Pickles & Dimes

Scene: two nights ago, on local news

Woman looking forlornly at camera: “I sure do wish we would have a white Christmas. It’s not Christmas without snow.”

Jason and I: “Yes, because a giant first snowfall during the busiest travel holiday of the year is a GREAT idea.”

Scene: next day, immediately after disturbing sight of heavy rainfall

Ginormous snow clumps fall from the sky.

Jason and I: “Oh, crap.”

Scene: last night on local news

Woman looking forlornly at camera: “I’m stranded here at the airport until maybe next Tuesday.”

Jason and I: “You asked for it, moron.”

In other news, I have given up all hope of ever sleeping through the night again. With our meager 1-2 inches of snow cover, I was once again reminded of all the dumb things snow brings: the overly hyped “OPERATION: WINTER” segments on the local news, the obligatory shots of cars in the ditch, the fact that my boots have zero traction, how static electricity now seeks to destroy humankind, how the business-deprived independent snow-removal contractors work all hours of the night spending two hours plowing a dead-end street, and how our retired neighbor, who is retired, can shovel his driveway at two in the morning even though he can perform this duty any time of the day, since he is, you know, RETIRED.

I’ve been up since 3:42 a.m. Faaaaantastic. It didn’t help that the cats – who have given us three consecutive nights of peaceful slumber due to either 1) the blessed Feliway diffuser, 2) mere happenstance or 3) copious amounts of catnip bribes – were fascinated by the various snow removal sounds outside our window and decided to add to the chorus by meowing, whining and informing us that one of them has learned a new trick that involves pawing open a cabinet door in order to let it slam back in place, over and over and over again.

Maybe I’m not one of those people who needs 8 hours of sleep like I want to believe, but rather I’m like Martha Stewart, who only requires 3 three hours of sleep.

Because she’s not crazy at all.

The snowman looks very festive in his hat and scarf, while The Thing bucks tradition by wearing his ratty blue underwear.

This year, if you’re bad, you don’t get coal in your stocking – you get The Thing.

To celebrate this beautiful time of year, I’ve been enjoying listening to my Christmas CDs. Specifically: We Wish You A Hairy Christmas, a compilation of 80s artists such as Warrant, LA Guns and Faster Pussycat. Also, two CDs by Minneapolis’ Trailer Trash: Hell, It’s X-Mas and All Lit Up: A Trashy Little X-Mas. My favorite, you ask? Well, that would be A Twisted Christmas, the brand new disc by Twisted Sister.

What? Not everyone shares my taste in holiday music?

This year, for the first time ever, Jason and I decided to pool our collective Christmas money that we would’ve spent on each other, and spend it on one gift that we’ll both use.

After much debate and soul-searching, we got this:

She’s a beaut, huh?

We spent the time from 9:30 p.m. until 1:30 a.m. Saturday putting it together. Luckily, unlike our old 10-games-in-1 table we had previously, we didn’t flip the table over to finish the assembly only to find that my complete and utter lack of spatial ability resulted in my foosball players facing the wrong direction.

However, we did have a tense moment (or 20), where the bumpers just.would.not.slide onto the metal rods, and after much staring at the directions and cursing at the photo on the box, my sleepy mind finally realized we could slather on a ton of Vaseline and whoa! – instant slideability.

We then had a quick game, which Jason won, but only because it was almost 2:00 a.m. and I couldn’t focus. That’s my excuse anyway.

Merry Christmas, baby!

Oh, also, I caved and bought myself a new winter coat, because even though the weather is cooperating in its 40-degree glory, it won’t last. And because I didn’t want to wear my less-than-adequate leather jacket or my nice winter jacket that now features a cigarette burn front and center, I had to do something.

Behold:

Now I’m ready for it to snow.