Oh hell no. I may whine about my traumatic experiences with Christmas Carols, but snow is just something I cannot deal with. Every time I here the "Let it Snow" song I just think one thing. Shut the fuck up!
I hate it. That's not exactly correct. I fucking hate it. There, that portrays my feelings a bit better. The forecast is not looking good here in old Chicago this week, with lots of those little snowflakes showing on Yahoo! Weather.
White Christmas? heh...I'll take a beach with 80 degree weather any day over a White Christmas.
I didn't always hate snow. I think the whole hating snow part came in around the time I found really cute boots that had no business walking around in snow.
It was also around this time that I lost like a bunch of weight and was decidedly cold all the time. It is amazing how much heat fat cells produce...
When I was little you couldn't keep me in the house all winter long. We ice skated, made igloos and snow forts, had snow ball fights, and went sledding every single day.
Then again, back then I didn't care what a hat did to my hair or how ridiculous my moon boots and coat with the zip off sleeves looked. Winter is just not a good time for fashion. I know that there is now the whole Ugg boot craze, but to tell you the truth, I am not all that crazy about Ugg boots. Anything that makes your feet look big is not cool with me.
There is also the whole upping your chances of sliding and falling and breaks major bones in your body. When I was younger I would grab the back of a bus and let it drag me half way around the block on the snowy, ice filled streets. Now walking in the parking lot at work makes me paranoid as hell that I'm going to fall and break my femur or something.
Getting old sucks ass.
Just so you aren't all scared that I'm turning into an old person since I am now 34, I feel the need to reassure you that I still do stupid shit even when it is cold and I could break bones and it's slippery outside.
Every year since the niece and nephews have been small, I've had a little tradition. The first snowfall is welcomed in by a surprise attack snow ball fight.
It doesn't matter if it is 2 in the morning when the snow starts falling, they are going to get it.
Much to my amusement and my sister's disdain, 2 in the morning has set a running record here in Chicago for being the time we get our first good snow fall.
I prepare before I leave the house. Snowballs are made and stored for use once I get there. I park a couple of blocks away and walk to the house with the ammunition.
It took them a couple of years to catch on, and when they were really little I had the utter joy of waking them up in the middle of the night by bombarding them with snowballs.
Weekend night, school night, it didn't matter. Those kids were going to get attacked by their crazy A nut Kelly.
As they grew older they caught on a bit, and sometimes they'd be waiting for me when I got there. The little shits got pretty good when they reached teenage years, and my oldest nephew had snowballs stored in a cooler next to his bed one year when I showed up to get him.
After waking the poor children up by bombarding them with snowballs I then run out of the house with them chasing after me. My sister would scream to the high heavens at me, then at the children to put on their boots and coats before running after me, ready to enact their revenge.
A huge snow fight would ensue, leaving us all laughing and cold and tired. Sometimes my sister would stay up and make hot chocolate for us. Sometimes we would go in and pound her with snowballs.
This little tradition has gotten a bit harder since the children can now drive vehicles. Tracking them down is not as easy as when they were 5, and the worst part of the whole scenario is that *I* am much easier to track down.
Our first snow happened a couple of weeks ago during the day. With my crazy hours I had to leave before any of them would get home from school and/or work. I was kind of bummed because I couldn't be there waiting for them when they got home from school and/or work.
Maybe some traditions aren't meant to last. I mean, they are practically grown up now. At 20, 18, and 17 I'm sure they have better things to worry about then their crazy Aunt showing up for some stupid tradition.
I am always the last one out of the plant at night, and I thought about just heading over to their house to get them then, but the oldest would be at work, and the other two would be getting ready for school by the time I made it home. I carefully walked through the snow covered parking lot as not to break my femur.
I didn't see the first snowball coming until it had hit me hard on the shoulder.
Yes, the little monsters were at my work, had a huge pile of snowballs, and had turned the table on my surprise attack.
What is really amazing is that the instant this started, I forgot all about breaking my femur and ran around the parking lot like a mad woman trying to break their line of defense.
Oh, they had gotten me good, and I looked like the abominal blonde snowwoman by the time we called a truce. My oldest nephew had to head in to work, and the younger nephew and niece piled in my SUV.
I guess some traditions are meant to last...If you ever see some crazy 80 year old chasing three 60 somethings around with snowballs, stop and say hi, or better yet, join in.