Category Archives: snow


So there’s a saying. Shell-shocked. Which I think is a precursor for the more modern PTSD.

Is there a saying, “snow-shocked?” If there isn’t, can there be? Can it be a thing we institute? Because when I woke up this morning and saw that it was snowing again, I think “snow-shocked” might be the definition of how I felt. Not happy or sad or mad. Just cold and dead inside like a robot. “More snow. Yes. Shovel. Yes. Cold. Yes.”

I was warned (and I knew) when I moved here there would be snow. We’re right next to a lake, so we get lake-effect snow. But I don’t think I was prepared for this MUCH snow. I mean, I don’t know if you CAN be.

So far this year (this YEAR, which we are TWELVE DAYS INTO, mind you, so that’s not counting the two storms of over a foot each we got in November and December), this town has received a total of 49″ of snow.

That’s over four feet of snow in 12 days. Most of it arrived between Tuesday and Saturday this week. There is nowhere to PUT all this snow. Here. Look.

This is the view from my front porch. There's a road there. I think. Somewhere.

This is the view from my front porch. There’s a road there. I think. Somewhere.

I have snow removal people. They've stopped having anwhere to PUT the snow, so I've had to be creative with where to park. I'm kind of on the lawn here. Not that you can SEE the lawn.

I have snow removal people. They’ve stopped having anwhere to PUT the snow, so I’ve had to be creative with where to park. I’m kind of on the lawn here. Not that you can SEE the lawn.

Now, I grew up in a town where there was a lot of snow, and it was very cold. I’m a native New Yorker. This isn’t new to me. But, just for comparison, let’s look at the average snowfall for some of the places I’ve lived in my life.

Albany 59″ – OK, this is manageable. That’s about 5′ a year. And it’s not like it falls all at once, or anything. The roads are crappy and everyone forgets how to drive, but that’s fine.

The town where I grew up gets, on average, 74″ a year. OK, that’s a bit more. Plus it’s super-cold there. Lots of negative temperatures. It’s the frozen tundra up there. I was a kid when I lived there, though. I let my parents worry about the cold.

Binghamton 83″- Yeah, I’m not super-surprised about this. I went to college here, and it would start getting gray about October and last through May, and it would snow and snow and SNOW. I didn’t have a car, so I’d have to slog to the bus stops in all that snow and my feet would be FREEZING and I’d be one of those sad people you’d see waiting for the bus all bundled up and shivering and snow-covered. But I was, again, young. And I used to drink a lot then. Probably I was too tipsy to realize how much snow there was, who knows.

Flagstaff 100″ – So, funny story, when I moved to Arizona, I thought Flagstaff would be warm, because I didn’t do any research? But it was NOT always warm. It was pretty damn cold, actually. And it was in the mountains and it snowed. A LOT. Once I was at work and elk walked right up to the door. Because they thought it was their world and not human-world. BECAUSE ALL THAT SNOW. (It was pretty damn cool, though. Elk!)

Watertown – ok, what do you think the average snowfall is in Watertown? It kind of varies site by site, but here’s what I found, and I think it’s probably right. Ready?

112″. ONE HUNDRED TWELVE INCHES. This sounds like it might be right, considering it’s not even mid-January and we’ve already had approximately 73″. 112″ is over 9 feet a year. NINE FEET. I’m not even SIX feet.

I’m quite sure I moved to some sort of alternate snow planet, where this is ALL THAT HAPPENS. Everyone here keeps laughing that it won’t end until May. THEY ARE NOT KIDDING. We all have this hundred-yard stare going on.

All we write about at work lately seems to be snow. Coworker R. and I came up with the latest Syfy movie title: “SNOWQUADO!” Part snowstorm, part earthquake, part tornado. Since these movies have to star an 80s star, it will star both Milli AND Vanilli* (two’s better than one, right? And it’s not like they’re doing anything these days) and be QUITE a hit.

Want to swing on my porch swing? Just wear your snowpants.

Want to swing on my porch swing? Just wear your snowpants.

In good news, I work about 3 minutes from my house, so the drive isn’t that bad. And when I get out, it’s about 1am, so I can drive really slow in the middle of the street and no one much cares.

The snowbanks are as tall as I am. Today the garbage man put my garbage can on top of one and how the hell was I supposed to get that down? I mean, I DID, but not without it falling on me. Gross.

The snowbanks are as tall as I am. Today the garbage man put my garbage can on top of one and how the hell was I supposed to get that down? I mean, I DID, but not without it falling on me. Gross.

The cat’s loving this. This is weather meant for cuddling and sleeping in and purring all night long. Sadly, one of us has to go to work to pay for cat food and Pringles, so I can’t stay home and purr all day, as much as I’d like to.

My car's there. I can't get to the garage. (I can't park in there anyway; that's where the landlady keeps the lawnmowers. Don't ask.)

My car’s there. I can’t get to the garage. (I can’t park in there anyway; that’s where the landlady keeps the lawnmowers. Don’t ask.)

I keep expecting there to be penguins. So far, there have been no penguins. What good is this kind of weather without penguins?

One hundred and twelve inches. Heaven help me.

And I'm pretty sure these icicles are trying to kill me.

And I’m pretty sure these icicles are trying to kill me.

