|See that daffodil? Yeah. Bloomed yesterday. I took this picture this morning. This JANUARY morning.|
Sounds a lot like June, except it's January.
Now, I happen to know that the weekend closest to January 17th is always nice around here (or at least has been for the last seven years) because that is the weekend that Bubba and I got engaged on the beach in Half Moon Bay because when we woke up to go skiing and it was super sunny instead of super rainy, he called an audible at the line and suggested we go to the beach for a picnic.
OK? Said I, having zero comprehension of the matter at hand. I was just happy to go to the beach to get drunk and pick up sea glass in the sunshiney weather rather than muck around in the slushy springish snow in Tahoe.
I don't like spring skiing, that's something you may not know about me, but it's a biggie. In my opinion, one should never be really warm and sweating while skiing on splashy snow because if the weather's that nice, one should probably be sitting around in one's backyard drinking cocktails and eating tacos. Like I said at the beginning up there.
We've gone full circle.
So, yes, every year I note the date and how crazy it is that our engagement weekend in January is somehow always blessed with this fantastically absurd warm springish weather. And then usually it starts to rain a few days later and we go back into Oh It's Winter Again mode and pine even harder for our flip-flops and patio tacos until late spring months arrive and we can live those dreams without someone rushing outside to check our sanity levels and bring us a raincoat because WHAT ARE YOU DOING EATING TACOS IN THE RAIN, YOU RETARD?
Sometimes I'm hard headed and can't be talked out of ideas even when they're plainly stupid. Sometimes I need rescuing. Sometimes Bubba has to do said rescuing. All these things are true.
The crazy thing this January, though, is that I have not yet required this rescuing and I have not yet been caught wearing my flip-flops in the rain because what in the world it's 70 degrees. And it has been all week. And it was over the weekend, too. And it's going to be for the rest of the week. And it's all gotten so surreal that today I just gave up and wore a sleeveless dress because I knew I'd be really sad if I stuck to the winter wardrobe just to appease the calendar and found myself outside in the sunshiney 70 degree weather in wool.
Seriously, I'd have to kill myself. The waste of a beautiful day on dreary clothing items like wool sweaters is unacceptable to me. I'd at least have to light myself on fire.
|Wool and early spring blooming bulbs do not mix.|
SO - I wore my sleeveless dress (though added on a big scarf, jacket and boots so that no one at work would shriek and commit me) today and I've been loving it up and so I'm sorry that February saw all that behavior and will be taking it out on all of us by being a complete pain in the ass over the next four weeks.
I'm pretty sure the month of February is looking at me right now and going, "Yeah. OK, bitch. Live it up in your little sleeveless cotton Anthropologie delight. I'm going to FUCKING RUIN YOU starting next week when I have my say in the matter. Expect rain, cold and MISERY the likes of which you've never imagined. January may be a people-pleasing pansy, but not me. I mean COLD BRUTAL BUSINESS."
I just wanted to apologize to all of you in advance because all of the weather-related heartache you are about to encounter in February is all my fault.
Also, I'm going skiing next week, so the blog might be quiet while I'm buried in an avalanche. OR WORSE sloshing about in warm, wet snow thanks to my big fucking mouth. And this dress.