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Archive for the 'Winter sucks balls' Category

November 22, 2009

10 Reasons Why Winter Blows


*Note* If you came here just because you thought I was naked in a hat and mittens, shame on you.  But it worked, right (and technically, that IS all I’m wearing except you can’t see the rest)?  And now that you’re here, gosh, you might as read what I wrote?  Yah?  S’good, thank you.  *Bats long eyelashes*  On to the crap good stuff:

I’m a morning person.  I’m a night person.  I’m a people person.  One thing I’m not?  A winter person.  I. HATE. IT.  There is nothing good about winter.  Wait, that’s not fair… there must be something good about winter.  Let me think… and nope, can’t think of anything.  Nada.  Drawing a big blank.  And to add to that negative train of thought, let me give you ten reasons winter blows.

1. SNOW.  Snow is horrible.  It’s cold.  Wet (ish).  Hard.  Soft.  Fluffy.  Annoying.  And did I mention COLD?  I love when people say to me, but it’s so pretty.  Especially the first snow fall.  Um, no, it isn’t.  It’s disgusting.  I will never think otherwise.  I hate snow.  Don’t tell me snowmen are cute.  They’re only cute if they’re made of fabric and don’t melt.  A snowman made of snow?  I stab it.  In the face.

2. ICE.  See # 1.  Similiar to snow except it’s harder and frozener.  And colder.  Ice on the roads?  Yeah, makes for great driving especially for the dickwads who think they can drive the same way they do on bare roads.  Like a dickwad.  You can’t.  It’s ICY and shit.  Ice means slippery.  So, ICE=shit drivers.  Bad combo.  Aaaand, it’s fucking cold.  Right, I mentioned that.

3. COLD.  Winter brings cold temperatures and means I must wear extra layers of clothing.  I don’t like that.  I don’t want to wear more than I have to and bundling up is annoying.  How can I bring teh sexah in a parka?  Nearly impossible.  Cold is for penguins.  Do I look like a penguin to you?  And cold temps bring SNOW and ICE.  See # 1 and 2.

4. CHRISTMAS MUSIC.  Yes, winter brings Christmas music because Christmas happens to arrive in winter.  I do not like Christmas music.  I like to shank it IN THE NECK.  And I love going shopping now so I can hear Christmas music blaring through the speakers in the department store.  Puts me in the mood.  To stab the cashier.  She did give me the correct change and I appreciate that.  She did it with a smile, too.  That’s nice.

5. SHOVELS.  Winter means I may have to pick up a shovel and shovel SNOW and/or chip ICE.  See # 1 and 2.  If I’m picking up a shovel, I’d like it to be because I’m going to beat my mailman for failing to bring me fun goodies in the mail.  Not for shoveling snow.  That seems wrong to me.

6. BOOTS.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  I luff boots.  I’m a boot whore.  But my boots are made for walking on bare sidewalks.  In the mall.  Dancing at a club.  Other things.  Not for wading in snow, or trying not to slip on ice.  See # 1 and 2.  Boots are meant to be pretty.  Sexy.  Not for getting wet and slushy because of that ugly shit called SNOW.

7. DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME.  True, it begins before winter officially starts but it happens when it’s starting to get cold – see # 3 – and it makes winter that much more depressing.  It’s dark at around 5 p.m. now and so we get to be cold and sit in darkness.  Yes, my house has electricity, so I do have lights and don’t actually sit in the dark, but when I look out the window at 5:47 p.m. and see blackness, I want to choke it.  It being anyone within 3 feet of me.  What are we saving the daylight for?  Let’s use it.  So who can I talk to about this daylight savings shit?

8. SNOT.  You know what I’m talking about.  It’s cold.  People are out.  Their noses run.  Snot may drip from their nose.  It grosses me the fuck out.  I DON’T DO SNOT.  It’s the one thing I can. not. handle. ever.  Come near me with a snotty nose and I’ll cut your face off.  Fair warning.

