaking hell, this is the most frustratingly awful thing ever and I want to just throw myself over the edge of this deck and put myself out of total and complete misery now this very minute” kind of cry.  And I was dropping the “F” bomb every 30 seconds.  I might have to go to confession to wash my soul.

This wasn’t fluffy, fun, nice, sweet angel snow.  This was something the devil sent.  The top 5 inches was ice.  And a shovelful of snow felt like I was lifting half a car.  Every muscle in my arms were screaming.  My back felt like it was going to split.  And both my knees were starting to crack under the pressure.  Yeah, my good knee too.  And when I looked around, I felt like I hadn’t accomplished a thing.  Not a damn-friggin’ thing.  True story.

To make matters worse, I realized half way through it (at about hour #2) that I never stocked up on wine.  I had no wine.  Not that I NEEDED wine.  But  I WANTED wine.  And I deserved it dammit.  So, it was at that moment that I was going to brave those deadly snow plows and ice balls and crazy wind-blown tree branches and walk my butt down to my neighbor’s house to borrow some (I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for some wine today).  The walk there and back is probably close to a half a mile.  I didn’t care.  And I knew she had it because they are prepared for an apocalypse.  Or in this case, Snow-mageddon.

I was dripping wet.  Not from sweat although there was plenty of that as well.  But it was sleeting/raining/snowing and my parka was not keeping me dry.  My hair was a mass of frozen icicles and my nose…well, let’s just say it’s hard to tell what is coming out of your nose holes when your face is suffering from hypothermia.  Remember the cart attendant at Shop Rite?  Yeah, that.

That teeny portion AFTer the big lift

That teeny portion AFTER the big lift

So, now I was down to a smallish but biggish ovally mound.  As I was standing there staring at it because I did not have one bit of energy left in my little biceps to lift one more smidgeon of freaking snow off of that deck, DH came around the corner and had mercy on me.

My leftover mound

My leftover mound

It was then that I realized I could not take another step.  Even if it was to get some red medicine that can only be opened with a cork screw.  So, I sat my wet ass in my car and literally slid down the road.  I stood on my neighbor’s front step and eagerly accepted her gift.  Not one, but two bottles of wine.  Thank you.  You are my savior.

When I got home, I took a 150 degree shower, poured that very well-deserved glass of wine, sat on the couch and fell into a deep, dreamless coma.  That is what I did on our snow day.  The End.

snow wine

My borrowed reward

Why I Hate Grocery Shopping More Than umm…Anything

grocery shopping

Trying to keep it clean people. No matter how hard that is for me.

I went to the grocery store today.  The Kid opened the refrigerator this morning and proclaimed that there wasn’t a thing in it.  So, I guess I needed to.  Even though it seems I just went.  I don’t know why, but grocery shopping day comes real quick-like.  Don’t you think?

Anyway, it was 17 degrees outside according to the temperature gauge in my car.  Tried as I may, I could not find a blessed spot closer than a football field away from the front door of the store.  So I parked.  And sat there.  And sat there.  I heard car doors slamming shut all around me.  Other people were not just sitting there.  They were getting that crap done.  Because they are smart and did not want to prolong the inevitable.

I mean, I had stuff to do while sitting in my car.  Like text a friend.  Check Facebook.  Update my status.  And when I was done with that, I googled “will pigs ever fly and if so, when?”  When I finally got the courage — yes, you need courage to drag your ass out of a warm car with butt warmers into freezing cold temperatures — to start my excursion, I noticed there were several empty spots.  Even one that was right next to the handicapped spot.  Figures.

I realized pretty quickly that I should have tried to convince myself to stay in my car a little longer.  Or at least until Spring.

