Two Thumbs Undecided

I can't decide if I like winter or not. I mean, I know there are pros and cons to everything, but winter is the one thing I can't figure out which side I'm on. Do I like it? Do I not like it? I don't know because it alternately annoys and exhilerates me.

If I'm weighingthe good with the bad here, I might as well start with the good because that's just the kind of mood I'm in today.

Pro 1: The crunch of snow under my boots. It's such a crisp sound! It makes me smile for some odd reason. It reminds me of when I was little and that sound meant an adventure. Plus if the snow is really good and crisp then it makes for better packing, which leads me to...

Pro 2: Snowball fights. If you don't enjoy them it's because you always got your butt whooped. Even me with my bad aim adore snowball fights. I remember every winter a bunch of the neighborhood kids would all get together and have a snowball fight. It would lead into one another's yards depending on how much snow we had used up. Sadly we don't seem to do that anymore. We're all too busy being "grown up".

Pro 3: Snowmen/snowangels. The whole crisp snow theory comes into this one too, at least for the snowmen. I haven't made one in a handful of years. Not because I don't want to make a snowman, but because the snow hasn't been good enough to make a snowperson bigger than a Keebler elf. So really, a winter is determined by the quality of its' snow. Snow angels on the other hand can be made in whatever kind of snow you're stuck with, which is rather kind of them. You just plop down in the snow and--swish, swish, swish--you've got a snow angel. Of course now you have snow caked on you and it will begin to melt and make you uncomfortable but I'm not going there.

Pro 4: Hot Chocolate. Technically I could have hot chocolate any time I wanted but it just feels right during the winter. Yummy.

Pro 5: Sleigh rides. I can't really count this I suppose because I've never been on a winter sleigh ride. But the idea is extreamly appealing to me. I should do it on day. But I would have to wait for more snow since all of it is melting right now. The idea of a sleigh ride just sounds like so much fun right now!

Pro 6: Snow days. This is so far down on the list because I almost never get one. Except this Friday which was marvelous!!! I was so shocked when we got it though because there really wasn't that much snow on the ground, just ice.

Pro 7: The clouds of breath. I don't care how freaking old you are the breath clouds are fun!

Pro 8: Fresh fallen snow. This includes the snow that is falling merrily outside a window, the pure white blanket spread out across any landscape, and the inevitable debachment of the previous two. There is something magical about untouched snow. Which of course leads us to touch it and therefore ruin the whole effect but whatever.

Pro 9: Baking seaon. Maybe it's our need to bulk up for the winter, some animal instinct to pack it on and hibernate, but people make the best damn cookies this time of year. And it's not just one type of cookie. I don't know why but people seem to feel more creative as they make hundreds of baked goods during the winter. My personal favorites are Peanut Blossums, Pinwheels, Sugar Cookies, and Ginger Snaps (but I'll eat anything you'll give me).

Pro 10: The warm fuzzy feeling. Y'all know what I'm talking about. Uh-huh that. It's different for every person I think. For me it's sitting in my warm house (if I had a fireplace I would be in front of it), under a patchwork quilt reading a book, while listening to Holiday music (none of the new pop crap either, the goods--Billie Holiday, Judy Garland, Frank Sinatra), and watching a light snowfall out side. It's that goodwill feeling where everything is right in the world. It's hope.

On that happy note I'm heading into the Cons. NOTE: I tryed not to mention any Christmas themed Pros because that is the biggest bribe winter has.

Con 1: Ice. Oh God do I hate ice. I always feel like a duck because you have to waddle--feet turned in taking baby steps--in order not to fall. Which of course you do, fall, I mean, and it's always on your butt. So now your dignity is gone, your pants are wet, you're in pain, and best of all your butt is now going to be sporting a big honkin bruise! As if that weren't enough the icicles start to rain down on you like little daggers of death! Those suckers hurt!

Con 2: The frost on your windsheild. It takes forever to clear the windsheild in the morning with this stuff. And it always seems like there is more of it when you're running late.

Con 3: Snot. Yeah that's right you heard me, snot! The runny Rudolph nose only happens in the winter. Winter turns your nose into a spigot. A spigot which you cannot turn off! It runs, and runs, and runs. Then you sniffle every five seconds. Or you blow your nose, and it's never a polite little sound; it's always the sound of a cruiseliner hailing port. Ick.