*I have been informed by a very kind reader that Rob Pilatus from Milli Vanilli killed himself in 1998, a fact about which I had no idea. So, that joke fizzled. Not in the least bit meant as an offense toward Mr. Pilatus or a slight on mental health issues, which you all know are very near and dear to my heart. My apologies, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention if you are struggling with mental health issues and feel like you’re going to do something final to yourself, please call someone for help – you matter too much and owe it to yourself to do this. Trust me, ok? If you’re not comfortable talking to someone you know, there are plenty of wonderful groups that are happy to talk to you anonymously, and are WAITING to talk to you, which you can find a list of here. Thank you for letting me know about this, B., and much love to you all.

Let it snow. Just not THIS much. I know, I’m really picky.

Just a quick update. I am not dead; I am still coughing up a lung and my nose is running, like, a LOT, but otherwise? I think I might be on the mend. Maybe. Seems everyone’s got some sort of crud right now; I’m not alone in my sick nasty suffering.

I learned a very smart thing in that I could not sleep for days, and one night I totally ragequit my bed and decided to sleep on my couch and it worked like a CHARM and I couldn’t figure out why, until I figured out that I was weirdly propped up on a bunch of pillows and maybe THAT had helped with all the coughing, so I put a billion photos on my bed and the next night I slept MUCH better. So apparently the tuberculosis or whatever I’ve come down with likes me to sleep at a weird upright angle. I WIN, TUBERCULOSIS OR WHATEVER YOU ARE!

Also, if you live in New York or the northeast area, you may or may not have woken up to THIS on Sunday morning:


We totally got a foot of snow over a 24-hour period. I was at work on Saturday and the drive home from work was NO BUENO. But that was only a few inches of snow; when I woke up the next morning, we’d gotten probably 9 MORE inches. And I had to dig out from it. Which took about an hour. A sweaty, terrible hour, in which I wondered how I had been sent to a Soviet work camp. But I got my poor car unburied and moved it to an empty spot that had been cleared and then went back in and collapsed on the couch and went pant, pant, pant while my jeans dripped melty snow on the floor.

Ha! Yes. Shoveling snow ALWAYS looks this dapper!

Ha! Yes. Shoveling snow ALWAYS looks this dapper!

I love you, New York! I don’t want to leave you! But oh, that was a lot of snow! And I am not much of one for manual labor, hence me working in a cushy office job!

(I did giggle a little watching people get stuck. The problem is that people didn’t think they had to shovel MUCH snow to get their car out of the spots. The main areas had been plowed, but you had to clean out, like, behind your tires and such. Or your tires would spin and spin. And people were being lazy, and thought, “I will just clean away a LITTLE snow!” and then they totally got stuck and were all “WHIRRRR!” and stuck. It was their own damn fault. I wouldn’t have laughed otherwise, promise. I was the MOST anal about shoveling all the snow away from my car, because once I got stuck and it was the worst, and who’s going to help me get out, Dumbcat? I think not.)

Christmas is almost done; I am currently waiting on ONE GIFT and I can mail everything out and will be FINISHED. (Hurry up, one gift!) Some people have gotten their gifts already and I had many grins getting messages from people who’ve received things this weekend. I have a pile of gifts for Mom and Dad and the extended family that I will give to Mom and Dad when they visit next week, and they will give ME gifts, and I will save them to open on Christmas day so I don’t feel so bad about being that sad lonely person on Christmas. AND, The Nephew’s mom invited me to her house for Christmas brunch, so I get to give him his gifts in person, and see him on Christmas day! That was a happy unexpected surprise. I love that I get to spend a few hours with family on Christmas day that I wasn’t expecting. That makes me so joyous.

Shh, don't tell him, but I bought him a remote-control plane. He's going to flip.

Shh, don’t tell him, but I bought him a remote-control plane. He’s going to flip.

I am so pleased with Christmas this year. I’m so happy I was able to get it all together and make Christmas happen after the nightmare that was last year’s non-Christmas. And Christmas is only ten days away! Huzzah!

(And shh, I totally bought MYSELF some gifts; I think that’s allowed. Some new clothes, and shoes, and some various accessories. Sometimes you need to treat yourself just a LITTLE. Plus I needed some new clothes. Don’t we all? Sometimes?)

Also, aren't these the CUTEST, and they were 50% off! I HAD TO HAVE THEM!

Also, aren’t these the CUTEST, and they were 50% off! I HAD TO HAVE THEM!

I know I keep telling you more posts are coming, and they really are, I promise; they’re being worked on in draft form as we speak. There has been some posting going on on my review blog, if you’re so inclined. I haven’t disappeared. I’ve just got a million irons in the fire right now, I guess. Oh, and maybe also tuberculosis.

Hope your Decembers are all going well and you’re staying warm and dry and such. I’ll be back soon. You won’t even notice I’m gone. Promise!

One is the loneliest number, especially if you’re a sugar glider.

This weekend I heard the saddest thing I’ve ever heard ever. Ready?

OK, it’s not the saddest thing I’ve ever heard ever. I AM EXAGGERATING. But it totally made me have tears. But I’m insanely hormonal so EVERYTHING makes me have tears lately. Like those stupid Google commercials where they’re all “the internet is what you make of it” and people are watching their friends’ kids from a million miles away take their first steps or whatever. STOP IT GOOGLE. YOU ARE KILLING ME. What do you MEAN those aren’t even that sad and I might want to visit Dr. Ernie about this insane hormonal influx I have going on. LEAVE ME ALONE NOW I’M CRYING AGAIN.

