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The Joy of Winter

So, it’s freezing outside. Like, I can’t even feel my face kind of cold. Hey, is this what Botox feels like? Thank goodness I work from home, because I don’t know how people are functioning out there in this weather. And let’s talk about the snow and ice – can we just not? So yeah, it’s 14 degrees out at high noon, do we really have to simulate a frozen tundra as well? I know Texas and other places who are enjoying single digits right about now have it worse, but that doesn’t make me any less miserable as I watch the temperature dip lower into the teens. More snow on Friday? Oh, joy.

I mean, it might be worth it if I lived at a ski resort or deep in some dark forest where the snow stayed pristine, and I could feed the animals and have some quiet solitude. But living in a city where this so-called winter wonderland turns into a sludge-grey wasteland almost as fast as the snow hits the ground… nah, not worth it.

Why do I subject myself to such torture? Oh right, because everywhere else I’ve considered moving would still freeze my face off, and probably leave me bankrupt too. So basically, I’m on the hunt for a warm and cozy haven that won’t break the bank. Is that too much to ask for? Or should I just resign myself to this frozen hellscape?

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Poetry (Not) in Motion

You know, January feels like that one friend who insists on telling you their entire life story every single time you meet up. It just goes on and on, and you start wondering if it will ever end. You’re sitting there, nodding along, trying to be polite, but deep down, you’re secretly checking the calendar every five minutes, hoping for some magical fast-forward button to appear. No, wait a minute, you know what? January is like the Monday of the year, and it’s dragging its feet, making you question if time has taken a vacation or is just playing an elaborate prank.

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Resolution Schmezolution: The Year of Awesome

Let’s talk about the tradition of New Year’s resolutions. You know, those promises we make to ourselves that last about as long as a snowflake in a sauna.

As the clock strikes midnight and fireworks illuminate the sky, I find myself once again contemplating the profound notion of setting unrealistic goals for the next 365 days. And then it hit me – why bother? I mean, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: who needs the stress of striving for perfection when we can just embrace the chaos and enjoy the ride?

I’m not making any New Year’s resolutions. Nope, not a single one. Instead, I’ve decided to channel my inner Zen master and focus on the art of not giving a flying fig about arbitrary goals.

Let’s face it, folks, the 12-month gym membership we buy in January and discard in March is really just a donation to the fitness industry. This year, I’m proudly sporting my “hibernating bear” bod and embracing the newfound joy of watching workout videos from the comfort of my couch. You see, it’s not laziness; it’s innovative fitness appreciation.

And don’t even get me started on the classic resolution to eat healthier. Kale, quinoa, and chia seeds? Please. I’m all about that balanced diet of pizza, tacos, and a side of ice cream. Life’s too short to deprive yourself of the simple pleasures, like a midnight snack or an impromptu dance party in the kitchen with a glass of wine and a bag of chips.

Rather than bog myself down with promises I won’t keep, I’m taking a different approach to 2024. In the spirit of spreading joy, I’ve decided to become the unofficial ambassador of kindness. Hey, don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m serious, and you should be too. Forget resolutions; let’s focus on being good people and helping others. Random acts of kindness, like holding the door open for someone or letting someone merge in traffic (yeah, yeah, I heard that snicker from the back) or being an ally where needed are the real currency of the soul.

So, there you have it – my revolutionary approach to New Year’s resolutions. Let’s ditch the pressure, embrace the chaos, and sprinkle kindness like confetti throughout the year. Who needs resolutions when you can have laughter, love, and a fridge stocked with snacks?

 

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Having a Snoozefest

Here’s the thing. No matter how much evidence there is to the contrary, and there’s quite a bit, let me tell you, I still believe I can get ready and out the door in 15 minutes. I cheerfully convince myself of this every single day. It’s like my brain has a timer set on delusion mode. I’ve tested this theory multiple times and it always ends with me frantically throwing on clothes and running out the door, cursing my unrealistic expectations and forgetting my purse.

Most of it comes down to the fact that I want to stay in bed as long as humanly possible, so I hit the snooze button over and over again, convincing myself that I can get up, do the necessary morning chores, make a cup of coffee, lint roll my outfit, find my shoes, put on just enough make-up that I’m not scaring any little children I may come across during the day, get completely dressed (yeah, we’re not gonna talk about the 2018 pants incident), and make it out the door in under 15 minutes. Spoiler alert: it never happens.

Doctors’ appointments, grocery runs, meeting friends for coffee – all fodder for my unrealistic expectations. But hey, the extra snooze button hits are totally worth it, right? Right!? (cue nervous laughter). Truth be told, how much extra sleep can you get when you’re jerking awake to a Jump in the Line ringtone every five minutes? No wonder I’m a walking ball of anxiety. And yet, here I am. It’s fine, I’m fine.

Work is the only exception – because let’s be real, rolling out of bed and turning on my laptop doesn’t require much effort. #workfromhomeperks

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Sharing is Caring… or is it?