Con 4: Snow days. Wait, what? Didn't I have this on the Pros list? Yes but in this case I'm talking about the let down. My school almost never gives us a snow day. All the other schools around can be let out, but Webster's got to be stubborn and force its students to come forth in blistering weather. Even when there are six to eight inches on the ground our superintendant won't give us the day off. It's stupid. And it crushes all of a child's hope in the world. Your watching the snow fall, watching as it piles up higher and higher outside your window, and then you have go out in it because even though that snow drift could eat you, you have to go to school! It's a widely circulated theory among the students (and some staff), that our superintendant is from some place very far up North so what is a big deal to us in Webster is nary a flurry to him. Some say one of the Dakotas, others Minnesota, and some Antartica. No matter, it's cruel to have your hope slaughtered by snow.

Con 5: Cold. I hate being cold. And it doesn't take much to make me cold. I wear sweatpants and a sweater in the summer time, imagine what the winter weather does to me. Five minutes outside and my cheeks are rosy for a hour or more, and my teeth won't stop chattering. Oh did I mention that I had three layers on including a heavy duty coat? Yeah it's bad. In the winter, my toes are never fully defrosted. It's miserable.

Con 6: Severe illness. Let me just start this one out by saying that I have little to no respitory immune system. That is not an exageration either. That's what the doctor told me, so I have to be careful this time of year. Every body seems to have something too. A cold, or the flu; just something. And I always seem to get it. If someone coughs in my general direction I get whatever they've got. Most of the time I have to tough it out and go to school anyway, which isn't good but I can't miss too much school for every little thing I catch during the winter. But I hate it. Especially the coughing. The dry heave death rattle that steals the breath from your lungs and makes your chest hurt for hours after it happens. Last year was the first time in my memory where I didn't stay home for a week long period from some sort of illness. I'm hoping I can duplicate this phenomenon again this year.

Con 7: The dryness. What I mean by this is the chapped lips, and cracked hands. It's not fun. Why else do people give lotion as gift so often?

Con 8: The fact that I can't hibernate. Grrrrr... I just want to sleep in the winter and I'm not allowed. It's not the winter's fault but it's gettingblamed anyway.

Con 9: Gluttony. I know I said earlier I wasn't going to use Christmas but think about it. There are so many food holidays in winter: Thanksgiving, Christmas (and all the other December holidays e.g. Kwanza), New Years, and Valentines Day. All of these are stuffed to the gills with food, particularly sweets. Now I don't mind the food or sweets. In fact I love them. What makes this a con, is the overeating. The regret afterwards, that's the bad part. The momment where you go "Whoa, I shouldn't have eaten that..."

Con 10: Cabin fever. I can only take so much of the carols and the eggnogg before I'm bored with it all. And I'm trapped because of my cold issues. So really I do this to myself, but I still blame winter.

Even listing all my issues with winter out hasn't helped me decide if I like it or not. Maybe I'll figure it out as it's happening to me. After all my key issues with winter hinge on changable things, such as how many snow days or how sick I get. Hmmmmmm. We'll see.

The Problem With People

Oh God there’s another one. That seemed to be my constant thought as I maneuvered through the crowds of Chesterfield mall. It was Saturday, the day after Black Friday, but nonetheless crowded. My mother was over at the library at a card making workshop and when she offered to take me to the nearby mall I jumped at the offer. I thought it would be a nice outing. Boy was I wrong.

The pale hardwood floors were packed with shoppers trying to sniff out the best holiday deal. Fifty bucks were tucked into a pocket of my black messenger bag, making it that much heavier. Yes, Mr. President, I will do my duty to boost the economy. Take my money. Ha! I love shopping desperately as my overburdened closet attests to. But today I was supposed to be shopping for my cousins’ Christmas presents. Although I don’t think Jacob’s broad shoulders would have fit into that red dress at Macy’s. And Nathan’s feet would not have fit into the size five ankle boots I was eyeing. Despite these discrepancies, I was in my element.