So I went to see a play this weekend and a friend was there with a friend of hers so we all sat together and that was nice. Look at me, being all social! And I don’t even think I was overly a weirdo. Maybe only like 30% a weirdo. That’s a low number for me. Luckily we didn’t have a lot of socializing time, so that cut my weirdo-time down considerably. And they did a lot of the talking, so that also took a nice little bite out of the weirdo-time. You’ll also be pleased to know I only took my phone out TWO TIMES. I mean, you can’t expect me to NEVER take it out. I had to APPROVE BLOG COMMENTS. I mean, I’m not a SAINT.

Anyway, we were talking about animals, because the friend and I are total cat people and she’s buying a house soon so she can get more cats (MOAR CATS!) (wait, that made it sound like that’s WHY she’s buying the house, no no, she’s buying the house so she can have a HOME, and the cats are an added dash of awesome) and somehow that segued over to a mutual acquaintance who likes exotic pets.

“He had a sugar glider once,” she said. “He carried it around in a little pouch. He kept forgetting to bring it places with him, though, and it died of loneliness.”

“WHAT?” I said. “Sugar gliders can DIE OF LONELINESS?”

“Apparently so,” she said.

“THAT IS THE SADDEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD,” I said. Loudly. Which is my default setting when something is that upsetting, and which I think scared the people around us in the seats in the theater, but whatever, IT WAS TRUE. “There’s an ANIMAL that can DIE of LONELINESS?”

“Imagine if humans had that problem,” she said.

That’s the PROBLEM. I WAS imagining that. First, I was imagining the poor sugar glider, who – wait, have you even SEEN a sugar glider? Back when I was a wee Amy who worked at a vet’s office, one of our clients had sugar gliders so I saw them on a regular basis, but it just crossed my mind you might not even have a mental image of one. I mean, just the name alone is adorable, right? But you might not have SEEN one. Here. HERE.

This makes you even sadder when you think about death by loneliness, doesn't it? I KNOW.

This is a sugar glider. Also, they totally glide from tree to tree with skin flaps under their arms and legs. THEY ARE THE BOMB YO.

But anyway, this seemed suspect. An animal? That died of LONELINESS? No. That couldn’t possibly be true. Right? RIGHT?

(Also, I can’t confirm or deny that I totally got tears in my eyes AT THE THEATER thinking of the damn lonely dead sugar glider, all wasting away Victorian-lady style because he had no one to love. DAMMIT SUGAR GLIDER. And DAMMIT HORMONES.)

So I researched it today.

And…yeah. Sugar gliders can TOTALLY DIE OF LONELINESS.

Per Gliderpedia (heh), we get this gem:

“It is unnatural for a glider to ever be alone, and unfair to force solitude upon your pet. When housed alone, gliders are likely to become depressed, withdrawn, even defensive, and may refuse to eat and could eventually die from loneliness!”

DIE FROM LONELINESS! With an EXCLAMATION POINT! That’s how you KNOW it could totally happen. ZOMG. With extra ZZZZZs, you guys.

Now, this site says they don’t think sugar gliders die from ACTUAL loneliness. Just the hunger strikes brought on BY loneliness. Also, lonely sugar gliders become manic-depressive. So probably they do a lot of crafts, then sleep a lot, I don’t know. I have my knowledge of manic-depression from some Meredith Baxter-Birney TV movie from the 80s.

“We see the sadness that happens when a companion glider has to be relocated either due to medical reasons or demise.  The sole remaining glider often becomes abject and sometimes even a bit frantic.”

And this site (which is a dog breeding site, that’s kind of confusing, sugar gliders aren’t dogs) says:

“A lonely sugar glider deprived of social interaction will not  thrive. They will become depressed and lonely, which can cause them to die.”


OK, I always totally wanted a sugar glider because LOOK AT THAT FACE but I could never have an animal that had the potential to die from loneliness, never. You’d have to have at least two of them, right? And what if one died. Then you’d have to SCRAMBLE to get another one, just SCRAMBLE. Because then LONELINESS CRUSHING LONELINESS. And also manic-depression.

Then seriously, back to what I mentioned a million words ago, WHAT IF THIS HAPPENED TO PEOPLE. What if we DIED OF LONELINESS. Seriously. I think there wouldn’t even be a overpopulation issue. I think we are, as a species, often extremely lonely. Even in crowds. Even while with our loved ones, in some cases. THIS IS JUST THE WORST.

I’m totally going to stop thinking about this because it’s making me sugar-glider depressed. What. That’s a thing. I think that needs to be a thing. Everyone start saying that because it needs to be a thing. Like, it SOUNDS cute, but it’s totally not. IT LEADS TO ALL THE DEATH.

Then last week I found out that the entire internet knew that armadillos were all filled with leprosy. Why didn’t any of you think to tell me that armadillos are filled with all the leprosy? You didn’t think that I’d find that utterly fascinating? I mean, I love animals, and weird science shit, and A Prayer for Owen Meany is MY FAVORITE BOOK OF ALL TIME and you didn’t even think to SHARE that ARMADILLOS were LEPROUS? I mean, seriously, you all dropped the ball, here. I had to find it out by EAVESDROPPING on TWITTER. Well, I guess it wasn’t really eavesdropping, the people didn’t seem to mind that I was butting in to be all, “Whaaa? Leprous armadillos?” but STILL. Tsk. TSK!

No, seriously, the armadillos are leprous, it’s not even a joke. Here’s an article. But here’s the thing. Now, in my totally intense fifteen minutes or so of research into this situation, I found out the following: armadillos are indigenous to the United States. Leprosy is NOT indigenous to the United States. Leprosy was brought by settlers TO the United States. Armadillos (and a few other animals) are among the non-humans who can be infected by and carry leprosy. At some point, leprosy was transmitted to an armadillo, and it’s been passed down, armadillo to armadillo, ever since.

