Everyone had that kid in high school. You know, the one that was teased for being geeky and really short. Of course he eventually grows up and his formerly geeky ways manifest into some sort of genius. And now he’s a millionaire and ready to hand out personalized cans of whoop ass to those who teased him mercilessly for being short. He shows up each year for impromptu reunions, still short but now with his very own yacht and super enhanced ass-kicking mechanism.

February is like that kid. Always and forever short but now prepared to wreak havoc on every poor soul who once uttered how useless and possibly annoying the entire month seems to be. February obviously didn’t stop to think that maybe people have been mean to it because it goes around being all violent and kicking people in the head once a year. Perhaps that is why the average person gives it such a fond farewell: Because it will be gone and no longer around to fuck with anyone’s emotions. It’s like it makes up for it’s size by having a larger than life attitude, full of eye rolling, hands on hips and that stupid neck thing to show that it means business despite it’s diminutive stature.

I tell myself to be nice to it and not to egg it on. If I am kind then maybe it will be kind right back. But nope. Misery loves company and February is a miserable little shit who apparently didn’t get enough love as a child. No wonder that come Friday, I will be celebrating its departure with balloons, sparkly confetti and the brightest god damn streamers this side of the Mississippi. And wine. God forbid I forget the wine.

My piss poor behavior in the presence of snow would lead one to believe that I’ve spent the majority of my life in Maui. Actually if that were true, the snow would be met with a little awe and wonder instead of pure disdain. The snow falls and my mood plummets to the darkest depths of despair while I think about the scraping and the shoveling and my inability to drive 70 mph without slamming into a guardrail. The first time it snowed I hung up on my mother and had to leave work four hours early so that I would have ample time to try and not die on my way home. All the while muttering, “I hate this fucking place and this shit” for 11 miles. I am such a breath of fresh air some days, I know.

At some point over the past weeks though my begrudging attitude towards the fluffy white stuff has abated to a mild dislike. I actually hummed the other day while shoveling my car out and didn’t complain once when it was 4 degrees even though I was sure that once I returned home, I’d be missing my nipples. Still! All was good. I suppose a brief “Come to Jesus” discussion with myself about how whining is unbecoming on a woman in her mid-20’s helped me to accept my fate. I live in Upstate New York where it will snow for five months straight. No amount of yelling or throwing up the middle finger towards drivers, who find turn signal usage superfluous during a snowstorm, will really change my current situation.

My parents are from the deep-south and if they can deal with snow then I surely can go five months without shrill whining about it. Though I think right now they’re debating whether or not to get my DNA tested for I have taken my whole ‘acceptance’ thing to a whole new level: I am OBSESSED with snowshoeing. It’s like when I spent hours trying to find my new camera I am now spending hours a day reading about how to HIKE in the fucking snow. I am so obsessed with the sport that a frown crept upon my face when I learned that it would be 60 degrees on Tuesday because then the snow would melt. The snow cannot melt it must be here and readily available for me to trek through. In fact I’m currently sitting here getting a little giddy (hence the rambling) about the next big snowstorm. Who cares about snow emergencies and digging my vehicle out of three feet of snow when the trails will be covered?? I told my mother all of this with such enthusiasm that she congratulated me and informed me that it would be a cold day in Hell before she ever went out there with me but is quite happy that I’m no longer blaming her for ubiquitous snowstorms and am instead facing them with joy.

What can I say? ‘When in Rome…’ and all that jazz. My new shoes arrive on Friday and I really couldn’t possibly be more thrilled.

I got absolutely nothing done today. Every time I would open an email or clean off my desk or reach down to grab a pair of sandals that were still under my desk from like July; I would casually look outside and my chest would start heaving at the sight of the snow. There is a very funny thought in the minds of others that because I live and am from Upstate NY then of course I can handle driving in snow. Do I have experience watching others drive in snow? Yes, yes I do. Do I have experience driving myself 10 miles in roughly six inches of snow with fattest, fluffiest, most blindingly white flakes known to man? No, no I do not. Hence the white knuckled driving and need to take deep breaths and the panicked phone calls to my parents apprising them of the seven whole dollars in my bank account that they could totally have in the event of my untimely death.

If you ever want to become religious, drive in snow. You’ll start believing in God real quick when driving through snow as you think of things to ask for forgiveness on in exchange for making it two more miles. Today it was forgiveness for that time I called my middle school librarian a ‘fucking bitch’ and the time I stole a pack of lifesavers from Hannaford.

I get the feeling that somebody is staring at me…Union Station

Just in case I’m trapped at home for a few days

View from the Sable; Independence and Rayburn House Office Building