  1. “Don’t look.  Don’t look.  Don’t look.”  That’s what I said to myself as the nice cart attendant was gracious enough to grab me a cart.   Out of the corner of my eye, I saw hanging from his nose, one of those mucusy, thick snot strings.  You know the kind that are so thick, they don’t even move with all the head shaking in the world?  That kind.  But I looked.  It’s kinda like a bad car wreck.  You really don’t want to look but you are compelled.  All I can say is, I’m surprised I purchased as many groceries as I did.
  2. One of the things that irks me the most is when people find it necessary to have a reunion smack in the middle of the cereal aisle.  Standing 6 people deep, carts included, makes it kinda hard to pass, in case you were wondering.  My dad used to say, “you make a better door than window” whenever we would stand in front of him while he was watching television.  Well, what I wanted to say was, “you make a better door, vault and Fort Knox than a nice, CLEAR OPENING IN THE CEREAL AISLE SO MOVE!!!”  But I didn’t.  I stood there.  Huffing and puffing.  Because I’m passive-aggressive like that.
  3. I just wish people wouldn’t walk backwards in the grocery store.  Because if they do, they stand the chance of getting run over by my cart.  Well lady, you shoulda used your rearview mirror. Or better yet, you should not walk backwards in the grocery store.  She seemed a little miffed.  I don’t know why.
  4. I find it funny that you suddenly feel really bad about some of the choices you made while you are putting the items on the conveyor belt and someone is standing behind you in line  watching your every move.  Even with the mucus snot image branded into my brain, I got a few extra fun snacks.  To help pass the time while we are all home staying warm.  Thank God I grabbed some broccoli.  You know.  To dip into the Ranch dressing.
  5. “Don’t look.  Don’t look.  Don’t look.”  This time it was the man in line behind me who only had 4 items (I have good peripheral vision).  “Oh God.  I should probably offer to let this guy go in front of me.  That would be the nice thing to do.  Oh screw that.  I want to get home just as much as he does.  Why is MY time any less important.  If I pretend I don’t see him, then he won’t think I’m selfish.  Because if I didn’t see him, then how can I have the opportunity to ask if he wants to cut me?  Besides there are like 3 Express lines here.  That’s his problem if he doesn’t want to use them.”  “Excuse me, sir.  Would you like to get in front of me?”  Yeah, I looked.
  6. They really outta invent brakes for shopping carts.  Either that or stop building grocery stores with sloping parking lots.  I’m tired of running after my cart.  Well, that actually didn’t happen today.  But it could have.  If it did happen, I most likely would have let it go.  Because I seriously haven’t the energy.  This season should not be called Winter.  It should be called the “I can’t get out of bed because I’m tired all of the time energy sucking” season.  Don’t you think?  Anyway, what I am tired of is thinking of ways to get my cart from running backwards down the hill.  Do you know how hard it is to keep your foot behind the wheel while unloading that thing?  I can barely chew gum and walk at the same time.  It’s a damn circus act.

Ok, so this was going to be a quick post.  Because I have a ton of laundry to do and I haven’t even finished putting away those darn groceries.  But it wasn’t so quick.  Sorry about that.  Anyway, this is a great excuse to not do those things, right?  For both you AND me.  You’re welcome.  Stay tuned for “Why I Hate Laundry and Putting Away Groceries.”

Quick Call the Doctor. I Think I Have Cabin Fever.

Just kidding.

Just kidding.

Part 2 of My Reader’s Suggestions.  This one is about Cabin Fever.  Because when we can’t get out, that’s what it feels like.  A damn fever.  A fever that will not go away.  No amount of Motrin can help either.  Believe me.  I tried.

If you live in the Northeast like I do, hell, if you live anywhere besides Hawaii, you have suffered the effects of this crazy winter.  I will almost bet there is an epidemic of Cabin Fever going on all over the country.  As for me?  I’m just about at my wit’s end.  I can tell you that.

I’m not a skier.  I’m not a sledder.  I’m not an outside in the cold kind of person in any way.  I secretly feel blessed when I ask the kid if she wants to go outside and build a snowman or make snow angels and her answer is, “heck no.”  Thank the Lord.  Following in her mom’s footsteps.  That’s good, right?

So, now if it isn’t bad enough, I have a disgusting head cold.  Disgusting.  With snot, phlegm, the works.  I feel like crap.  Which translates to not wanting to leave the house because I don’t have the energy.  But at the same time, I am beyond bored out of my gourd.  The Kid wanted a drive over to a friend’s house last night.  Even in my fog, I jumped at the chance to actually breathe a little fresh air.  Even if I was just going from the garage back to the, umm, garage.  Hmmm.  I feel duped.  How did that happen?

Anyway, how do we cure the dreaded Cabin Fever?  You know, if you don’t ski, sled, ice fish or partake in any of the fun outside snow activities you can do?  Damn.  Even if you do do those things, it’s just too damn cold out.  Unless you like frostbite.  But I’m guessing you don’t.

I’ll tell you what I have been doing:

There are 10 billion channels on cable.  Yet there is nothing on.  I have become a Facebook stalker to the creepy extent.  My brain is so fuzzed up from mucus plugs and television radioactive waves, that it can’t think.  So, in my attempt to write, I sound like Justin Beiber on pot, tequila and prescription meds.  You know…stupid.  (Yeah, yeah.  You’re all sick of hearing jabs about JB.  But I haven’t said a thing about him yet, so I’m allowed.)

