Winter Warmer

Unless you're in a foreign country (holler at mah peeps all over the world!), and even if you are, there's a slim chance that you've heard about this ridiculous weather that the entire United States has been experiencing. As evidenced by this post, I have been jubilant. I do love me some snow. However, when it starts to look like this:

 

and the snowbanks are over your head (please note the SUV behind me, and please excuse the terrible lighting. I busted my point-and-shoot and have been making do with my cell-cam all year!), and you can't even make a Target run for fear that someone will swipe the parking spot you've spent HOURS digging out every Wednesday, even I start to draw the line. Seriously, the snow is becoming a danger, and I would prefer to go to work each day knowing that there was only a slim likelihood that I will return home to find my ceiling caved in. Which did actually happen, last year, in my bathroom, but that's another story for another day.

Anywho, like the rest of the Northeast, I spent my weekend dodging snow bullets and reveling in the glory of 40 degree temperatures and precipitation that didn't freeze on impact. I had a fab happy hour Friday night with some of my more socially-minded co-workers which, if you remember my post on 11 ways to kick 2011's ass, is a big step for me. Checks on #10 and #11, thankyouverymuch.

I also took the rainy, dreary weather and used it to my advantage, taking the opportunity to take the 10 loads of laundry that we've been hoarding and visit with my friend, Juan Benito, at the laundromat. How two childless, working adults have enough clothing to encompass 10 loads of laundry (and I was SERIOUSLY squishing a few loads), I will never know. But I definitely felt like a baller when I folded the first half.

Yes, ladies and gents, those are shorts. Shorts that I had asked Blaine to wash back in, oh, I don't know, July, yet somehow found them stuffed in the back of a closer. (Sidenote: after my ode to junior high post a few days ago, Dear Boyfriend informed me that henceforth, he wants to be known as Andrew McCarthy. Nice try, darling. You're lucky I'm not calling you Ducky, aka "the wimpy one from Two and a Half Men". I did not become a master of code names in high school for nothing.). 

Being a LUNATIC football fanatic, and after having had a month to lick his wounds following the Pats' epic demise at the hands of the Dirty Jets, Blaine obviously had big plans for us to watch the Superbowl at his parents' house. I LOVE sports, especially football (and baseball. And hockey. Basketball is just ehhhh), and I LOVE free steak, so it seemed like a win-win. Since I didn't care about the outcome save for that Big Ben lost, I was pulling for GB and was psyched when they won.

As mentioned, I wasn't exactly in top form yesterday; I was overtired and mildly hungover. I mean, really now, who DOESN'T think it's a good idea to stay up after the Super Bowl, utilizing the in-law's cable package to catch up on DVRed episodes of Jersey Shore while simultaneously trying to kill a 12 of Harpoon Winter Warmer and carry on a conversation with this guy?

Overachievers, that's who. (An art project gone awry, Theodore, or Theo as I have come to know him, chills in the bathroom in the in-law's basement and, after a rocky start in which I screamed at first sight, I have come to love him, in a freaky, clay-head kind of way. Is that weird?)

Hurtin' for certain, I did what any professional does. I manned up, popped a few Advil, drank my weight in coffee and did a stellar job on a project. Then I went home, slipped into pjs, ate half a wheel of smoked gouda on sourdough and caught up on Gilmore Girls: Season 5. After screaming at Rory for being such an insipid prat and bemoaning the urge to hibernate until May, I hit the sack with a hint of a smile on my lips. I knew that this morning would bring the one completely made-up Boston holiday that can snap all of us out of our winter funk...

TRUCK DAY!

Source: Boston.com

  

Only in this Mecca of American Baseball do we allow ourselves to create not one, not two, but THREE holidays around annual sporting events: Truck Day, Opening Day and Patriot's Day (aka Marathon Monday). My glee at opening the Globe this morning was eclipsed only by the knowledge that soon, we shall go from this:

 
 To this:

 And this:

Bring it, winter!