9. UGGS.  If you own Uggs, I’m sorry but you need to burn them.  When I mentioned boots in # 6, I was talking about sexy boots.  Boots with heels.  High boots.  Pretty ankle boots with a chunky heel.  Not slipper boots.  Uggs should be shot.  And stabbed.  And shanked.  Don’t wear them.  Stop humiliating yourself.  Have some pride.  THEY ARE FUCKING SLIPPERS WITH TREADS.  Stop the insanity.

10. LONGEST SEASON OF THE YEAR.  I don’t give a rat’s ass what scientist may or may not say about seasons.  Here, where I live, winter is the longest season of the year.  Why can’t the other three seasons be the longest?  Huh?  Why the hell not?  Why does winter-like weather have to start in October and end in fucking June?  Me not likey.  I may whine about the heat, too, but for serious, if I had to pick, I’m picking HEAT.  I think I’ll move.  California, here I come.  So, they might get earthquakes, floods and fires… at least they have the warm.

In closing arguments, winter blows.  Sucks.  Has nothing to offer.  Oh, you ski?  Yeah, whatever.

Posted by Sassy @ 12:32 pmI want to Punch You in the Neck,Just Stuff.,Winter sucks balls9 comments  

January 7, 2009

I killed my husband. IN.MY.MIND.

After a 2-week Christmas break with my husband and my children, I was looking forward to Monday, January 5. Yes, we had a wonderful holiday, did some fun things, had a great Christmas, Santa was good to us and blah, blah, blah, but it was time to get back to a regular routine. And to my knowledge on Sunday, January 4, Monday January 5, was going to bring that regular routine. Except it didn’t.

We have two vehicles. My husband has a truck, and I have an SUV. Works out great since he uses his truck for work and I use mine to take kids to school/bus stop, to get groceries, do banking, whatever the freak I want.

My husband takes son to the bus stop before he heads to work. He uses his truck. After he left, I noticed my keys lying on the counter by the sink. Check. Get daughter ready for school, husband comes back for a few minutes before heading to work, I get myself ready and then, since it’s still a bit chilly, want to go start my vehicle to warm it up.

I go to the counter. Look beside the sink. It’s bare. No keys there. Hmm. Strange. I think to myself, no biggie, I have my spare set in my purse. I check my purse. No spare set of keys. Okay, let’s think. Where are the keys? I’ll call my husband and ask him.


Hi, where are the SUV keys? I saw them sitting by the sink earlier.

Oh, hang on. Oh, uh, ya, they’re in my pocket.

In your pocket? And is your pocket here?

Um no, my pocket is with me, way down south.

Okay, well….

Oh, and ya, I just found the second set of keys in my other pocket.

*Insert swear words here – I didn’t say them, but I sure thought them.*

I have to leave in five minutes.

I’m way down south, I can’t come back up there right now.

I slowly hang up the phone before I say something I will later regret. Okay, let’s not panic just yet. I holler to my daughter to come downstairs and get ready – we’re walking.

But mom, it’s a long walk.

Ya, well you’re young, and your legs work, so we’re doing this.

We get ready, head out and start walking down the sidewalk, get about half way down our street and a smile lights up my face. My son’s car! I remembered he’d given me his extra set of keys and door opener and they were in my other purse at the house. Sweet! We walk back up the street, go inside and I find the keys. I’m bubbling with excitement now. My child will be a few minutes late for school but not by much so big deal. I clean the car of snow, as it’s not been driven for a few days, and warm it up. I put that sucker in gear and nothing. Oh the car works fine, but seeing as it’s winter here and my son has bald summer tires on his car, it’s kinda hard to get the car out of the snow ruts it’s parked in on the street. I go forward and then reverse – to no avail. For 15 minutes I try to get that f*$% car out, but it’s not going. So much for my excitement.