So normal people would be all, huh, interesting. But here’s where my mind went.


Research tells me it is NOT an STD like I thought it was. Doesn’t it seem like it should be? I often make shit up in my head, though. So that’s good. I was totally going to a scary bestiality place. WHOO. It apparently is transmitted by breathing. So someone BREATHED on an armadillo, turning that armadillo into a little Typhoid Mary of armadillos, making him or her pass it along to generations upon generations of little armadillos and armadillettes? (Don’t even, I KNOW THAT’S NOT THE SCIENTIFIC TERM. I just like how it sounded. All pretty-like. Like the armadillette was wearing a petticoat. Spellcheck wants that to be “artillerymen.” NO SPELLCHECK. That is NOT AT ALL WHAT I MEANT.)

Anyway, I find this all very distressing, and apparently people are EATING ARMADILLOS and then getting leprosy from them and there are warnings all, “hey, how about not nomming on armadillos” and WHO IS DOING THIS. Stop eating armadillos. Look at this little face. Why are you hungry for this?

Aw! Little prehistoric cutie! "Don't eat me!" says little leprous armadillo!

OK, so this has been SINGULARLY depressing. Dead sugar gliders. Leprous armadillos. WE NEED TO END ON A HIGH NOTE.

It is time to break out the Poing.

Poing, you ask? What is this Poing you speak of? Perhaps it is a naughty euphemism? NO IT IS NOT. Minds, get out of the gutter.

Poing is a community in Germany. Ken apparently visits on a regular basis.  Can we just remark on that name for a minute? No, not KEN, Ken is a very NICE name, but it’s not something we have to REMARK on, now IS it. No, I mean Poing. POING. How could you even SAY such a name without grinning? It’s like a bounce of a word, isn’t it? Poing. Poing. Poing.

Now, listen, I was going to make you all go to Ken’s photo site to look at a photo he took for me today of Poing when he realized I’d oddly become obsessed with it because when I went to the site to gank his photo the site was all “NO TOUCHING!” and wouldn’t let me gank. No, no, it was OK, he gave me PERMISSION, you guys. I would NEVER steal photos that Ken took without permission. But then KEN EMAILED ME THE PHOTO. From TWO ANGLES. So I could choose BETWEEN THEM. AS IF I WERE A SERIOUS BLOGGER. I’m so not even joking right now, you all need a Ken. He’s really the best thing. (THANK YOU KEN!!!)


What I like about this (I mean, obviously, other than the POING) is the little totally scary graphic illustration under the fancy German clock. Look at that guy! I think he is falling into a train? Not under, or in front of, but SMACK INTO THE SIDE. After squeeing delightedly about the sign that said Poing that made it totally more real and not just a thing that Ken may or may not have made up for funsies, I giggled about Mr. Unsure on His Feet So He Totally Smacked Into the Side of a Damn Train for like twenty minutes in the grocery store parking lot.

Things I learned about Poing today once I found out that such a place existed:

Wikipedia says Poing is a “community” but also that it is a “village.” I like that Poing is two things. I am ALSO a number of things. You can make up what they are in your head. (Please be nice.)

According to the interwebs, “Poing has two constituent communities named Angelbrechting and Grub.” Not ONLY is it called Poing, it has a CONSTITUENT COMMUNITY named GRUB. I’m totally moving to Poing. Or maybe Grub.

There are things in Poing like trains, a mayor named Albert, and the printing company that made the shitty copier that always breaks down in my office. Also, they have a COAT OF ARMS. Poing is very fancy, you guys.


Although Ken visits Poing on what seems to be a regular basis, he has not thought to inform me until recently that IN Poing there is a wildlife park where animals can RUN AROUND FREE, also probably AMOK, and you can FEED THEM. I know. It was really remiss of him not to mention it sooner. Probably he was too busy just repeating the word Poing over and over. I forgive him. I’d be doing that too. I’m doing it right now, actually. Poing. Poing. Therefore, you all have to forgive him as well. YOU DO. It is the RULE. He EMAILED me a PHOTO. I mean, who does that? The nicest person ever in the history of ever? I’d say yes.

What? You’re asking. Amy! Back to the task at hand! Is there a WEBSITE? Where I can see PHOTOS of ADORABLE GERMAN ANIMALS?


It is all in German, which makes me feel very international and cosmopolitan.

Apparently, things you can see at the Wildpark Poing are frolicking bears (Braunbären! UMLAUT!), wolves (Wölfe – ANOTHER UMLAUT!), lynx (Luchse!) and then a bunch of other animals like foxes and muskrats and owls. I was VERY CONFUSED by this section of the website because it was a lot of random animals under one heading that said “Tiere” and I thought, “how can ONE WORD describe the awesomeness of ALL THESE ANIMALS” then I translated it and “Tiere” means “animals.” OK, then, mystery SOLVED. Take THAT, Cumberbatch.

Also, there are sections of photos that are just the best things ever that are titled “Wölfe im Schnee,” etc. that are the animals PLAYING IN THE SNOW. I’m certainly going to assume that Schnee means snow. And Google Translate says it DOES. Listen, this website is really furthering my quest to win German, I can’t even tell you. Until you have seen Luchse im Schnee you probably aren’t having a very good day. Go check that out, I’ll wait here.

