The Dismality of February, and This Will All Thaw Someday


Oh, the dismality of February yet again.  There is a reason why February only has 28 days (at least for three out of four years,) and that’s to put a lid on the number of people who die in February.  If February were 30 or 31 days, half the damn population would die in February, and that would just be weird.  We have to spread the death throughout the year better.  Not that everyone should die from heat stroke in July, but jeez.  I can understand losing the will to live when it is 90° and 100% humidity if there’s no air conditioning, perhaps a bit more than most, because I am not at all equipped for high temperatures.  I can abide cold a far sight better than extreme heat.


But at least in July there is sunlight, and Ohio winters are notoriously dark and sunless. I can go all week without seeing sunlight save for maybe a ray or two on the weekend-  unless there is a damned blizzard going on.  And even if the damned blizzard is going on and it’s 4° below, Target still has nothing but bathing suits, tank tops, sandals and sleeveless dresses on display.  If I need a parka, I will have to wait until July when they put them back out.

Here in central Ohio we have been enduring a rather harsher than normal winter.  Oh, yippee skippy, because I just adore driving in ice and snow.  I’m all about those below zero temperatures too.  There is simply nothing like one’s ass freezing to the toilet seat unless I break down and turn on the space heater in the bathroom.

“Spring” will arrive someday. Probably sometime in May there will come a day when my back yard will transform from frozen tundra into Dog Shit Lake overnight.  Oh, the smell of Spring in the air.  Temperatures will go from -4° to 90° and 100% humidity within the span of about 12 hours.  There is really no Spring in Ohio. There is just arctic cold and wind, followed by stygian heat, usually accompanied by torrential rain.


This is Brutus, the Catahoula^ (Catahoula Bed Hog Dog)


This was Clara^ (God rest her sweet soul) the Malinois

Note to self: the 80# Catahoula shits according to his size.  For those unaccustomed to dogs, for an example, a 65# Malinois has the strength to overpower a 300# man.  The 65# Malinois consumes, and disposes of about the same number of calories as a 300# man every day. Imagine that kind of waste load deposited in your back yard every day for six months from October until the May Thaw arrives.

In all fairness, since a Malinois is an ultra high energy, high metabolism dog, a 65# Malinois and an 80# Catahoula are pretty much identical in strength, energy consumed, and waste put down.  My paradigms have been pretty much the same for awhile.

There’s going to be a lot of dog shit to deal with.

The Scourge of Winter Apathy, Interpersonal Relations for the Ineffable Introvert, and a Dearth of Common Sense

Ok, so it is Monday.  I am a misanthropic soul, most admittedly. Yesterday’s sermon really pointed that out to me even more than I wish to admit it.  The summation of this is that I love people but from a distance, and I don’t love the stupid things people do.   When I am deprived of my weekly quiet time (i.e. stuck at home to run and fetch for Jerry) I get more than a bit cranky. I am trying to overcome the scourge of winter apathy, but when it’s too bloody cold for even me to go outside without layers and layers of clothes, it’s not easy, and it gets worse.  It doesn’t help that Target had their usual swimsuit extravaganza on display as of the 15th of this month.   This is Ohio.  The only people buying or wearing swimsuits in January either a.) have their own pool or hot tub, or a membership to an indoor pool, or b.) are going on vacations to places where it is warm enough to go swimming outside.  Since I fit into neither of those categories, the swimsuit display only serves to remind me just how bad I look in a swimsuit anyway, and how long I will have to wait to go swimming again.  When I am in the pool I can care less who is looking at me anyway.   The thing I don’t understand about the early bird swimsuit display is, where are the parkas in July?  If you are going to sell totally seasonally inappropriate apparel, then it would stand to reason that anyone looking for shorts and halters are going to find long-johns and thermal socks.  That wouldn’t surprise me either, although I highly doubt parkas are going to sell very well in high summer when it’s 95 degrees with 100% humidity. 

Usually the end of February is the worst part of winter.  The dismal pallor of late February in Central Ohio has a despair all its own. It’s still technically winter, but it’s just warm enough for the whole outside to thaw out enough to be damp and covered with the old, grey snowbooger scuz instead of permafrost, but it’s definitely not spring.  It rains, but it’s a constant, overcast drippy drizzle, not the torrential rains that accompany “springtime” in Ohio.  The torrential rains- as well as thunderstorms and tornados- come through in March and April.   There isn’t much to look forward to in late February except maybe Mardi Gras.  At my age I want people to forget my birthday, and through some stretch of luck, and the pervasiveness of winter apathy, they usually do. 

If anyone does remember my birthday, try to remember I’d like a one day pass to the indoor waterpark.  Either that or go whole hog and buy me that “Y” membership I can’t afford. 

Hell, I’d be happy with a few new packs of granny panties.  Mine are getting rather threadbare.

Jerry doesn’t seem to realize the toilet isn’t a very good ashtray either.  I think he will find all kinds of disgusting sleaze when he snakes it out.  He likes to flush everything and then wonders why you have to plunge it every time someone takes a healthy poo.  Then again he wasn’t blessed with much common sense.  Since I know that I should forgive him.  Maybe that’s what’s the Prozac is for.

That’s the only way it’s going to get there, too.  Martha Stewart I ain’t.