Blizzard of '78

Yesterday afternoon I was feeling a little nostalgic for Boston when I spoke with my parents about the upcoming storm - they were stuck in apocalypse-level traffic on their way to Home Depot with the rest of the world to get plastic or something for their windows. I thought "Man, I wish I was there! I wish I was freaking out about a snow storm, and frantic about being stranded! I wish I could look forward to feet of snow and hours of shovelling with my neighbors, who would say things like 'We haven't seen anything like this since the blizzahd of '78!'"

Former Roommate Peachz said today that the good folks of MA actually got more snow than the Blizzard of '78!, which, again, makes me feel slightly sad.

But not really, because the moment I stepped out this afternoon to buy groceries I had more rational thoughts such as "I HATE SNOW! Why don't people freaking shovel? And why, when they do, do they shovel it onto the goddamn sidewalk? Where am I supposed to walk?" It took me at least 2x the time it normally takes to walk around. It was the sort of thing where you're walking on a sidewalk and then the open area just ceases and becomes a giant snowbank and you have to turn around.

This is mystifying, because we didn't really get that much snow. At most a foot, but I think it was more like six inches with a really inefficient shovelling job.

My journey to the grocery store was of the sort where you're walking in snowbanks and falling over every few feet because your ankles are twisting on the weird terrain, and then you get snow in your sock and have to deal with it for an hour.

Although, this experience reminds me of an idea I had for a movie in which two people meet while they are navigating their ways through snowbanks. Like the girl is walking and the boy has already turned around because he encountered a random snowbank mid-sidewalk, and they sort of crash into each other and are isolated from the world by a 7-foot pile of snow. I think that's cute. Well, not really, but when this sort of thing with the random snowbank would occur in Boston I'd fantasize about some dude also being trapped and we could laugh about it together instead of my just being irritable and pissed off and having to turn around and backtrack for five minutes. Unfortunately its a romantic comedy type idea, and I have no use for romantic comedies, so the idea will never be more than an idea.

Aside from the snow, the weekend was lovely. I did NOTHING! and therefore got many things done.

Many, many things.

The Loft is now a Sparkly Loft, the Cat is Happy, the comics are compiled and submitted for further evaluation, the music has been practiced and is (gasp!) ready for performance tomorrow night should I get to the open mic in enough time to sign up, and a dent has been made in the phone calls.

I did not go to see Aviator, because of the snow. Wimp move, yes, but I had other things to do and the idea of sitting in a movie theater for three hours with snow in my sock and soaked to the core and freezing just didn't seem appealing.

I am feeling domestic lately. I think its the, ahem, blah, um, boyfriend thing. It could be because he cooks and I feel like a deadbeat and a miserable excuse for a woman, or because it just makes me feel settled and like I should be doing things like cleaning and contemplating the colors of walls and cooking. Either way, I cooked tonight!

Now. When I first graduated from college I was all about cooking. I cooked a few times a week. I tried recipes (granted, most of them turned into complete and utter disasters - the ones I recall most fondly are the carrot ginger soup that ended up all over the kitchen and would actually be a very good recipe for cinema vomit should you ever need some! and the potato leek soup that ended up being mashed potatoes and the cheesy potatoes my mother makes that didn't even make it past "melt the butter in the bottom of the pot and then add cheese" because something AWFUL happened to it without explanation) and ate well. I brought lunch to work. I made homemade pasta. I made sauces. I cooked fairly regularly for about two years and then got distracted by other things and stopped.

I didn't cook for the entirety of my stay at my last apartment, which was three years. THREE YEARS! I think I may have made one calzone, scrambled eggs on the weekends, and boiled pasta twice. I cooked little things for parties and pot lucks, but never actually cooked for myself. I don't know why. I think I lost interest, in either cooking or in myself.

Each year one of my New Year's resolutions is COOK MORE. Or, COOK AT ALL.

This wasn't one of my resolutions this year, because I knew it wasn't going to happen. But because of domestication or the blizzard or free time or all of those things, I decided to COOK! I know, I know. You can't believe it. I made a tomato mozzarella basil olive oil salad and potato gnocchi with sage butter parmesan sauce. And it was GOOD! DELICIOUS even!!! Roommate had some. Her mind was blown.

I am so happy. I don't know why. Why? Cooking isn't a big deal, but I guess it is for me. I feel so satisfied. And full. Yummmmmmmmmm,

So that's that. It was a good weekend of nothing. Very non-New York, but still good.

I am not looking forward to leaving the Loft tomorrow. The snow. Ugh. And more on the way. I am bringing extra socks to work. I am going to have to wear boots. I freaking hate winter boots. HATE THEM. I hate being the person with the change of clothes. I wish I hate boots that could double as regular shoes. But those are tres cher, and there is no more money these days.

Hope you are all surviving the snow if you are somewhere where there is snow! And if you don't have snow, well, you suck.