(It was joyous, right? It totally was. You can admit it. WHAT? You didn’t CLICK? FINE. HERE.)

Aw! Look what Poing has! LOOKIE LOOKIE! That left-hand Luchse is LAUGHING!

So I’m pretty sure my next plan in life is that I’m moving to Poing and I’m going to go work at the Wildpark Poing and play im Schnee with the Luchse which may or may not eat my face but think of how happy I’d be pre-face-eating! (Ken, feel free to correct my capitalization. I don’t understand why some things are capitalized in German and some are not. It seems arbitrary. We need to have a discussion about this at some point.) Also, were I in Poing, I could visit Grub, and Ken could come over and we could chat about things IN PERSON. I know! Are you so shocked at this fancy life I would live? You shouldn’t be. This is, I’m quite sure, how life IS in Poing!

Now I am feeling much cheered after my sad foray into lonely dead sugar gliders and leprous armadillos. SUCH IS THE MAGIC OF POING.

“On this show, they solve murders real good.”

It’s Friday and I’m a frazzled human. Tax deadlines! Unruly hair times a million! All the filing! Listen, our office decided to go paperless a couple of years ago, which means I have to scan like every single piece of paper that comes into the office? And I’m sure Al Gore is all yay, Amy’s office? So you’d THINK that means there’d be less filing. NOSIREE BUB. There’s still hours of filing. And it isn’t ameliorated by the fact I put it off for days and days because I hate it like fire. LIKE FIRE. I always get some sort of super-spurty papercut when I file, it’s like a proven fact. Then I’m all “who has a Bandaid” and no one ever has a Bandaid and they’re all “boy you sure are bleeding” and I’m like “YES WOULDN’T BANDAIDS BE HANDY” and they just laugh. WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING I COULD BE DYING RIGHT NOW.

Also they’re painting our office right now. Which would be nice? Because the walls are currently a color that I’m sure someone sold them as “salmon” but really reads as “Pepto-Bismol”? But guess what color they chose. PUTTY. Could anything be more depressing than that? Only accountants would think that a better wall color choice than Pepto-Bismol pink is greige. They’ve actually had NUMEROUS meetings about this, and I heard one of them say, “I don’t know, that seems like a really bold color choice.” IT IS PUTTY COLORED. The only thing LESS daring would be to have the walls painted INVISIBLE colored.

So anyway, right now they seem to be in the “making a mess and prepping” stage where they putty all the holes we put in the walls (while tutting at us – no, seriously, the painters are going “tut!” while puttying over the holes, like we’ve personally offended them by putting up our calendars with tacks) and last night they pulled off all the baseboards for no apparent reason so the place is filled with what I’m sure is dangerous plaster dust and looks like rats were industrious while we were sleeping last night. Also, we’re all sneezing non-stop. So I’m pretty sure we’re all dying of black lung, right? Or maybe tuberculosis. Does that make me a lunger like Doc Holliday in Tombstone? Because if I could quip like him, that’d be alright. I embarrassingly love that movie more than almost anything. Like, it’s in my top ten. I KNOW SHUT UP. Also, in order to get in and out of my office today, I have no choice but to WALK UNDER A LADDER. I’m just waiting for them to tell me I also have to smash a mirror and for a black cat to come careening across my path to make this day totally break all the rules of luck.

ANYWAY! You totally get random crap Friday; I don’t have the brain power for anything else.

LeRoy hits the big time, baby! 

Remember I talked about the Crucible teens in the town where they claimed to have made Rough on Rats but probably that was a lie? WELL, my father informed me last night that Erin Brockovich is now launching an investigation into this, so apparently she doesn’t think it’s mass hysteria.

Now, my dad gets all his news from Fox News, so I always have to research things for myself to see if they’re actually true or not (I don’t even want to go into what happened the time Stephen King got into a fight with my dad’s hero Glenn Beck; let’s just leave it at there are certain things my father and I don’t discuss, because we love each other and they tend to get us very red-in-the-face and screamy, and most politics are on that list.) So I of course researched it and lo and behold! It is/TRUE!

Apparently there was a toxic chemical spill 40 years ago in LeRoy and this has Erin Brockovich all in Scooby-Doo mode. Guess what was spilled there? No, not arsenic. I know, I was so hoping there was a Rough on Rats correlation. Cyanide. What the hell’s going ON in LeRoy? Also, a BOY is now experiencing the mass hysteria symptoms. Aw, he didn’t want to be left out! Affirmative action mass hysteria, you guys!

I guess this is a big deal? I don’t remember a lot about that movie. I find Julia Roberts distracting. Too many teeth. So much hair. And her boobs were all sticking out for the whole movie. Mostly I was just watching it for Aaron Eckhart. SIGH. I love him like a crazy person. LOOK HOW HOT.

I would climb him like a damn tree.

I love him so much that even when he was being an asshat in In the Company of Men I adored him. Even as TWO FACE I adored him. Love, love, love.

Yeah, so anyway, I suppose now that Erin Brockovich is involved this is going to be a big old deal. I don’t know. I still think it’s shady and probably false.

Why my father is the funniest person I know

So my dad’s back from Florida. His plane got in last night. Here are some things he told me on the phone last night.

“Your uncle made us watch NCIS every single night while we were in Florida. Do you know why? Because he said ‘On this show, they solve murders real good.’ I told him that it’s just a show and they aren’t real murders and he started talking about DNA but I ignored him. Also, one of the actresses slept in a coffin. That seems like it would be uncomfortable.”

