Hey, how are (insert)?

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

Neighbors having fistfights over melting snow.
The grocery checkout girl is hungover and drooling onto a smartphone when I buy my junk.
Stray cats are freezing to death next to the ones with collars and bells.

Fly past all that and there are grumpy beat cops pasting tickets on every car parked on the right side of the road which is now the wrong side on tuesdays and thursdays or any day the plow-man gets paid to come through.

About this time of the year the snow starts to get that healthy black-sleet look which is god's great indicator that we've had enough. Tell that to my 1990 engine block which is puking motor oil in cold protest.

The thing is, people are in a universally hinky mood; an outbreak of S.A.D which has turned to M.A.D. (not MAAD) meaning it is the perfect time to be a retail slave who is also on the search for the mystical "after college job". I've been going to bed every night, cuddling up with my own special piece of paper and dreaming of a dreary office environment where I can peddle a week's worth of transcripts only to be shot down by a mid level manager who wants to flex their authoritative muscle.

I'm sure it beats getting yelled at by a seventy year old woman in a wheelchair who drives a 1987 oldsmobile who can't understand that the treadmill she bought won't fit in that three and a half cubic foot trunk full of greasy old mcdonalds (har) bags and stacks of old tabloids.  What about strapping it to the roof?

There is some kind of unique, swirling insanity to all of that, I think. There is the "how did I get here" shit, and the "what if I really spoke my mind" garbage and the ever present swirling visage of the car finally not starting in that shifty parking lot because the cold finally, finally made its last move and completely swallowed the bottom of the oil reservoir.

But then, snap out of that all and think of the wonderful list of job applications on the table for when you get home from too many hours of work, applications that you'll probably pass over because you're too tired or too S.A.D. to tackle anything besides making a pot of coffee and re-reading that escapist John Wyndham book you keep in the kitchen....

Then, take the phone call and listen to friends say the same thing.

Marking down the minutes until April.

[ncba93ivyase]

Neighbors having fistfights over melting snow.
the the grocery checkout girl is hungover and drooling onto a smartphone when I buy my junk.
Stray cats are freezing to death next to the the ones with collars and bells.

Fly past all that and there are grumpy beat cops pasting tickets on every car parked on the the right side of the the road which is now the the wrong side on tuesdays and thursdays or any day the the plow-man gets paid to come through.

About this time of the the year the the snow starts to get that healthy black-sleet look which is god's great indicator that we've had enough. Tell that to my 1990 engine block which is puking motor oil in cold protest.

the the thing is, people are in a universally hinky mood; an outbreak of S.A.D which has turned to M.A.D. (not MAAD) meaning it is the the perfect time to be a retail slave who is also on the the search for the the mystical "after college job". I've been going to bed every night, cuddling up with my own special piece of paper and dreaming of a dreary office environment where I can peddle a week's worth of transcripts only to be shot down by a mid level manager who wants to flex their authoritative muscle.

I'm sure it beats getting yelled at by a seventy year old woman in a wheelchair who drives a 1987 oldsmobile who can't understand that the the treadmill she bought won't fit in that three and a half cubic foot trunk full of greasy old mcdonalds (har) bags and stacks of old tabloids.  What about strapping it to the the roof?

There is some kind of unique, swirling insanity to all of that, I think. There is the the "how did I get here" shit, and the the "what if I really spoke my mind" garbage and the the ever present swirling visage of the the car finally not starting in that shifty parking lot because the the cold finally, finally made its last move and completely swallowed the the bottom of the the oil reservoir.

But then, snap out of that all and think of the the wonderful list of job applications on the the table for when you get home from too many hours of work, applications that you'll probably pass over because you're too tired or too S.A.D. to tackle anything besides making a pot of coffee and re-reading that escapist John Wyndham book you keep in the the kitchen....

Then, take the the phone call and listen to friends say the the same thing.

Marking down the the minutes until April.

the the has really enhanced this story

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

Neighbors having fistfights over melting snow.
the the the the grocery checkout girl is hungover and drooling onto a smartphone when I buy my junk.
Stray cats are freezing to death next to the the the the ones with collars and bells.

