Yes, after my previous rant about global warming (I still believe it folks, the end is nigh) mama natura returned with a vengeance... but whatever, freezing one's ass off in a seasonably normal fashion is oh-so-very preferable to schvitzing uncomfortablye whilst imagining the slow melting and breakage of arctic ice caps... or the endless migration of polar bears searching for some solid ice upon which to rest. (Tear, sob)
We-ell, there's nothing better to do when the cold comes in than engage in serious, literary-heroine worthy girlishness. These activities include:
Getting my hair cut. At long, last, I've found the ONE. A cheap, friendly, person who actually gave me bangs that weren't a pathetic-ass wisp, and did a great job on my difficult-to-tame bob. Quoth she: "you got a lotta hair, girl!"
Anyway, all my female readers, and perhaps a few of the male ones as well, will undoubtedly understand that finding a hair person one likes (the first time I've done so in years) is like making a shidduch-- no Yente required.
Ice-Skating I celebrated a dear old friend's 25th by whizzing around wollman rink (or should I say TRUMP's Wollman rink, hard to do without throwing up a little) like dem Victorians used to do it-- although I don't think those in that elegant era used to listen to booming clubby house music while they did it. Anyway, I love skating for all the aesthetic reasons, such as snow-scapes, but also because it's one of a very few sports I am more than adequate at. To be fair, they're actually all pretty much variations on the same sport, which is to say standing on slidy things without falling: skiing (both downhill and XC), ice-skating, and rollerblading. Sometimes I can even whizz by people who have Y chromosomes, which gives me a super-cool rush. But mostly I just like the feeling of gliding. Who doesn't?
Ben and Jerry's Eating- Why do women like ice cream with chunks and swirls in it, when most men I know prefer it pure and unadulterated? Sad as it is to admit, I'd rather have some junky artificial frozen yogurt with ten different flavors and chunks in it than some vanilla, no matter how vanilla-y and amazing it is. Why is that? Why do we crave the chunks? Does it speak to boredom, emptiness, hormones, or what? Somebody enlighten me. RIP Ooey Gooey cake, the best fr0-yo flavor ever, sponsor of my freshman fifteen.
Election Watching--Yes, I'm pissed that Hil's triangulating, at the press is already Dean-ifying Obama by hyping him up to ridiculous degrees and then casting doubt on his electability, but I'm still fucking excited. A woman, a minority, and a hard-core economic populist (Edwards), and Kucinich to boot, versus an imploding group of blowhard old white men. This is going to be a great, thrilling race, enough to get a disillusioned Gore and Kerry door-knocker sending in her resume to some campaigns. And that's sayin' something.
Blue '08. Awww yeah.
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