As I tried to find my way around one thing kept bugging the living daylights out of me. And by one thing what I really mean is two. Couples. They were everywhere. And why not? Tis the season. Teenaged couples were around every corner I turned but that is not the thing that irked me.

No, what bothered me was the way the girls were treating their boyfriends. Not necessarily horrible—there were no public floggings that I could see—but I still winced to see it. I just felt bad for those guys, even if they didn’t seem to mind too much. Two particular cases stick out in my mind.

One case I noticed by force as the girlfriend in question brushed past me (rather rudely I might add. Yes I am walking here wench!), dragging her boyfriend behind her. The event itself wasn’t that remarkable. What made me remember it though was the guy wisely had his nose buried in a book. Clearly he had been through this before. I almost laughed out loud because the pair looked so comical. The girl pulling the boy around the circle racks while he was trying to read; it was quite a sight. I wasn’t finding anything so I started towards the front. As I made my way out I saw the couple again. The girl brought her mini-parade to a halt before a woman I can only assume was the girl’s mother. She grabbed a sweater and held it up to her chest.

“What do you think?” the girl asked her mother

“I don’t know.” Said the mother.

“What do you think?” the girl turned to her boyfriend.

Without even looking up from his book her boyfriend replied, “Looks great babe.”

Even though I didn’t find anything I left that store smiling. I spotted couple number two heading towards the store I had just left. The girl—I’m tired of using the girl and the boy, this chick’s name is going to be Candy and I’ll name the guy when I get to him—Candy’s eyes got big and round when she saw the Sale sign. She smiled with her generic straight white teeth and clapped her hands. Yes folks, she actually clapped.

“Oh my God! We’re going in.” Candy squealed.

Spike, so named for his multiple piercing in his eyebrows and ears, must have decided it was time to take a stand. He told Candy no, they were not going in. Point for Spike. Spike was tallish with dyed black hair, which he currently had covered with a backwards baseball cap. He was wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt (bought not made) and jeans—your typical guy. Yeah he lost all his he-man points when Candy grabbed his wrist and pulled.

“NO! I don’t wanna go!” Spike whined

He tried to plant his feet but Candy persisted. She ended up dragging him into that store while Spike did something that closely resembled the Snoopy dance repeating his protest as he went.

What is wrong with both of these couples? To the guys: I’m sorry, so very sorry, because that was ridiculous. Don’t let that happen again. To the girls: You know your boyfriends don’t want to go shopping with you! So don’t take them! Go get your girlfriends. At least they’ll tell you what looks good on you, and will go into almost every freakin store anyway. As much as I feel ashamed for those guys, I am really ashamed of those girls. I want to shake some sense into them, or just shake them. I want to scream at them, “You can carry your own shopping bags! You do not need him to hold your purse! Do it yourself: he’s not a pack mule he’s your boyfriend!” Good gravy! And those guys just take it! Argh! Couples.

My Children

I am exhausted. Exhausted in every sense of the word. My back aches and my shoulders are full of knots. And I really wish I could just sleep and sleep and sleep. But I can’t. This exhaustion will likely last for days. It was all worth it though.

You see I am now the proud parent of two miniature schnauzer puppies. They’re only ten weeks old and are so dang small. Small but feisty. They’re giving our other dog, Eli, hell even while I’m writing this. If those two aren’t trying to eat his bone, then they’re biting Eli’s haunches.

Eli is not taking this well at all. He was uppity and territorial before but now he’s just cranky. He growls at the puppies over the slightest thing—trying in vain to make them come to heel. At the same time Eli is oddly mothering. When the two puppies get into a tussle Eli takes it upon himself to be the referee. It’s sweet.

Even with our dog babysitter Mom and I can’t seem to tear ourselves away from the little scamps. When we went through the pet store yesterday I ended up eyeing those stupid dog bags, thinking that way I could just take them to school with me and save myself the trouble of worrying over them all day. But I didn’t get one of the little dog carriers. I can’t bring myself to look like Paris Hilton.

