Zippity-doo-dah!

Zippity-zeke! My oh my, it's a wonderful week! The BSISD just announced that we would have another snow day! One snow day is a precious gift, to be savored and relived throughout the year. Two days is unprecedented glory. Three snow days... I can't even begin to describe the joy I feel right now. It's like a unicorn in a tutu, or a porpoise dancing on a cloud made of rainbow mist. With chocolate. And valium. Valiums. (Vali-yums! Yes, please!)

Don't get me wrong; I feel badly for the rest of the states. I know it's vicious cold, and people don't have power, or live on the streets, and there is snow suffocating the city, with no real way to dig out, and trapped, and frostbite, and icy danger, and misery everywhere. Poor, poor Chicago! Are you OK, Oklahoma? Coldorado, I feel you! Do you feel ConnectiCUT off from the rest of the world? Poor babies, everyone!

The nightly news keeps me in a state of awe and fear. Only one inch of ice can equal a TON of weight on a power line! Yikes! This is the seventh storm since mid-December, and there's more to come... Zoinks! Wind can blow you down and ice can cause you to TOTALLY LOSE CONTROL in your car, or even on foot! Shizowie! So horrible and scary! But...

right now I am so happy I could pee all over myself! No school! Yayyy! School sucks! Boo school! Yay, no school! Woohoo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

These snow days haven't been like the snow days of yore. (Here's what I wrote last time there was a snow day, which was way back in yore: http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=8562492943849422474&postID=9163245961606143369)

For one thing, it's cold up in here. My house is old, weak and full of crevices - much like my body, actually- and is therefore unable to keep in the heat and keep out the chill. Blizzard brrr comes in through the windows, carpets the floor, and wraps itself like an icy cloak around my shivering shoulders. I have on tights, sweat pants, double socks and two sweaters. I look like a wool sausage, but it's frosty in the living room. I could turn up the heat, but in my city the companies that control warmth are imposing rolling blackouts to conserve energy for the rich Superbowl fans who clog the hotels and bars like so much greasy hair in a big, suckhole drain. I don't want to call attention to myself, so I keep the heat at below-the-radar levels. Smart, right?

Also, I don't feel so well. The flu is going around -not to mention the TB - and I'm afraid I may be standing on the the corner of Puke and Rhea; believe you me, I don't want to cross over! My nephew was sick on Monday, and my niece is ill now; it seems like just a matter of time. So far I'm ok, because I'm sticking to my routine of rigid denial; I know this isn't really the flu, just allergies, but if I succumb for just one moment, I'm afraid snow day will turn into sick day, which is UNCOOL, FOOL!

Furthermore, I have been wasting my time! I have been so non-productive during this special unforeseen break that even I am ashamed of myself. I haven't changed out of my pajamas in three days. I wake up only to take naps. Instead of reading all of the fantastic books I have stacked up near my bed, I've been catching up on TMZ and drunken Hoda Kotb. Instead of exercising, I've been watching The Biggest Loser and eating cheese. Every day before I go to bed, I say to myself, "Tomorrow, things are going to be different." In fact, I said that last night. And yet today, I:

* Had a dream that I was hanging out with my good friends Alec Baldwin and Justin Bieber. Turns out, we're not as close as I thought we were, because they started making fun of my stereo (do people still call them 'stereos'?) and then said I wasn't funny. Bastards.

* Woke up and spent 45 minutes on the computer trying to find a joke that would put Baldwin and Bieber to shame. Spent an hour watching Mitch Hedberg clips I have already seen.

Mitch Hedberg. Never not funny.

*Called McAdams to tell her I was lazy. She too has snow days, and was already on her second Bailey's Chai Latte. I told her about Baldwin and Bieber, and about how this friend of mine works in a hotel, and Justin Bieber allegedly stayed there. Apparently, the Biebster had a late night visitor whom my friend knows as a frequent visitor of hotel patrons, if ya know what I mean... a frequent paid visitor of hotel patrons... let me sing it for ya, just to make sure it's clear: Justin Bieber had a ho, doo-dah, doo-dah! Somehow, this got us talking about Bieber wiener (McAdams: "But, he's ten, right? It's gotta be tiny!"), which, as I'm sure you can discern, is not the type of conversation a person has to make herself feel better about wasting her time.

*Found two dry, scaly places on my leg when I was putting on my socks. Either I have a touch of the eczema, whatever that is, or I'm turning into an anaconda.

*Made an enormous vat of soup to replace the enormous half-vat of soup I just had to throw out, because really, how much soup can one girl slurp?

*And...that's about it. For the whole day, up until now.

Still... even a wasted snow day is better than no snow day. And I've been given a second chance! Really, tomorrow things are going to be different! Yay, snow day!

