VivaCity

We're in the single digits with the wind chill here in good ol' C-Town today, folks. You know what that means. Oblivious snot-noses and nipples that could cut glass. Every year about this time I threaten to pack up and move to Arizona, somewhere with a nice dry heat. They always say that, a nice dry heat, when describing an ideal location to you. Is tropical so bad??

Right about now I'd give anything to be anywhere, tropical, dry, whatever. Is it wrong to consider signing up for the Army because you hear it gets up to the triple digits in Iraq? A rough & tumble sauna, but a sauna nonetheless. I'm IN.

We're coming to that point, ladies and gentleman (I know there's maybe ONE out there reading this), that I spoke of earlier...The height of Mad Indoor Person Disease. We are trapped in the home of our own making, the toys underfoot and each other's clutter liable to set someone off. Then that person takes out their frustration on another, a chain reaction til the baby gets pushed down and we're all in a crying mess on the floor. Ok. It's not that bad, all the time, but SHEESH. Some days are bad. Some days I just sigh as I'm crossing the deck to get to the door and remembering when all of that was living space. I'm dying til I can say, Go play outside! And not have to worry about bundling octopi into underwear, outerwear, gloves, hat, mittens and scarves, only to hear that someone has to use the restroom. Badly. Holy abominable snowmen, Batman, please shoot me with your stun gun. Thanks.

My tired vent on the wintry weather and all it entails shall end, mercifully, with just this...In my next life, I hope to be a bear. I wouldn't mind hibernating this dreadful season away ONE BIT. Lay down, curl up, snooze, awake to the twittering of gay birdies and, what's that? I've slept the whole winter away? FAN-EFFING-TASTIC.