I loathe the winter; this should surprise absolutely nobody. I hate the cold and the snow and the short hours of daylight. Yesterday, though, it was worse than usual. I was losing my mind being cooped up inside. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d taken a breath of fresh air. I didn’t do anything about it, though, since there was no way in hell I was going to go in the frigid weather. Instead, I sat myself on my couch and attempted to read, but my mind wasn’t having it. I tried to write, but I had no creativity. I tried to work on my remodeling project, but I cut myself a dozen times in the course of a few minutes and Edna was no help at all. In desperation, I opened up the window and stuck my head out. It wasn’t all that bad, so I made a rash decision to go out and try a walk. I am alarmed and disturbed by how much fun I had. I galloped, like Miranda Hart, for a mile. I danced a bit and tried to see how ridiculous I could make my footprints look. I made snow angels in a cemetery. I listened to Fleetwood Mac. I studied Arabic. I skipped. I ran. I walked backwards. It was ridiculous. SUCH FUN! If I get around to it, I’m going for another one this afternoon. I’ve always enjoyed walking on the treadmill — walking is my sport, why isn’t it in the Olympics? — but walking outside is so much better. I got some fresh air and some sun on my skin. My nose ran ridiculously and my headphones froze, but whatever.
“Tango in the Night” by Fleetwood Mac:
I haven’t heard much Fleetwood Mac in my life. Not really my cup of tea, you know? I’ve never really understood that expression very well. Why would that ever be something brought up as a comparison? It does kind of make sense I suppose, I don’t care for all kinds of tea — Darjeeling, no thank you — but, because of American Horror Story, I decided to listen to this group more in depth and I’ve found them rather intriguing. I know next to nothing about them personally, but I enjoy the music. It’s been stuck in my head for days. I gave a concert to the entire neighborhood on my snowy walk the other day shouting out, “The Seven Wonders” and “Carolina” and other ones that I really don’t know very well, yet. Only a matter of time until my lipsync of Stevie Nicks is better than her — which admittedly won’t take much effort. Did you see her tragically lipsync on the finale of American Horror Story? It was so bad, but that made it so good. They’re great.
The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas:
Now, I probably should have known, since I do consider myself one of the biggest Dolly Parton fans this side of the Mississippi, but why did none of you tell me that there was a romantic/musical comedy about sweet hookers where Dolly Parton is the madam? I’m ashamed of you all for letting me live my life this long without watching it. I’m going to show it to my future children every night. I’ve long ago decided that my children will only watch musicals so that I’ll have a little choir to sing with at all times. We’ll be just like the Von Trapps without those damn Nazis. The two hours I spent last night singing and dancing to this movie were some of the best I’ve had so far this year. Of course, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses; there was a scene featuring students from Texas A&M and, well, lets just say I got a little annoyed. I quickly got over that, though, how could I stay mad at memories of dumb boys when Miss Dolly was flawlessly singing “Hard Candy Christmas?” I loved it. It was perfect. I thought back to all the shitty films I watched two years ago for my resolution and I decided that this picture easily would have garnered a ten. DOLLY FOR PRESIDENT.
Discover Card Reward Points:
I talked down my Discover card for a long time, with good reason, though, I feel; it’s very frustrating when businesses won’t accept that card. But, of the few credit cards I have, the Discover card is easily the one I prefer. Firstly, it’s beautiful, you can select a picture for your card, which pleases me more than it should. The design does absolutely nothing but it makes me happy. The other reason that I enjoy the card so much is that I really like the reward points. When I first got the card, you had to earn fifty dollar’s worth before you could do anything with them. Now, though, there’s no minimum when you use them on Amazon; I’ve gotten many heavily discounted things on there. Yesterday, I found these Art Deco journals I’ve been lusting over on there and had to buy them, simply had to have them for my upcoming trip to New York. Look at them!
Turns out, I only had to pay two dollars as I had built up so many reward points. It was a thrilling day. A joyful day. I love my credit card, it pays me to shop.
Hitler Valentine’s Day Cards:
Look, I know it’s in poor taste, but I have always been very amused by poor taste. It’s comforting, really, I think, when people aren’t always politically correct and make jokes about horrible situations. It doesn’t demean people and laughter is healthy. I still crack up about a note I saw in high school that showed a crudely drawn imitation of the World Trade Center that said”I’m falling for you.”
Still laughing as I type it. It’s awful, yes, I know. This year, there is a massive trend for making terrible puns on Valentine Cards and then posting them online. They are awful! So bad, but I still laugh. The Hitler ones get me every single time. How can you keep a straight face when there’s a rosy saturated picture of Hitler saying, “Be Mein?” You can’t! You simply cannot! It’s hysterical. If you don’t laugh, like, we can’t be friends.