Here is a picture of Atticus Shaffer, adorable star of the ABC comedy "The Middle", when asked to estimate the size of the Bieber baton:

I think he looks a lot like David Sedaris, world famous author, commentator and funny man. They have the same teeth.

Here is a picture of Sedaris imagining Justin Bieber's monkey, but not really feeling bad about it:

Special BONUS for all those men and women out there working on the electricity lines during the Great Snowstorm of 2011:

Thanks, and don't cut my power!

Not complaining can kill you!

Hedberg-hey



I just got back from a fantastic mini-vacation, magnificently planned, I must say, to have a maximum amount of fun for a minimal amount of time and money. All went swimmingly, except for one little hitch; I couldn't turn my head. I've had a little problem with tension in my shoulders for about six months or so, but lately it's gotten worse, so I went and had a massage, which I enjoyed. The masseuse rubbed my neckial region and then told me that my glutes were activated. Of course, I thanked him politely; I'm nothing if not polite. He informed me that active glutes are not a good thing, and spent the rest of the session gouging his elbows into the fat of my ass. I was bruised for much of the rest of the week, which completely took my mind off the fact that my shoulders felt like they had been cranked up to my ears and been superglued there. I would have just sucked it up - I'm nothing if not a sucker -but my friends kept making fun of me whenever I tried to turn my head. "Ha ha!" they laughed. " She looks like that robot from "Lost in Space!" Hey, Barney Rubble! Where's your neck, Barney? Ha ha!"

My friends are hilarious.

Still, I figured I couldn't spend the rest of my life never looking left, so I decided to do something about it. I'm nothing if not a decider.

I looked up my old bud from college -I'll call him Jon, because that's his name - because he is an expert in relaxation. In fact, my most in my most vivid memories of him from those days, I always picture him in bed. In the days since, he has continued his higher education, and become a massage therapist, and now he knows lots of stuff about muscles, tendons and connective tissue. He was kind enough to clear his schedule and give me a bit of the magic touch.

I expected candles, water noises (always makes me have to peepee), scented face pillows, and soft, whispering touches, and experience from which I would emerge as loose as the elastic in Britney Spears waistband (Get it? On account she don't wear no panties! They're never on, get it?!) Alas, none of this was to be. Jon proceeded to tell me everything that is wrong with me, and Lordy Lou, I am jacked up! I have pinched nerves, swelling around my L7 (a swollen lesbian band?), Darth Vadars Spatula, TMJ, REM's , Sphygmoidal Redaction, Carpet Tunnels, Primae Faciae, and Pectoralis. There is a chance I misunderstood some of the things he told me, though he explained very patiently; I was just so OVERWHELMED by everything, and it was hard to focus. I do recall that he said that I had some muscle tone under my fat, which I took as a bold flirtation - flattering, yes, but inappropriate under the circumstances. Anyhoo, Jon was as shocked as I was at the extent of my tension. Muscles that should feel like rubber bands felt like piano wire, and at one point, when he pressed a spot in my jaw, I burst into tears. How did I get this way?

That's right, ladies and gents! You guessed it; I haven't been complaining enough! It is just NOT good for you to contain your poisonous stress levels, and if you don't eject that venom onto society as a whole, it backs up and clogs your system. You need to roto-rooter yourself with a good dose of cacking and get that stuff out of you! Take your lambda probe and clean out your bitch-filter! Let it fly, people! Don't hold that stuff in!

PROBLEM SOLVED!

Of course, there are other things you can do to reduce tension. One of those things is to relax. In order to facilitate this, I have decided to talk like Matthew McConaughey or Mitch Hedberg, two guys who actually sound a lot alike, except for the first is stoned and stupid, and the second is just stoned. And also deceased. Anyway, when you talk like that, it's hard to be uptight, alright, alright. I am also considering developing a prescription drug addiction, but so far my doctor hasn't been altogether cooperative in this venture. I am definitely going to take more vacations, because the fun is good for me. Finally, more massage is key. Maybe next time another human being touches me, I can bear it without sobbing. In the meantime (Mean time? What does that even mean? Average time? Aggressively unkind time? Significant time?), I have a new challenge for myself: chillax and be happy, and when I'm sad, frustrated or angry, or if my feelings are hurt, I'm telling. So, I'll listen to your complaining if you listen to mine. Even if it's boring. Anybody want in on this action? I'm nothing if not generous with my solutions to life's little problems.

Poem that Complains About the Heat, by Liliane Richman:

The Killer Heat

We've been in the hundreds
a couple weeks lasting
so unfair
fraying memory
of the changeling Spring
who lulled me
into believing
it would stay forever


This is what it looks like when things are going swimmingly.

This is what it looks like when things are NOT going so swimmingly.

QUESTION TO PONDER: When fish are whacked, do they say, "Yeah, Louie the Fin? He's sleepin' with the humans, now!"?

ANOTHER QUESTION: How would you punctuate that last question? I'm nothing if not puctual...