Unfortunately, I had to venture out into the world today, even though I tried to think of every excuse not to. It went much as expected. In particular, I want to thank the person who kept pace with me for every single freakin’ red light through town blaring their music so loud my car – and indeed, the road around us – danced along. Not to mention my spine.

It’s lovely that you felt inspired to play DJ for the entirety of our little town, to share your tunes with the rest of us, regardless of your taste in music. Moreover, as a woman, I couldn’t help but appreciate the graphic lyrics describing the sexual violence your artist of choice intended to inflict on that “underaged tease.”

I can see where you might have thought we were in fact music-deprived, what with your car being the only one thump-thump-thumping and all. Easy mistake to make, for sure. Or perhaps you felt the world needed more noise, so you were just doing your part. If so, yay! Success! Rolling down the window at that third red light so we could get the full blast was the pièce de résistance.

Truth be told, I just don’t know what we would do without you. Revel in the silence? Have a coherent thought? Who knows what we might’ve gotten up to if it weren’t for you, generously sharing your music with the world.

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So This is Christmas

Oh yes, Christmas is almost here. That time of year when the craziness at home is amplified tenfold and you have to start mentally preparing yourself for the onslaught of family members invading your space. But that’s not all, work also becomes its own kind of crazy during the holiday season. Sure, for most of December you can use the age-old excuse of “it’s the holidays, not much work gets done,” to rationalize your year-round procrastination, but there are always the so-called overachievers who insist on scheduling Zoom meetings to discuss last minute deadlines while you’re still trying to figure out what gift to get your weird Uncle Joe.

Then, there’s the dreaded office party. Ahh, the office party. The yearly event that fills us with anxiety. Except this year, it’s even worse – again – as we head into yet another virtual hangout with our coworkers. Not only do we have to deal with the typical socially awkward interactions, but now we have the added bonus of virtual mishaps as well.

Dave from Sales’ constant refrain of “This is Dave from Sales, can you hear me?” has become our new drinking game. It’s a quick game, I can tell you that. And we all win… or lose, depending on how you look at it. Oh, and let’s not forget Sharon from Accounting’s ever-growing frustration with Dave’s inability to pinpoint the mute button. Her “Dave, you’re on mute” started out all cheerful and Christmas-y but halfway through she turns into the Grinch on steroids. I won’t even repeat what she said about his limited button-finding abilities and how she feels for his wife in the chat. Suffice it to say, we all expect a new policy from HR to be making the rounds come the New Year.

Honestly though, the highlight of these virtual shenanigans is George from Contracts’ absolute chonker of a cat Toby, who takes over his computer every time George walks away, which is often. Sitting on the keyboard, Toby stares directly into our souls and somehow completely ignores us at the same time.  We all secretly wish Toby would attend every meeting instead of George.

As the holiday party rages on, Becky continues to slip in hilarious memes during the serious “thank you for the past year” award presentations. Meanwhile, Mark’s background noises consist of a never-ending stream of dad jokes that make everyone groan and roll their eyes, and not in a good way. And let’s not forget about Brenda, who takes the “ugly Christmas sweater” trend to the extreme. Her taste in Christmas attire combined with her awesomely gaudy holiday Zoom background complete with falling snow and firelight, it’s like the North Pole threw up on her webcam. And thanks to the technical glitches that plague Zoom backgrounds, she keeps fading in and out of the picture every time she moves. It really should be the second chapter of our drinking game.

Speaking of which, some of us may or may not have started spiking our coffee cups with whiskey. I mean, it’s a “don’t ask, don’t tell” kind of situation at this point. And we’re not telling.

So here’s to surviving another holiday season filled with all kinds of awkward gatherings. Santa help us all.

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Age of Aquarius

I saw an article today in an advice column where one adult sibling was blaming another adult sibling for their elderly parents’ divorce. Now, I’ll admit, I didn’t read the article, so I can’t tell you the root of the problem between these siblings or the ultimate outcome. You see, I was stuck on the headline: “Man Tells Adult Deadbeat Sister That She Is The Reason Their Elderly Parents Are Getting Divorced.” Elderly. Hmmm. I was thinking that there must have been some serious transgression by one of the spouses for a couple in their 80s or 90s to decide to cut ties after what was likely a lengthy relationship. My money’s on the husband never putting the toilet seat down and after 60 years, the wife had just finally had enough. Or maybe he was caught playing bingo with Agnes, the blue-haired hussy next door. At any rate, somebody’s ready to spill the tea and I’m all for it.

But then, I read the byline, and here’s the kicker: the parents were 55 and 57 years old. Oh yeah. You read that right. What the actual hell, people? I mean, come on! Elderly!? How old was the author of the article, 12!? Okay, okay, maybe – just maybe, mind – we could be considered vintage. But elderly? Um, no. Let’s be real here, 55 is  practically the new 30. Yeah, I said it.

From the Silent Generation to Gen Z and the up-and-coming Gen Alpha, I’ve tried to maintain a respectful neutrality when it comes to the generation gaps. But if you younger generations are going to start calling Gen X elderly, let’s just say you better be ready for a not-so-senior citizen-sized smackdown.

Elderly. Pfftt.