All right. Who pissed off Jack Frost?
Seriously. He is not so much nipping at my nose as he is trying to rip my nose off with ice-pliers. I am sure that just about every person in this city is talking about how fucking ass-cold it is today, so I will belabor the point no longer, except to add: It is seriously fucking ass-cold today.
Besides, I do not have the time to worry about the weather. I have somewhere between 11 and 12 bajillion things to do before my mom's arrival on Thursday, including such activities as:
finish shopping
scrub all the bathroom grout
buy groceries
plan itineraries
buy stockings
do all of the laundry
buy gloves
host a gathering for DPWSWF*
stop by Shiv's place for a brief tutorial on how to work her apartment
wrap presents
design a website
code a website
have a meeting uptown about the design and code of a website
Happily, I have a few things to keep me going. The prospect of baking cookies and decorating them tomorrow night sounds great. Our tree is beyond gorgeous. So is our mantelpiece, all covered in pine boughs and berries and candles. The candles are so wonderful -- cranberry citrus, Pier 1, 40% off -- and the entire apartment smells like cranberry and pine. I am going to make vast amounts of cocoa. On Christmas morning I will make my holiday quiche. My mom is coming! Shredded wrapping paper! Kitties tumbling around, wrapped in discarded ribbons! Jingle Bells and Silent Nights and Fa La La La Laaas!
Now if we could just get Jack Frost to go take a freaking nap. Or jump off a fucking cliff, or something.
(* = Da Peeps Who Sleep With Fools; a.k.a. the Shizzolated version of PWSWM, or People Who Sleep With Men. Discovered when I found out that Snoop magically allows me to read the...slightly amended...text of certain sites that normally are blocked from my overly-sensitive work computer.)