We get out and start walking. I’m picturing the walk in my mind and thinking, what, like 20 minutes tops? No, it was a FORTY MINUTE WALK ONE WAY. This is where I’m killing my husband in my mind. My child complains that it’s a long walk, it’s cold and her feet are sore. Ya, suck it up, because you’re 8, and I’m old. You clearly have an advantage. You don’t hear me complaining do you? Sure, I’m swearing up a storm in my mind and killing your father with my telepathy, but whatever.

I get her there, sign her in and head back. Another 40 minutes. By the time I got home, my face was numb and my legs felt like jello. Since parts of the sidewalk weren’t clear of snow, it was a hard walk, lemme tell ya. I send my husband a text message telling him to please bring the keys back by 3 p.m. since I have to pick up both kids after school.

I do my regular routine, which included bitching to my two best friends about my crap morning and as the day goes on, I’m thinking that things will be better later.

It’s shortly after three, and I go out to wait in my car, expecting to see my husband driving up any second with my keys. I see no sign. I call him, no answer. I call back and finally get him, ask what he’s doing.

I’m working.

Uh, did you not get my text message?

No. I don’t do texting.

No? Um, I need my keys!

Well, I’m 90 minutes away.

Here’s where it gets hairy – I think I had a brain meltdown. I’m wondering how I’ll pick up my son, and then pick up my daughter five minutes after that when it’s a 40 minute walk? I proceeded to act like a crazy person, calling my husband back numerous times, upset that my daughter would be unattended for god-knows-how-long and now my son has no doubt got off the bus and is wondering where I am. I may have acted like a freak. I’m not certain – like I said, the smart part of my brain shut down, and I was left with shit.

I run inside and call him back and ask him if he knows anyone to call that could pick daughter up? He called a couple of people, but they weren’t available. In the meantime, I’m running through a list of taxi companies and start calling. I called the first one on the list, and it would take them at least 25 minutes to pick me up. Not good enough. I hear the door open and my son is home – he knew enough to walk home – he was upset that I wasn’t waiting for him, but didn’t panic and came home. Whew! One kid home, one to go.

I call my husband back and ask him if he can think of anyone else to call – no, he can’t. Fine, more swearing in my mind, more killing. I called NINE more taxi companies and not one answered their phone. WTF? They’re that busy on a Monday at 4 p.m? Finally, the next one I call, can get a cab to me in less than 10 minutes. I’ll take it! I ask how much it’ll be – explain it’ll be a return. Oh, between $33-35…..WHAT? It might be a 40 minute walk but it’s a freakin’ 10 or so minutes to drive there and back. Thirty-fucking-five dollars? Whatever, can’t put a price on picking up my kid.

Cab arrives and although I’m not experienced in taking cabs – I’ve never taken one since living here in the past six years, but I have taken one a handful of times in my life – I’m assuming the cab driver knows how to get to where I need to go. 1. He has a GPS. 2. It’s his job to know where the hell he’s going. 3. Yes, I know how to get there, but seriously, I’m not getting paid to drive there. But, I had to tell him how to get there. I want a discount dammit! We arrive at my son’s house (we rent it out to him) where my child is waiting, and I get her, relieved that she’s okay – she’d been waiting about an hour alone, outside – yes, she was in the fenced backyard, in a nice neighborhood, but still – I had visions of bad things happening. Thank goodness she’s an independent child who is very, very smart for her age.

We get home (and surprise the cab driver remembered how to get back to my house without asking me!) and I was ready to drink vodka straight out of the bottle and I don’t even drink booze. Ever. I may just start though. On a good note, the cab ride didn’t cost as much as the dispatcher said. It was actually less than 14 bucks, so that was nice.

It’s a day later and I’ve stopped killing my husband in my mind and someday I’ll laugh about this. Okay, I’m probably never doing to laugh about this but I did learn one thing – to always hide one set of keys from my husband. He’s a good man, just slightly absent minded at times when it comes to certain things. He’s great at his job and never forgets anything about that, but – Ask me how many sets of keys he’s lost. And atm cards. And wallets.

Posted by Sassy @ 12:39 amI want to Punch You in the Neck,Winter sucks balls3 comments  

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