Battle of the Snow

Whenever it snows, I’ll excitedly take a picture and text it to my mom. The part of the state where I go to school doesn’t accrue quite as much snow as I’m used to, so whenever we get a dusting of it, I’m disproportionately excited. She knows this.

snow1

More often than not, however, in response to the above picture my mom will simply text back, no words necessary:

snow3

IT’S NOT A COMPETITION, MOTHER. (Not one that I can win, anyway.) I can’t wait to go home. I’M COMING, SNOW. I have boots that are going to look really good as I trudge through snowy parking lots and spill hot chocolate on things! Don’t melt before I get there!

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IT’S HAPPENING, PEOPLE. IT’S HAPPENING.

Last week I was bitching about a tornado. This week I’m bitching about snow.

Over the weekend, Tara came to visit. I woke up on Saturday morning, but it was cold and I didn’t think Tara was awake yet, so I just stayed in bed wrapped in my blankets like a burrito and stared out the window. It started to snow lightly, which then turned, right before my eyes, into a fully fledged whiteout snowstorm. It was at this point that I sprang out of bed, ran into the hallway, and collided with Tara, who was gesturing at the window and going, “Holy shit! I mean… wow. I think I’m going to be trapped here forever. Holy SHIT.”

My mom called last night and asked if there’s anything she needs to bring to my grandparents’ house when we meet there for Thanksgiving. I told her I need my winter coat, because after twenty years of living in a place that is prone to snow, I’m still an idiot. I’m literally walking around campus while it is fifteen degrees out wearing three jackets on top of each other.

“Okay,” she said. “So I’ll bring your white North Face jacket.”

“Mother,” I said, “we are WAY PAST the white North Face jacket. I need the gigantic black coat that makes it look like I’m walking around in a SLEEPING BAG.”

I’m wearing sunglasses everywhere even though it isn’t sunny, just to keep the wind off my face. My car door handle was frozen shut this morning. I got frostbite walking back from class because I forgot my gloves. I know this certainly sounds like bitching, but I’m actually just getting excited. Wind and snow and frostbite means WINTER IS HERE. CHRISTMAS IS COMING. I need to make some Pillsbury cookies or something!

FRUSTRATION

I have now  asked my entire immediate family what they would like for Christmas. The results were about as I expected. My brother Alex said, “Like… stuff,” which was actually the most helpful and specific answer of them all. My mom said, “Nothing,” and my dad didn’t reply to my text.

FINE. Have it your way. You’re all getting Harry Potter wands according to your distinct personality traits. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. ‘Tis the season.

*Will Ferrell elf scream* SANTAAAA

50 DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS, EVERYBODY.

There are three things I really, really love about this time of year:

  1. Chocolate oranges. I’ve learned over the years to just buy them for myself, wrap them, and then put them under the tree, because my family drops the ball sometimes, and then Christmas is ruined.
  2. Chocolate crinkle cookies. There’s a Mennonite community near where I live that makes the absolute best chocolate crinkle cookies. If I could harness their abilities and make my own, I would do it. But alas.
  3. THOSE PILLSBURY SUGAR COOKIES. I AM ALREADY DROOLING.

So basically, everything I love about the impending holiday season revolves around food.

The Tale of the Bathroom Vandals

In the span of about a week, I started watching Teen Wolf, came to love it, quickly overcame my shame and self-loathing, and developed an outright obsession. And then this happened:

ME: Why can’t everybody on this show just CALM THE HELL DOWN AND BE REASONABLE?
TARA: It’s like Scott said, nobody trusts anybody so nothing ever gets done and everyone just fights all the time.
ME: It’s just like high school, everyone’s running around being a dick and there’s just piss and shit all over the walls.
TARA: That is the most accurate comparison ever.

I should probably explain that our high school had its faults, and perpetual piss and shit on the bathroom walls was one of them. It was your average small-town, suburban high school, except we had a ragtag gang of mysterious vandals that would occasionally run around wiping various types of human waste all over the bathroom walls, stalls, and mirrors. You didn’t know when they were going to strike. You didn’t know where. And you sure as hell didn’t know why. Who does that? Seriously, who? Bathrooms were constantly locked, so going for a bathroom break could take half an hour as you scoured the school looking for one that was open. Surveillance cameras were installed, but they continued to vandalize indiscriminately—boys’ bathrooms, girls’, unisex, it didn’t matter. If it had a toilet, it was fair game. And you’ve got to think about the implications of this. They actually reached into the toilet, and then… with the… yes. Again, why?

