It’s cold. There’s no easy way to put it. It’s not minus a thousand today, but it’s still “nostrils freezing shut as soon as you breath in through your nose” cold. Yesterday was so terrible. I was wearing long johns, knee-high wool socks, pants, a camisole, a microfiber long sleeved shirt designed to keep me toasty, an angora and wool blend sweater, scarf, mittens, a hat, hood, and the best purchase of this year, my Burton jacket, .. and STILL I wanted to dive into a pit of lava as soon as I stepped outside. The only exposed area was about 1/3 of my face, and it still made me cry because it was mind-blowing cold. COLDEST CAPITAL IN THE WORLD doesn’t seem to describe it. The fact that people still attend our winter festival is a mystery to me. I’ve been here four winters, and refuse to partake in any of it. Skating on the canal? Forget it. If I wanted to trip and risk accidentally freezing my eyeball to the ice surface, I’d open the freezer at my house, run, and smash my head into the ice tray. That way the rest of my body would still be warm, and no one could spot the embarrassed red-faced girl from a mile away. In fact, I’d even rather try and recreate that famous winter pole licking scene in A Christmas Story.
However I’m unusually chirpy today, which can once again be attributed to eating good food. Last night I had the most delicious, tender, and perfectly medium rare cooked piece of beef I’ve ever had. Imagine, this was at a work function! It was a much needed distraction from the longest sales pitch in history. It was a good sales pitch, but all in vain. I’m not in the market, and am getting good at tuning these out. I tend to get lost in my thoughts when I think about food anyway. This phenomenon is increasing in frequency, and I should find a name for it soon. Feels like nothing else matters but the chemical reaction happening on my taste buds, the world even turns black for a millisecond. Foodphoria? Hmm. I’ll stew that one over for a bit.
Meanwhile, Muggy is treating me quite well today. I’m up to my second refill, which is no easy task! This badboy mug (which was raffled off at work, just like every other little gifts brought in from hotel reps) can hold four times the amount my bladder can hold. Maybe Muggy deserves a manlier name for being so strong and hefty. Muggington comes to mind, but I don’t think giving the mug an English heritage makes it manlier. Just the opposite really.. Mugsko. That’s so it’s new name. Ukrainians are WAY manlier than the English. No offence and all.. it just has to do with the accent.
Other news: Dropping makeup TWICE in the toilet should have tough me a lesson, and for you, should be a lesson learned via others. Let this be your lesson. (cell phones apply to this rule.) Apparently it took me THREE times to learn to put the lid down, and the third will prove to be quite challenging. My most prized makeup item, mousse foundation – the best invention since Photo shop and Airbrushing - fell into the loo. I had hoped the glass jar would float, but I don’t think glass has floated since people stopped answering the messages in all those bottles polluting our oceans. I was foolish. The jar went to deepest loo crevasse, where poo is probably hiding, and where my double-gloved hands will have to try and reach in to retrieve. It gets worse. It’ll have to stew there for a little while until I return home tomorrow morning.
End Note to S-dog: The day you realize your lankiness is overpowering your curviness is never a good one. You hate the docs that told you to stop eating basically every food you ever loved. You have to learn how to walk on sticks. You miss what ass you used to have and you especially miss your big boobs (and your dude will too, even if he will probably never own up to it.) I get it, it’s shitty. I’m making you sangria tonight, we’ll reminisce while cooking you a gluten free supper.
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