“I tried to watch Fox News when I was in one of the hotels but the channel it was supposed to be on was ESPN even though the channel guide CLEARLY STATED it was supposed to be Fox News. See? And you always say there isn’t a government conspiracy against Fox News.”

“We stayed in some hotels that I wouldn’t recommend you look in the corners of. Also, your uncle thinks there might have been bedbugs. I told him that we weren’t itching, so we’re probably ok, but he’s still planning on leaving his luggage outside in the snow overnight. I guess that kills bedbugs. He saw it on 20/20.”

“There was a good breakfast at the last hotel we stayed at but I didn’t eat anything in case I had to go to the bathroom on the plane. There were even sausages. But I didn’t eat any. Listen, you never want to go to the bathroom on a plane. Those bathrooms are really small and uncomfortable. You can barely turn around in there. I’m really dehydrated right now, though. I haven’t had anything to drink in like 24 hours.”

These things might not crack up anyone but me. Seriously, I was dying. It was like this one-man travelogue of awesome complaints of weirdness. I think he should write a book.

Could have DIED

So yesterday we had like a teeny, tiny bit of snow. Almost no snow. And so I drove home like a native New Yorker might – normally. Cautiously, but not, like, 12 miles per hour or anything. It wasn’t that bad out. There was about an inch of snow on the ground, and it was kind of slushy. That’s it.

BUT, since I had no food in the house but eggs and pasta and I was not HUNGRY for either of those things and I got paid yesterday (YES, some of us are SO POOR we have to wait til PAYDAY to grocery shop, I know, isn’t the economy grand?) I had to go grocery shopping, even though it was ZOMG LOOK OUT snowing.

So I did, then I drove home in the slightly snowy slushy conditions that were making people drive like it was a blizzard and I will, if I heavens-forefend live to be 100, never understand that.

Then I had to get my mail. My mail doesn’t come to my home; I have to go to the mailroom to pick it up. Because I am FANCY. So I pulled into the office parking lot AND TOTALLY WENT OFF THE DRIVEWAY ONTO THE GRASS.

The car did not stop! I was going about 10 miles per hour at that point and it wasn’t even that slippery out, I don’t know how there was ONE slippery spot in the entire WORLD and I found it, but yeah, I turned left, the car went right. And there was totally a signpost right there that the car was about to smack into. So I was all “shit shit SHIT SHIT” and then the car just stopped about an inch from the sign.


OK, probably not at all died but I could have scratched the shit out of my car.

I seriously have the worst luck when there’s like no snow on the ground, I have no idea what’s up with that. The other time I went off the road and hit a sign was in similar conditions. And that time I was also going very slow because I was coming up to a stop sign. Which I hit. It was either hit that or the car in front of me, and I didn’t think the stop sign would have asked for my insurance card and made me wait in the weather for a cop. I CHOSE WELL GRASSHOPPER.

When I told my dad I could have died he said, “You know, I sometimes get the feeling you might exaggerate for effect.” WHAT? NO NOT ME. I AM APPALLED AT THAT ACCUSATION GOOD SIR.

Come see me! IN PERSON!

My show opens in two weeks!


February 10-26, Fridays and Saturdays at 8, Sundays at 3, pay-what-you-will preview February 9 at 8. Tickets are $15, but if you are a state or government employee, they’re buy one get one free, or if you’re a student, they’re $10, or if you have an Entertainment book, they’re buy one get one on Sundays. Best deal in town! Neil Simon! Lots of comedy! People acting like looneys in evening wear! Adult beverage consumption onstage! Many doors being opened and closed! My awesome friend directed it and I love her more than almost anyone! Oh, also this is the play where they say, “They’re YOUR friends, Jesus.” I mean, that’s worth your price of admission, right there, isn’t it?

So I’m stage managing (so you KNOW it’s going to be stellar, obviously) and also running the light and sound boards. Which means I’m running around like a crazy pre-show, up in the booth during Act I, running around like a crazy during intermission, up in the booth again during Act II, and then cleaning up post-show. I have been promised we have plenty of hospitality staff this time so I don’t have to serve coffee or sell raffle tickets. Which is good, because listen, I am very, very bad at those things, I’m not even kidding. Come and see me! I will give you at least one hug, possibly two. It’s a fun show, and the actors and crew have been working their tailfeathers off, and I love them all to bits.

Also, heads-up, starting February 5, I’m going to be even MORE insanely busy than normal, because it’s tech week. Also known, if you are a theater person, as Hell Week. For good reason. Because you have rehearsal every night until 11 or so and you work your butt off and then you go to work and work your butt off and then it’s back to rehearsal and then you have a SHOW, with PEOPLE LOOKING AT YOU, and you’re so tired you kind of sometimes weep in the bathroom and maybe also yell at people who don’t 100% deserve it. But it’s totally worth it. Expect stories of tech week shenanigans!

OK, back to the insanity. LISTEN, I was totally not kidding about the unruliness of my hair. IT IS OUT OF CONTROL TODAY. Like, there’s this one poky bit and I’m pretty sure I look deranged. Although it might be keeping people away from me? So maybe it’s a good thing.

Happy weekend, everyone!

I ate the blue ones…they taste like burning.

This was totally going to be RANDOM CRAP FRIDAY until I realized I had sort of a theme so THEMED FRIDAY SORT-OF!