We never found out. And I’ll never forget the day I walked obliviously into the bathroom during junior year and discovered what looked like a murder scene, but with less body parts and more human excrement. I didn’t even tell anybody. I just walked in, saw it, said, “Nope,” and left, because there are some days when you are equipped with the mental faculties required to deal with that kind of thing. And there are some days you aren’t.

18 days until Christmas! I’m three exams, one essay, and one social obligation away from going home.

Christmas & Hellish, Unnavigable Underworlds

You didn’t think I’d forget you guys over Christmas, did you?! Well, yeah. You probably did. That’s fair. I deserve that. Needless to say, it’s finals time and I’m stressed out and periodically having dreams about being chased by polar bears, so it’s getting pretty real.

This past weekend I went to visit my friend in a city an hour away. We saw an improv comedy group, we played Mario Kart, we had a Teen Wolf marathon, we watched The Avengers. It was all fun, laughs, and good times. Until I left on Sunday. Until disaster struck with its almighty fist.

I got a parking ticket, and that was a bit of a kick in the nuts. And it had rained, so the thing was all soggy and stuck to my windshield, which was just the cherry on top. I shoved it into my purse and got in the car and started driving. I knew vaguely where I was going, but I had my handy GPS, so I felt secure. As I tried to get on the expressway, however, I discovered it was blocked by a police car. Further along, there was a fire engine. Clearly some serious shit was going down. Okay, I thought, there’s got to be another way out of here. The problem was, I had never come in or out of this city any other way, so I was going to have to improvise. I checked my GPS and saw what looked like a possibility, and I started heading over that way. When I glanced back down, I was not heading in the right direction, and in fact had somehow managed to finagle my way halfway across town. Two wrong turns and a wrong exit later, having dodged police cars and what looked like flares from a flare gun in the road, I pulled into a parking lot, called my mom, and promptly burst into tears. Now, I did not know I was going to burst into tears. This had never happened before, so my mom, probably thinking I had crashed in a ditch somewhere and didn’t even have the presence of mind to call 911, said frantically, “Are you okay? What’s wrong? What happened?” So I said, “MOTHER, I GOT A PARKING TICKET AND I CAN’T GET ON THE HIGHWAY AND I AM TRAPPED IN THIS CITY,” making it sound like this place was Gotham City in The Dark Knight Rises and there was NO WAY OUT. My mom handed the phone off to my dad and he directed me, and it was all rainbows and daisies from that point onward.

I spent the remainder of the drive singing Christmas carols and bidding farewell to that hellish, unnavigable netherworld. Meanwhile, I have a list of things to do:

  • Get a Christmas tree. (My family is slacking on that front. THEY NEED ME TO COME HOME.)
  • Decorate EVERYTHING. ALL OF THE THINGS. My dog is getting a Santa hat whether she likes it or not.
  • Make cookies.
  • Make a gingerbread house.
  • Build a snowman? (Because right now it’s like 50 degrees and humid, and Mother Nature is doing it ALL WRONG.)
  • Get an advent calendar. I like to get mine halfway through December so I can eat 13 pieces of candy instantaneously.
  • Watch ABC’s 25 Days of Christmas.

21 days left!

CHRISTMAS EVE! @#%(&#()UYGWN

Guys. GUYS. It’s Christmas Eve! It’s Christmas Eve… and I am awful. I’m AWFUL at keeping up with things. I said I’d do one Christmas carol a day, and I didn’t. I said I’d do the 30 Day Challenge, and I didn’t. Also, I said I’d wrap all my presents before Christmas, and I didn’t. I never do, though, so that one was simply a halfhearted dream.

Tomorrow I’ll catch up on all my Christmas carols, and tomorrow I’ll eat way too much food, and tomorrow I’ll probably somehow offend a family member without meaning to. But tonight is Christmas Eve, and I just hope it’s magical for everyone.