And I have learned a valuable lesson: do not bring two puppies into a pet store! The pups were little angels; it’s the people who went nuts. We had to bring the puppies into Pets Mart so we could them collars and a few other necessities. It took us three times as long to get our shopping done because everyone and their cousin Jimmy had to come over and ask us the questions. What kind of dog is that? How old are they? Can I pet it? I shouldn’t be surprised though. Those two puppies are the cutest things in the world.

It was kismet when we picked out those two. The runny-eyed runt we finally decided to call Oliver, after Oliver Twist. If you look into his scraggly face you can almost hear him saying, “Please sir, I want some more.” He’s so spunky and curious and he fears absolutely nothing. His little face looks like it’s in a perpetual pout. But don’t let his cute face fool you, he’s an imp all the way through. You can tell when he bounces about on his bowlegs. Oliver is mine. Two days and he has already got me twisted around his little paw. He squeaks, I pick him up, and he climbs up my chest for the best and warmest view he can get. He squeaks a lot. It’s the only flaw I’m willing to admit he has.

The little girl’s name is Sadie. Officially, it’s Princess Sadie Grace but we’re trying not to let that get to her head. I believe we’re failing miserably. That little black ball of elegant fluff knows she’s hot stuff. Where Oliver is scraggily, Sadie is well kept and sophisticated looking. When we picked her up she was so calm, with the bearing of a refined lady (like Princess Grace Kelly, hence two-thirds of her name). That is all a sham. Our little lady is more of a live wire than her brother when she wants to be. She’s figured out by now how to grab Oliver’s collar and tug him where she wants, nearly choke him in the process.

It’s incidents like that that have had me on edge for the past two days. I keep monitoring them to see if Sadie is going to strangle Oliver, or if Oliver is going to bite Sadie’s ears. They’re on a strict schedule too. Sleep, outside, eat, play, outside, play, and sleep again. All of that in an hour or two. They go through life at warp speed and it’s all I can do to keep up. Oh did I mention they’re sleeping in my room? So I’m on their schedule not the other way around. No wonder I’m so exhausted.

Give Me No Yellow Roses

When I came running up the steps of the senior entrance Friday night (I was a little late) one of the freshmen actors was being frog marched out the door. He was commanded in a harsh voice to turn three times to his right, spit, and curse. I asked what was going on.

My easygoing friend Ellen scowled and ground out, “He said the name of the Scottish play.”

I opened the door and wiped my boots on the worn rugs. Another of my friends, Erin, was glaring at the boy through the windowed panels of the door.

“God save me from the superstitions of theater people.” I mumbled as I headed to the auditorium.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m as superstitious as the next person. I don’t walk under ladders or open umbrellas indoors. The breaking of a mirror and the sight of a crow send a shiver down my spine. But I swear theater people have two superstitions for every one of an average person. I can’t possibly believe them all. But there are some things I do out of respect for others’ superstitions—yeah it’s out of respect but it’s also so they don’t have an epileptic fit—like say break a leg or not say a certain name.

As I went backstage I heard veteran actors murmuring in agitation over the saying of that name. Apparently more than one person had been saying the M-word. A total of five people said it. Forgive me for my snipe, but they were all freshman. The upperclassmen were ready to slaughter the lot of them. It was clear people were spooked.

You are not supposed to say Macbeth in a theater. It’s fine everywhere else but you absolutely cannot say it in a theater. It curses a production. Well that and it pisses a lot of people off.

Like I said before I am not inclined to believe all the superstitions that run rampant through the theater, but sometimes things happen that make you believe. Before the show even began on Friday night a girl almost fell down the stairs and three people couldn’t find important articles of clothing. Not too uncommon but the night just kept getting worse.

When I went out on stage something just didn’t feel right. The atmosphere just felt off—a disturbance in the force if you will. Hanging out backstage, waiting to go on, Ashley dropped a can of hairspray on her foot making it bleed. Mikes kept crackling or not coming on at the right times. None of us felt that the numbers were as smooth; something always seemed to go wrong.

I evacuated to the greenroom, a kind of sanctuary for the actors waiting in the wings. Kelly, Grace, Emily, and I sat up there whispering about all the strange coincidences that had been going on since the unmentionable had been mentioned. Someone told me Robin had hurt her hand somehow, and that Ashley’s toe was actually broken. It seemed like the actors were getting mauled.

