HE SAID: Winter

FYI, the following is being written from the comforts of my own home…where I’m sitting under a blanket, wearing long johns, sweats and a flannel shirt.  The sun has just set outside, it is approximately -4 degrees before the windchill, and we are expecting another major snowstorm later this week.  But be aware, I am not complaining, I am merely writing down factual statements.  Why am I not complaining? You may ask…Because it is the middle of winter in effing Vermont, and unless I am being forced to live here against my will, I have no right to complain. Ok, maybe not being forced against my will, but you get my point.

And yes, I get it, the last couple of days have been pretty darn brutal, even close to record breaking, in fact. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a fan of lows of negative -27 with a windchill of -40, but when I woke up this morning praying my pipes didn’t freeze and my car would start (thank you, C.G. Johnson – alleged inventor of the garage door), I realized two very important things: 1. I have absolutely, no control over the weather and 2. I can move, really quite easily. With regards to #1, spare me your tree-hugging, hippie liberal BS about my effect on the environment.  Yes, I realize that there are many things I could do better to control my effect on the environment, just don’t mention global warming to me when my private parts have ascended back into my stomach.  And as for #2, I just don’t want to.  I’d rather put up with X amount of days of absolute crap weather, because I love it here.

So the title of this post could have been way better, but at its crux, this post is about winter…and all the assholes who complain non-stop about it.  It’s times like this that I hate things like twitter and facebook (wait, that’s not true, clearly I am obsessed, but still), with friends constantly reminding me about how miserable it is outside. Trust me, I am aware of it.

Or maybe I’m still bitter about the Patriots losing to the Jets, and I’m simply taking it all out on you. Not quite all, there is some of my blood on a hand-dryer in one of the Newark International Airport bathrooms thanks to that shitshow. Yet, I digress.

It’s good to be back.


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