Not Having Hipster Boots:
I have always thought my wardrobe was full and diverse and easily modified to fit any style. For the most part this is true. I realized, though, with terrible alarm that I don’t have any black jeans. I quickly remedied this with a quick trip to H&M. I refuse to feel guilty about it because I need pants FOR WORK. Plus, there’s a sale going on, 30% off, so obviously, I had to buy them and that adorable cardigan. As I was on my wintry walk yesterday afternoon, I started planning the outfits I’ll wear in New York next month. It’ll still be chilly, so it’ll be mainly jeans and sweaters. What about shoes, though? What kind of shoes will I wear with my new chic black jeans that are the exact clones of my favorite oxblood pants? Hurry up, delivery services! Anyway, I realized that I need boots. Black boots like the hipsters wear. I looked at a few pairs at Zara and Kohls and Topman, but none of them sang to my soul, yet. Only a matter of time, though, I’m sure. I have to find the perfect pair before my train leaves for New York City, the city with its streets paved with gold! I can’t go in a pair of silver Converse. Beyoncé forbid! I’m going to look delightful.
I had never rehydrated a chickpea in all my life before yesterday when I decided to give it a go. I’d always relied on convenient and affordable canned ones. The dried ones were much cheaper, so I thought I’d give it a go. NEVER AGAIN, reader, never again. I soaked them for hours and hours beyond the recommended time and they still tasted like little bits of pea gravel. Absolutely dreadful. I could at least bite through them, so I put them in my soup where they soaked up some more liquid, but not enough to make them delicious. I normally love chickpeas, but not this time. I pick around them to eat the deliciously soft lentils. I love lentils. This is a boring post, I suppose, but just don’t buy dried chickpeas.
The Incredible Number of Hours Needed To Remodel:
Sweet Buddha, I am exhausted of remodeling. It takes a ridiculous amount of time. Admittedly, when the project is completed and you relax in your newly tranquil chamber, it’s all worth it, but getting to that point is enough to drive you mad. I’m up in my future walk-in closet/gym right now and all I can see is how much more work there is to do before I’m finished. I’ve already spent hours and hours cleaning it out, ripping out the carpet and removing the idiotically textured ceiling. Today I need to pull up the terrifyingly sharp spikes that held the hideous carpet in place. It’ll take absolute ages — good thing that today is a snow day! — and then I have to prime the walls, scrape out the old mildewy caulk around the windows, deep clean the windows, apply new caulk (such a fun word, that, because I’m immature), carefully paint the trim after putting up the Sharkey Grey color I do all my walls in, try to figure out what to do with the attic door, then tear out the carpet pad, remove all the staples, tidy up the floor that’s been hidden beneath (I shudder at the thought of what I may find), then run some new outlets and lights. And then once that’s all finished, I need to devise a system of displaying my clothes and shoes in a chic, stylish, and attractive fashion. That’s the part I like, the decorating part. I need to have a staff to take care of the rest of this for me. After this room is done, I still have two more up here before I can even think of converting an old closet into a half bath. Le sigh…
Too Afraid of Being Poor to Move Away:
Guys, it is so freaking cold. We delayed school again because of it this morning. This didn’t happen in the past, stupid weather. All my life, I’ve talked about going to Florida or California or Hawaii to live. (I’ve not yet been to Hawaii, but I’m sure I’d enjoy myself. How could I not? Island, beach, palm trees, pineapple plantations, and luxury resorts — yes please, thank you very, very much.) I do intend to do it sometime, but I just can’t get around to it. You see, I have a very cushy life here. I live on a country estate with tranquil chambers that I don’t have to pay a penny for. The only thing I pay for is food, a few bills, and nice clothes. If I were to move someplace new, I’d have to pay rent and all sort of things I don’t even think of right now. I’m determined to do it, but then when I think of the financial impact, I kind of forget about it. But, I don’t want to be like this forever, I don’t really like Iowa. It’s lovely and all, but sweet Allah is it dull. I’m thankful for the train station and the airport so I can easily get away. I’m glad to have a bucolic place here…but I do yearn for a bit more, you know? What fun it would be to have a year round tan and be able to pick tomatoes from my garden on Christmas Day; what a thrill it’d be to take my bike down to the beach and read a book under the flimsy shade of a palm tree; what joy it would give me to wear shorts and a tank top in the middle of January. I really need to stop being so afraid of poverty and just go. Will this be my last winter here? I always say that it will be, but we will have to see.
Being Out of Shape:
I don’t know why I let myself fall out of shape. I used to be all about exercise. I did yoga every day. I would run and walk and skip. I did all sorts of different ab exercises. I never had the body of a Grecian god, but I was fit. Then I got really depressed last autumn and I didn’t maintain my level of exercise anymore and I just let myself go a bit. I never got fat, BEYONCÉ FORBID, but I’m not quite as in shape as I was before. The other day during the snow day, I did some yoga, which felt very nice. I need to make more time to do yoga. It’s not a very intense workout, but it’s lovely to do. I’m still sore from it two days later, though! I am ashamed of myself. I know that once the weather is nicer and I can get back outside, I’ll be out there at all hours of the day, but now, during the misery of winter, I have got to try and maintain some kind of regimen. I don’t like being pudgy and tired. I like being alert and slim.