Then the Havana number came up. We were still sitting in the greenroom we heard the music go terribly wrong. Something had happened to the pit. For some reason they skipped an entire section of the score and flipped around different parts. We sat up in our chairs and looked at each other in horror. That had never happened before.

“It’s the Scottish Play,” one of the girls whispered in dread.

When I went back downstairs at intermission the tension was bubbling over and people were getting violent. A screaming match was going on between a few actors over a comment or two. The pit band skulked out, well aware that they were being blamed for Havana and the intense hatred glowing in the eyes of actors. That one actor that I had seen on entering the theater was being smacked repeatedly for placing the curse upon the production. Everyone was running out of room on the edge.

Solemn faced people began lining up for act two. It seemed we were conceding to the dead king. I must admit act two went far better than act one, but there were still too many hitches to be coincidental. Sometimes things just happen without a reason. But if some idiot has said the M-word in a theater during a production there’s a reason. If you don’t believe the superstition then believe a former nonbeliever.

Mail = Fun

I hate Sundays. Not because tomorrow would be Monday (the scourge of all life), or because of religious distaste. No, I hate Sundays because I love mail. And the mail doesn’t come on Sundays.

I love coming home to a full mailbox. Mostly it is bills for my mother, or notices for community affairs. Other times it is a red Netflix envelope, which makes me ecstatic over the possibility of a good movie; I rush through my homework on red envelope days. Equally joyous are the days when an interesting catalogue or magazine subscription finally comes in. I happily curl up in my overstuffed red armchair with a woolen blanket and eagerly turn the pages ohhing and ahhing over the spread.

This time of year is particularly serendipitous for all mail lovers. This is catalogue season. A magical consumer driven time of year when busy parental elves find it convenient to do their shopping from home. I revel in it! Catalogue season begins around mid September. The catalogues start trickling in, their pages ripe with possible gifts for giving or taking. Catalogue sightings become more and more frequent through October, and then in November you cannot go a day without some random company wanting you to buy everything they posses.

Most of these catalogues know our family for suckers and send us preferred customer cards with eye-popping sales. Some are completely at random: do two females sound like the appropriate audience for a John Deer? Maybe in some parts of the country, but not in Saint Louis County. Mom and I would probably pitch a fit if a tractor appeared on our doorstep.

But I am the most gloriously abused statistic of all time: the teenaged girl. You can market to us until Hell freezes over and then you can sell us the latest ice skates. Thank the Lord for my abuse because I am a glutton for purchasing punishment. I sit at the table before a glossy smorgasbord of goodies. The temptations I cannot resist are Alloy, Delia’s, Victoria’s Secret, and Signals.

I sit and go through these catalogues as if money were no object, dog-earing pages or circling items with a pen. I never look at the price because that way I can pretend that it is economically possible to get it (and more importantly knowing the expense of any object has always made me ill). Some little baubles are worthy of crossing my fingers in the hopes that I may get them. An ornate key necklace, a pair of leopard print tights, a screen t-shirt. Other items provide me with intense amusement.

For example Victoria’s Secret currently sells an 800-karat diamond bra. Yes, you read that right. It’s very sparkly, but hardly worth it. I imagine it would be obnoxiously sharp and heavy as well. Not to mention the cumbersome price tag of $6,900,000. Why on earth would you buy a $6,900,000 bra that’s only going to come off in two minutes anyway?!? ‘Cause it sure as shootin’ a’int going underneath a dress. It would snag. It also begs the question of what exactly would you wear with it? There was no 600-karat thong to go with it, and you can’t just wear Fruit of the Loom. It’s all too funny.

Catalogues also have their helpful purposes. When I get asked ‘what do you want for Christmas?’ I can have an answer. But that doesn’t ruin the surprise of it all. No we get too many catalogues for there to be any sense of predictability. I might get that ornate key necklace or the t-shirt, but it’s always a surprise. So, each catalogue gets special care on the off chance my mom might take a peek to see what I’ve marked. It’s the four-month anticipation that I enjoy. I suppose Sundays add to the anticipation, but I still hate them. If not for the denial of mail then for the fact that on Sunday tomorrow is always Monday.