I could play a game with The Kid, but I haven’t.  And don’t really want to.  I mean, I will if she asks.  But I’m hoping she doesn’t.  I could get up and go on the elliptical.  But that would mean I would have to remove myself from the position in which I have been for the last 3 days on this couch.  And the indentation from my butt in the leather is at such a comfort level that if I move, I fear losing that.  Besides I don’t feel good.  But I mentioned that.

I could walk to a neighbor’s house.  But I’m afraid of the cold freezing my nose hair to the point where they break off.  And we need our nose hair.  Don’t we?  But I could go there with my hairless nostrils and drink wine and sit by her fire and bitch about stuff only we girls can bitch about.  But I don’t feel good.  But I already mentioned that.  Three times.

So, this reader of mine with the suggestion to write about Cabin Fever?  Sorry.  I think I just completely disappointed you.  I cannot help in any way.  Well, I did attempt to clean out the toilets before I got sick.  I even stared at my closet to organize it.  But I just stared.  That, by the way, was my second attempt.  Three time’s a charm?

It seems I’m not the best person to ask about Cabin Fever.  Probably because I’ve got it so bad, I’m delirious.  But it was fun talking about it.  And getting it off my chest.

So, stay warm everyone.  Only 146 more days till summer.  I think.  I may have forgotten how to count.  Actually, I just cheated and looked on-line at one of those countdown sites.  Because I believe I have forgotten how to count.  That’s what happens to frozen mucus brain.

The Polar Vortex Is Not a Shirt

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I’m very distracted by the number of typos in this card. But you get the picture.

Last week, I asked my readers for some ideas for a topic.  One of them suggested Polar Vortex.  So here goes.  This is what I know.  Or more accurately, don’t know.

I have to be honest here.  I did not know what Polar Vortex was.  In case you haven’t realized by now, I kind of live under a rock.  I hate the news.  It depresses me.  When DH puts on the evening news, I zone out on my iPhone like a prepubescent teenage girl.

Now that I have that out of the way, what comes to mind when you hear these two words?  Polar = cold.  Like Polar Bear.  Not that a Polar Bear is cold exactly, but he lives in the cold.  When I think of Vortex, I think of, well, um…some kind of material that you wear to keep sweat from touching your skin?  Or it could be something weird going on in your brain.  Wasn’t there some strange movie about that once?  Probably not.

I looked it up and here is the real meaning:  “A persistent, large scale cyclone located near either of a planet’s geographical poles.”  Well, that’s the short version.  I don’t understand the rest.  This is good enough for me.  So, in layman’s terms, there is a cyclone at the North or South pole?  Am I close?  Again, probably not.  But I have to ask.  What does a cyclone at the North Pole have anything to do with us?  I’m so confused and still feel like I’m in the dark.  Maybe if I tuned into the news?  Nah.

Whatever it means, it’s a bit nuts.  I’m telling you people, this winter sucks minus.  It doesn’t seem to matter what part of the country you are from.  Florida doesn’t even seem safe.  What the heck is going on?  I mean figuratively.  Because we already know  what’s going on literally.  In case you zoned out, it has to do with a cyclone or two (I think).  I mean, I’m not equipped for this business.  My parka isn’t even enough to keep out the cold.  The last time I checked, I’m not an Eskimo.  If I wanted to partake in this crap, I would have moved my buns to Alaska.

Below zero temperatures is cruel.  It’s like a bad joke.  And then we wake up 2 days later and it’s 52 degrees.  People have become so accustomed to minus 10 degrees that when it’s 50, they feel it’s okay to bring out the shorts and tank tops.  Seriously.  I, myself, have contemplated pulling out the tankini and catching a few rays.  The snow?  It’s no longer white and fluffy.  It’s a disgusting mess of mud and slush.  It’s everywhere.  On your car.  On your legs.  All over those really cute riding boots you got for Christmas.

Ok, so is it over?  This Polar Vortex business?  I hope so.  Today hit around the 45 degree mark.  I didn’t wear a coat to work.  And when I got out of work at 5pm and stepped outside, I wasn’t even cold.  Now do that in August and we’d be freezing our asses off.  It’s just so weird to me.  It’s January people.  JAN-U-AR-Y.  Did I get off topic?  Sorry.

And the material you wear that keeps sweat from touching your skin? That would be Gortex.  See?  I know what I’m talking about.  Kind of.