A loss of momentum

What is it about winter? I'll tell you.

  1. It's cold.
  2. It's messy.
  3. It takes forever to get from point A to point B.
  4. All you want to do is stay in and be a sloth.
  5. The exposure to inspiration drops to an all-time low.
  6. I eat pizza allll the time.
  7. I don't exercise.

I think that's enough to bring someone's spirits down. Keep in mind, I recognize my own first world problems. And yes, this isn't Russia. Therefor my toilets work, winter won't be forever and we have bourbon instead of vodka. I'll be okay.

But this particular winter has made me not only a believer in SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), but also a self-diagnosed sufferer.

 

Dear Sun,

When again will I bask in thine glory? When again will my dog's walks not end when he starts to lick his paws? When will I be able to frolic through the polluted city air and rid myself of these horrid muffin tops? WHEN?!

Genuinely yours... forever... upon your return, Sara

Keep your pants on, sports fans... or don't

The Super Bowl is an interesting time in this country. I feel that no matter which city you find yourself in, most everyone is following the same behavior: dirty food, good friends and beer. Amen. Each year we spend the Super Bowl with our fattest friend. He’s not actually fat, but the way he can scarf down a pound of bacon would make you wonder why the hell not.  So, I took the dog outside for a walk a few minutes before going over to Fatty’s house. On the street were fellow dog walkers, cabs, pizza delivery cars and young men bundled up with a six-pack in tow. That was true from our door to Fatty’s door. Pizza, cabs, six-packs.

Blah, blah, blah. The Super Bowl happened. Athletes excelled, Beyonce shook it, power outage, triumphant victory/dismal loss. I don’t really care about the sport part. It’s not that I can’t follow it, I just don’t care. Even if either team had been from my city, it wouldn’t matter.

The game ended and we hopped back in the car. Let me pause for a moment to let you know that it snowed most of the day in Chicago yesterday. And the temp maxed out at 15 degrees Fahrenheit, give or take.

So, we’re driving home and pull up to a four-way-stop. In the middle of the intersection was a pair of jeans, complete with black leather belt. These pants had been freshly deposited in the intersection given the lack of snow atop them. So that means that in the recent past, something happened to the owner of said pants, causing them to be lost, in below-freezing weather, with the belt.

I can’t even imagine what must have happened.

But since it was the Super Bowl, I chalk it up to a good old American time.

Gross.

Deck the halls

As far as I'm concerned, Christmas songs are fair game for air waves starting the day after Thanksgiving. And so it has begun. Christmas songs are chock-full of personal associations and accompanying memories. They repetitively evoke feelings and mental images year after year. Deck the Halls

  • I'm pretty much on board with any song that features the word, "troll."

Jingle Bells

  • What the hell is a bobtail?

Winter Wonderland

  • I always imagined Parson Brown was a character out of a black and white movie, like Cary Grant of Gregory Peck. Turns out Parson isn't a first name.

Little Drummer Boy

  • LEAST FAVORITE CHRISTMAS SONG EVER. Do we really have to interrupt every line with a pa-rum-pum-pum-pum? Maybe they should have just written more actual lyrics instead of having a filler inaccurate onomatopoeia.

Carol of the Bells

  • This song will always evoke the strong desire to watch Home Alone. And for that, Macaulay Culkin, I thank you.

Wonderful Christmastime

  • What a holiday monstrosity. It's like the Lamb Chop theme of Christmas.

Mannheim Steamroller's entire collection

  • Barf. That sums it up.