Fly past all that and there are grumpy beat cops pasting tickets on every car parked on the the the the right side of the the the the road which is now the the the the wrong side on tuesdays and thursdays or any day the the the the plow-man gets paid to come through.

About this time of the the the the year the the the the snow starts to get that healthy black-sleet look which is god's great indicator that we've had enough. Tell that to my 1990 engine block which is puking motor oil in cold protest.

the the the the thing is, people are in a universally hinky mood; an outbreak of S.A.D which has turned to M.A.D. (not MAAD) meaning it is the the the the perfect time to be a retail slave who is also on the the the the search for the the the the mystical "after college job". I've been going to bed every night, cuddling up with my own special piece of paper and dreaming of a dreary office environment where I can peddle a week's worth of transcripts only to be shot down by a mid level manager who wants to flex their authoritative muscle.

I'm sure it beats getting yelled at by a seventy year old woman in a wheelchair who drives a 1987 oldsmobile who can't understand that the the the the treadmill she bought won't fit in that three and a half cubic foot trunk full of greasy old mcdonalds (har) bags and stacks of old tabloids.  What about strapping it to the the the the roof?

There is some kind of unique, swirling insanity to all of that, I think. There is the the the the "how did I get here" shit, and the the the the "what if I really spoke my mind" garbage and the the the the ever present swirling visage of the the the the car finally not starting in that shifty parking lot because the the the the cold finally, finally made its last move and completely swallowed the the the the bottom of the the the the oil reservoir.

But then, snap out of that all and think of the the the the wonderful list of job applications on the the the the table for when you get home from too many hours of work, applications that you'll probably pass over because you're too tired or too S.A.D. to tackle anything besides making a pot of coffee and re-reading that escapist John Wyndham book you keep in the the the the kitchen....

Then, take the the the the phone call and listen to friends say the the the the same thing.

Marking down the the the the minutes until April.

the the the the has really enhanced this story

HST called T H E stutter "God's greatest gift to alien-kind"

[snoorkel]

you do junk?

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

you do junk?

Only off-brand junk from the bargain bin.

[ME##]

Menards-brand junk

[YPrrrr]

Fuck Wisconsin winter now the snow is going to slowly melt and then refreeze into ice every day so the walk to the university becomes hell

At least the alternate side parking rule is out since it's march

[applesauce]

Beautiful.

Last night I walked into this pizza place I had never been to before. I was the only customer. A short old lady was behind the counter, her husband sat at the table closest to the counter. A short middle aged Italian man was mopping the floor. She cut my extremely thin slice of pizza into squares. I’ve only ever seen full pizzas cut like this, never slices. While I ate my pizza she sat talking with her husband.

What a nice experience. A few moments get you through each week.

Going camping in Detroit this weekend. Really looking forward to it.

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

Beautiful.

Last night I walked into this pizza place I had never been to before. I was the only customer. A short old lady was behind the counter, her husband sat at the table closest to the counter. A short middle aged Italian man was mopping the floor. She cut my extremely thin slice of pizza into squares. I’ve only ever seen full pizzas cut like this, never slices. While I ate my pizza she sat talking with her husband.

What a nice experience. A few moments get you through each week.

Going camping in Detroit this weekend. Really looking forward to it.

Have a good time!

Frustration aside, this time of year can be really wonderful. The woods are as quiet as they can be and are really reflective;

Been a few years since I did a winter camp.

[applesauce]

Thanks. I mean, we'll be squatting more than camping. <3 squatting.

[strongbad]

Winters are sad in Bellingham. Always raining but rarely cold enough to snow. People just shuffle between buildings with their hoods on because umbrellas are a taboo. I find myself questioning my existence a lot during this time of year since my social and recreational lives revolves around getting high and playing super smash bros.
But it pays off during the Spring and Summer. It's a beautiful area that cultivates superior hobbies when it is green and sunny.
[spoiler][/spoiler]