There is a part of me that loves winter. I look forward to the time of year when I can bundle up in my cute winter accessories and cozy up with John in a warm pub like Duke of Perth for all we can eat fish and chips and sip Hot Toddy's until we begin to drift off at the table (it only takes two, BTW). Getting out of the house and the cold sun will be shining for Saturday afternoon walks to Starbucks, window shopping on Broadway and evening treks out to Lincoln Park Zoo for ZooLights and hot chocolate.
Then February rolls around and BAM! The sun has not shown itself in days, maybe weeks, it is cold, dreary, and the city seems cruel. I find myself doing little more with my time outside of work than watching really bad TV on the CW and living off tortillas that I char on the stove and melt cheese on.
I wonder why on 'Hart of Dixie' that it never seems to get cold or cloudy in the quaint little town of Bluebell. And how on earth you can find a Southern town in Alabama with that many attractive people? Not a single person in that town resembles the meth-heads I usually come across when I am on the other side of the Mason-Dixon line.
I watch 'The Carrie Diaries' and wonder when that cute-as-a-button AnnaSophia Robb will begin to resemble the original Carrie Bradshaw. Will she be hit by an MTA bus on the way to her unrealistic, yet fantastical, fashion magazine internship resulting in that famous crooked schnoz? Or how about when will she pick up that nasty cigarette habit that was such an integral part of Carrie's character on 'Sex and the City'?
On Thursday's I tune into 'The Vampire Diaries'. OK, well that is only because that guy who plays Damon is hot. I have no other excuse. It's not because the writing this season is just 'soooo good' with the convoluted plot lines and 'whoa-is-me' attitude of the main character, Elena. There are times when watching the show I just wish Buffy would show up and knock some sense into all of them.
When I am not glued to the television, I find myself fantasizing about living in an endless summer. Like going back to Hawaii and trading in my job and Blackberry for a retail position and nights spent at beach parties. Or I even begin to convince myself that Los Angeles wouldn't be such a bad place to live, even though if you approached me in any other state of mind than the one I'm in in February I would argue that nothing could be worse than living in that congested, dirty suburgatory.
The truth is, in February, being anywhere is better than being where you are. And dreaming about better days when the sun is shining and the city is alive again are in reality just one way to cope with this most depressing month of the year. Longing for summer that is just around the corner and once again getting to live my life in sundresses and sandals while heading out to the nearest street festival to shop the artwork and drink beer while listening to the cover bands.
But for today, on March 5th 2013, February still has its grip and Chicago looks like this:
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| Forced to reserve our parking via lawn furniture. |
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| Braving treacherous afternoon Starbucks trips |
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| And finally, working from home because it's just too damn cold. |
Fuck You February, I hate you.
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