Oh, that was rude. Hi! Hello. It’s Friday! It’s another fun-filled day here at work, in which I did more work than a person could possibly handle before 10am, and then took some deep breaths and did some MORE work. We have a humongous deadline at the end of the month so I’m a little swamped. However, I’m a total rockstar so I’m powering through. Also, the death stomach flu seems to be on the wane, with only a residual sore stomach (yeah, I don’t know, either, what the hell’s that all about? I think from the throwing up? Is it like I did an abs workout? That’s funny, and the only abs workout I’ll be doing, in, oh, EVER) so that means I’m back on track for magic wine and loafing this weekend, huzzah! Oh, well, other than working tomorrow. And seeing a play Sunday. And doing all the writing because I have five blog posts I want to write by the end of the day Sunday. OTHER THAN THAT, all the loafing. Whew.


Nephew and Dad and Amy-family stories!

The Nephew had a foray out into the great winter wilds the other day. His mom is a big winter sports fan, and wants him to be, as well. She bought him wee baby skis when he was just a little Nephew. Well, littLER Nephew. So they went sledding, and it was a big hill behind a school, and at the end of his sliding, she put out her foot to stop his sled, and some snow shot up and caught him in the face.


He got off the sled and wanted to go HOME. NOW. Because SNOW GOT IN HIS FACE.

When my mom asked him a couple of days later if he wanted to go play in the snow he said, “NO. Snow got in my EYES.” She said, “But it melted, and you’re fine.” And he looked at her like she might be touched in the head, and said, very slowly, so she could understand him, “Snow GOT IN MY EYES.”

So, apparently, snow is the enemy, and also is burning lava.

Now listen, two things, here. No, wait, three. First, aw, because I know The Nephew’s mom just loves loves loves the winter and all things related to it, so this must be really sad for her. But, second, I am RIGHT THERE WITH HIM. I hate snow. I hate that it’s cold. I hate driving in it. I hate cleaning it off my car. I hate walking in it. I hate PLAYING in it. I hated it when I was a kid and I hate it NOW. I never understood, when my mom was all “get OUTSIDE you kids it’s a LOVELY SNOWY DAY” and kind of forced us out (which, now that I’m an adult, I realize meant we were driving her cuckoo-bananas) why people thought this was FUN. You had to bundle up like Randy in A Christmas Story so you couldn’t put your arms down and then you had to trudge along and snow always got up your sleeve or down your boot and melted in there and that sucked and what the hell did you do when you were out there, THROW it at each other? That’s dangerous as hell, why would you want to do that? BUILD something with it? That’s like WORK, yo. LAY in it? It’s COLD, you idiot. I just wanted to stay inside and read.

THIRD, I totally remember that hill that she took him sledding down and that is DEATH HILL. I was forced once to sled down DEATH HILL when I was a kid and I had one of those round sleds and those are super-fast and I went off the trail and I got all trees in my face and then to add insult to injury I had to walk ALL THE WAY BACK UP THE EFFING DEATH HILL with tree-lashes all on my face and shit and I was hurt so I cried and then all the snot FROZE ALL IN MY NOSE and WHY IS THIS FUN. It is NOT, is the answer. NOT FUN.

I’m with you, Nephew. Let’s stay inside where it’s warm and snow doesn’t get in our eyes like hot lava and trees don’t all whip our faces. We can have cocoa and play with Legos.

Second! Listen, my dad is on vacation? Well, kind of. He went to Florida for a couple of weeks with his brother because my uncle is looking to buy a winter home in Florida and he asked my dad to come with him to help. So my dad’s down there and I think he misses me, or is bored, I don’t know. Because yesterday morning at 6:45 – AM, mind you, not PM, A-frigging-M – my phone rang and it was his cell phone and I was all “well, that’s it, there’s been an accident or maybe Dad killed Uncle or something” but nope, it was Dad, and he wanted to CHAT. At 6:45 AM. CHAT. OK, at 6:45am, I am getting ready for work. Which means I am scowling around in pajamas having the following conversation with myself: “Stupid work. I hate work. This is like TORTURE. Dumbcat why are you under my feet I could have killed you or maybe myself. MAYBE THAT’S WHAT YOU WANTED. Are you trying to kill me, Dumbcat? ARE YOU? Dammit. It is SO EARLY. Even INDENTURED SERVANTS get to sleep in more than this. WHERE IS MY HAIRBRUSH. Why is my hairbrush UNDER THE Q-TIP BOX. This seems to be a conspiracy. DUMBCAT DID YOU DO THIS?”

So yeah, I’m not really up for social pleasantries at 6:45 am. But I thought, well, he’s bored, or something.

Nope! It apparently went SO WELL that this morning, he did it AGAIN. Only he let me relax a little more and waited until 7, and then I was putting on eyeliner so I only drew a huge eyeliner line all across my face when the phone rang and scared the shit out of me, no big deal, I was meaning to try out the crazy-homeless look soon anyway.


Things he wanted to talk about that apparently needed to be discussed at 7am:

What the name of the actress who plays Raylan’s wife is on Justified so that when he gets home in a week he can look her up on Netflix and get movies starring her because she’s pretty.

Did I think the real estate lady with red hair was flirting with him and my uncle, or did I think that all real estate women did that? (He didn’t like my answer, which was obviously, “Whatever it takes to sell a house in this real estate market, Dad.”)

Did I know that my uncle SAYS he has insomnia, but when my dad tries to talk to him at 2am, he’s totally sleeping? This seemed like false advertising to my dad.

