Snow is For Suckers

So, the sky decided to open up it's giant butt hole a few days ago, and it's been pooping down plops of freezing cold snow ever since. It must have eaten a bad cloud or a rotten oyster or something because there are monstrous piles of white stuff everywhere. Poor sky. Oh, and poor me.

It might look pretty idyllic if you happen to be a rosy cheeked character in a Norman Rockwell painting, perched before a roaring fire, wearing a cashmere unitard, with a hot toddy in one hand and a bottomless trust fund marinating in a downtown bank. In that case, you might feel obliged to say something like "Oh, Richard, isn't it just beautiful? Put down that Chicken Soup for the Rare Coin Collector's Soul and and come look at this! It's simply magical!"

But those of us who have to tromp to work in this blustery mess, who have to wear tights and leggings under our pants, two shirts and a jacket under our coat and manly, super-tread, not 100%, waterproof hiking boots, that look ridiculous with the business suit you are required to wear, aren't so thrilled. Let me rephrase that: I'm not so thrilled.

I know this snow business is old news for those of you who grew up in New York or Alaska or for those raised by a talking cartoon polar bear in Antarctica, but I'm from California, bitches. Not Lake Tahoe or Plumas County: the Bay Area. I can handle the rain, thank-you-very-much Seattle, and I thoroughly enjoy an afternoon of sledding...but living in the snow? Meh. It's been four days and I'm totally over it. Are we there yet?

This morning *cough* at noon *cough* as I hit the snooze on my alarm for the fourth time, I began to seriously contemplate hibernation. What a great idea! Now I see why that crazy Grizzly Man wanted to befriend all those bears in Alaska: bears know what's up. Maybe I can just lounge my way through the winter. I'll hide inside my cozy little bento box with my new fuzzy pillow, and my friends, and wait for the city to thaw out. Oh, and when I say friends, I mean instant ramen (the good kind), the Internet, Sex & the City, downloaded Mad Men episodes, Bon Appetit magazine and a stack of good books. I'll emerge in Spring, bleary eyed, bloated from MSG, warm and dry, just in time to watch the cherry blossoms pop! pop! pop! open, on the trees, like kernels of fluffy pink popcorn.