Newsflash: It’s still cold. I hate being cold. Hate. It. In fact, I’m typing this under a fur-lined hooded onesie while wearing mittens. It’s hard to type with mittens so forgive the tuypoosd typos. What the shit, Mother Nature?! Seriously? This weather is affecting me and not in a good way. I’m fat, I’m pasty and I’ve essentially become a soup-slurping shut-in. I just looked at myself in the mirror and noticed my skin is reaching translucency. I was hoping for the beautiful alabaster complexion of a Cate Blanchett but have achieved more of an underground naked mole rat vibe. I thought maybe I had SAD, but it’s so much worse. You know about SAD, right? It stands for Seasonal Affective Disorder: A condition in which people who have normal mental health (like me, heh) throughout most of the year, experience depressive symptoms in the winter months. I’ve made a special classification of my disorder, beyond SAD, which I call B.I.T.C.H.
Because It’s Too Cold Here, or BITCH, as I’ve said, is a real thing and I have it. It’s real because I just made it up. Boom. Look up BITCH and you’ll see my face. Wait.
A bout of BITCH can affect anyone, anywhere, but because the South doesn’t know how to deal with the cold, (hence the HERE part) people below the Mason-Dixon line are particularly affected. My people and I are ill-equipped for this extended winter. I’m from Louisiana where it is regularly 110* in the shade and it’s no biggie. I can do 110 all day long. I now live in Texas, so it’s pretty much the same weather and more importantly, it is Spring, for Christ’s sake! It’s March, people! By end of March, we are usually floating down the Guadalupe, beer in hand, listening to Willie Nelson alongside a shirtless Matthew McConaughey, alright? Alright, alright… But this year? They’ve just announced another Winter Storm Warning, which includes icy conditions, possible school closings and 100% chance of me losing my fleece-lined shit. Yep. We’ve been BITCH-slapped by Mother Nature.
|The cold always bothered me anyway, BITCH.|
And yes, I know it’s sooo much worse where you are, Yankee– I get it. You shut it, too, Canada. You are made from heartier stock than I. Yes, I know- it’s 14 below and you just shoveled your way out of your igloo to drive carpool, all while eating ice cream and wearing board shorts. Hooray for you. Slow clap. If I wanted to be this cold for this long I would move to fucking Minnesota. I don’t do cold. Salt is for our margaritas, not our roads.
The journey from SAD to BITCH was a short one. BITCH makes me and everyone around me freak the fuck out. BITCH causes weight gain, hoarding tendencies, gridlock on the highway, (Big ups to Atlanta!) and as a direct result of BITCH, one of the worst symptoms of all: The perpetual Ugg-wearing Eski-ho. The Uggs have been on since October and cannot be removed with traditional therapies.
|“It’s so chilly, y’all”|
BITCH can affect anyone of any age but it seems to hit mothers of school-age children (hellooo) the hardest. Being trapped indoors with children can cause anyone to lose it. And listen– I love my children in small doses, don’t get me wrong, but there is only so many times you can hear the theme song to Disney’s “Jesse.” HEY JESSAY! HEY JESSAY! before you go full BITCH and punch the TV.
|“DOG WITH A BLOG” MARATHON IS NEXT? SUPER DUPER, KIDS!|
You say you yelled at your kid and trashed her 4,246 Rainbow Loom bracelets? Blame the BITCH. You told your Current Legal Spouse to go fuck himself after he drank the last of the hot chocolate? It’s not your fault; that’s the BITCH talking. But, really, what the hell was he thinking?
It’s supposed to warm up soon. I’m looking forward to crawling out of my lair and feeling the sunlight on my face. Until then, I’m looking into BITCH therapy. I’m thinking one of those George Hamilton tanning lights, a kiddie pool, a Pez dispenser full of Xanax and heavy doses of vodka.
I’ll let you know how it goes. Until then, stay toasty my friends.
|I want to fill these with broccoli cheese soup and put them on.|