Was it cold where I live? Was it cold where my mom lives? It was not cold in Florida. In Florida, it was WARMER THAN NEW YORK. (Cue my shocked face.)

There were other things but I was kind of nodding off and also trying to fix my eyeliner through a lot of the conversation so I honestly couldn’t tell you what they were.

When we go to Florida together in April he’s totally going to wake me up at 6am so we can have chats about things, isn’t he? DAMMIT.

Oh, also, and this is a story I told HIM, I think my aunt (the wife of the uncle who’s there with him) is probably totally or maybe not at all, probably most likely the latter, having a very steamy affair while he’s gone. Because on the news last night, there was some report about some lake resort town nearby, and the guy reporting totally looked like a 70s-era Sonny Bono, like with the pilgrimy curled-under bowlcut and everything? And he totally looked like a swinger, too, and kind of greasy. And he met a LADY (you have to say that in the voice of that guy from Saturday Night Live who was always drinking Courvoisier and saying “It’s a LADY” for that to work) and they had dinner. (This would have made more sense if I had the sound on, but I was on the phone at the time so I was watching it on mute.) And the LADY looked a lot like my aunt except I only saw her face for a fraction of a second. SO! Based on this totally serious evidence I think it’s pretty clear that my aunt is sneaking around on my uncle with Sonny Bono in a lake resort town while he’s off buying them a winter home. When I told my dad this he said, “I’m going to tell your uncle that because it will make him laugh but I think you and I know your aunt would never do that” and I agreed. Mostly because Sonny Bono is dead. I’M KIDDING! My aunt is lovely and so is my uncle and they would never ever cheat on each other because they are adorably sickeningly in love and it makes your Grinch-heart grow ALL THE SIZES. But that woman totally looked like her for a fraction of a second. Also, who still has Sonny Bono hair?

Also, here is something entertaining probably only to me. I’m kind of pre-planning my super-exciting trip to Maryland to visit R and A and BABY GIRL AWESOMESAUCE which is still many months off because, well, BABY GIRL AWESOMESAUCE has not hatched yet? And so I was comparing all the various methods of transportation to get there and their costs. So my options were: Greyhound, Megabus, Amtrak, driving, plane. Greyhound is apparently NOT EVEN TRYING anymore, because it took like MOST OF A DAY to make it seven hours, I am totally not even kidding. Megabus was super-cheap but it scares me a little for anything further than New York City. Amtrak kind of excites me because I can pretend I’m a fancy lady and also they’ve upgraded the trains recently so there’s WiFi and I’ll have my new laptop by then so I can play online all the way to Maryland and back. Driving is also not bad, because then I can bring all the things I want and also stop wherever I see something awesome to take asshatty touristy photos. Flying was expensive, but fast. But they’d make me take my shoes off and I couldn’t bring weapons. I don’t much like to go places where I can’t bring a weapon. I’m kidding. Sort of.

So I’m kind of deciding between Amtrak and driving, because with gas prices, Amtrak’s only about $40 round-trip more, and I was talking to my mom about it. And she mentioned the bus, and I explained my bus issues. And then I mentioned my biggest bus issue – THE TIME THE BASTARDS STOLE MY LUGGAGE.

Have I mentioned this? One time, I was coming home from college and I took Greyhound – it was before I had a car – and some ASSHAT STOLE MY LUGGAGE FROM UNDER THE BUS. I mean, I only had one bag, but it was a big bag. And the driver apparently didn’t bother to check the ticket and just willy-nilly gave my bag to some stranger. Well, stranger, I hope you enjoyed A FULL BAG OF DIRTY LAUNDRY. Which, by the way? Was pretty much all the clothes I owned, so that was fun to replace. Also, there was an irreplaceable heirloom in there that I was stupid enough to trust under a bus but I was a kid and you know how stupid kids are. So that was gone and I was inconsolable for days and I’m still sad about it now. ANYWAY, so now I’m totally wary of buses. OH! And also, since I didn’t insure my dirty laundry (WHO THE HELL WOULD) Greyhound only gave me back like $50 or something. I so glare at Greyhound buses whenever I see them now for being party to bag-thievery.

And my mom said, and I’m not kidding, “Well, you were asking for it, because the bag you used had Mickey Mouse on it. That’s why it got stolen.”

I think this is funny because this is ALWAYS HER ANSWER. This happened almost fifteen years ago, and she ALWAYS says I shouldn’t have brought the Mickey Mouse bag. It was a big duffel bag with Mickey Mouse faces on it. WHY WOULD THIS MAKE SOMEONE STEAL IT. Wouldn’t that make you NOT steal it? Wouldn’t you think it was full of Walmart clothes and Precious Moments figurines or something? I guess maybe that’s what they were looking for, I don’t know. My mother is apparently CONVINCED that there is a secret underground network of people who are OBSESSED with Mickey Mouse and you’d damn well better not leave anything Mickey-Mouse themed unattended because YOINK they will SNATCH IT UP. I am honestly curious what kind of luggage my mom thinks would have been safe. Like, all one color? Or are other cartoon characters safe? Would Looney Tunes have been safe? Or is it ALL CARTOONS? This needs to be investigated further in case I ever am forced to take a bus again and want to use one of my plethora of cartoon-themed luggage pieces.

OK, this is totally lengthy and my lunch break is almost done so HERE I GO INTO THE NIGHT LIKE A THIEF. Except it’s day. Happy weekend, all! Enjoy! Stay warm! If you go outside, look out for snow! In your EYES! Like ACID! BURNY BURNY ACID!

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