Yankee Come Home

I don't know how you do it.

You. You people who live Up North.
You know, north of the thirty-sixth parallel.

I woke up in Cleveland today (yes, on purpose) and encountered ankle-deep slush and four inches of snow on my vehicle.Which had to be swept off using a snow brush, provided by the rental car company, seemingly made from an old yard stick and a few dozen decapitated Q-Tips.

Totally ineffective? You bet!
Being the only recovering Northerner in a group of people from Florida, Alabama and New Mexico I was either brave enough or stupid enough to think outside the frozen, useless box: I wound up using the forearm method of snow removal - I shoved it off.

Ah, memories. I love the feel of snow up my sleeves in the morning.

I'm cold. I packed every cashmere item of clothing I own and am wearing them in layers like Joey on Friends. In three days I haven't removed my used-to-be-cute-but-is-now-ironic bright, cheerful blue coat.
I'm sleeping under a pile of pillows in a makeshift extra-thick duvet.
A three dog night? Hell it's a three hypoallergenic pillows night!

I guess I would adapt again if I had to live here. But I'll tell you, there's nothing like a trip to Cleveland - and next week Detroit! Woot! - in Febru-fucking-ary to make you appreciate the South.


I don't understand how all the girls here dress in cute clothes and don't appear to be suffering from hypothermia.

Lady Yankees, I take my hat off to you. Well, I would take off my hat but I've been too cold to get naked so I haven't showered since Sunday and have epic hat head.