Can we please talk about the f*cking weather?

Weather is usually filler talk.  No one has strong opinions about it, you really can’t offend anyone, and even a person as smart as a bran muffin has something to contribute to the conversation.  Well, this is me, talking about the weather.  I have plenty to say about other things besides the weather too.  As a matter of fact, in my time away from the blog I have started (and not finished) 8 entries.  And now this is the 9th and it’s one I feel strongly enough about that I will finish it and it will get posted.  And it’s about the weather, shocker.

The weather is like that quiet guy in the office who no one really pays attention to.  He gets overlooked.  He gets taken for granted.  On sunny days, he gets praise for a few hours and then people get bored again and start posting about happy hour instead.  Weather goes home, maybe reads a book, goes to bed by 9pm…  Then one day it goes apeshit postal and now everyone is talking about the f*cking weather.  And they should, because it’s f*cking cold outside, and in the Bay Area, where there isn’t proper heating or insulation in 50% of the older homes here, it’s pretty f*cking cold inside too.  Everywhere.  Except for Starbucks and senior centers.  Those are still kept at a toasty 70 degrees.

And I get it, this is not cold compared to places like Alaska and Siberia and suburban Minnesota.  I get it.  But even the most hardcore of us have to admit, it’s not just cold for San Francisco, it’s cold.  Period.  I used an ice scraper on my windshield the other day before leaving for my morning run.  Telling this to a friend they were surprised I owned an ice scraper.  I told them I didn’t and that I used a credit card like a real Californian.  Do you know why I don’t own an ice scraper anymore?  Because I live in f*cking California where you don’t need one 99.9% of your lifetime.  I don’t own one because I moved away from the East Coast, and then the mountains of Colorado for a reason–because I never want to use an ice scraper again.  I have childhood memories of starting the car ten minutes before we had to leave for school to “warm up the engine”, and then my mother, putting her hand in one of those Edward Scissor Hands-looking ice scraper puppet mitts with fur on the inside.  Do you know what I’m talking about?  I’m talking about this:


Crazy, right?  Not so much.  See, you need the mitt so your entire hand doesn’t freeze off when you’re scraping the ice from your windshield.  It’s not a gadget, it’s a survival tool.  And it’s not one I ever thought I would use again.  I’ve spent much of my adult life being cold and spent much of my life thinking about how to not be cold.  Moving to California was in direct correlation to my need to not be cold all the time but still be close to the mountains so I could dip my toe into the icebox but get out before I froze to death.  Much to my dismay, the Bay Area is actually quite cold (or “mild” as everyone else likes to call it).  Cold as in, there are no seasons–or there are but not yearly ones, only daily cycles.  It is autumn/springtime in the morning as the fog burns off into the early afternoon summer, then the fog rolls in and we skip right into winter around 3pm, as the fog rolls out, we have autumn/springtime again until the next morning.  In TV-land, the wardrobe and staging people like to call this “perpetual autumn” or “eternal spring”, so that the actors can always wear a variety of things without indicating what season it actually is causing discrepancies and conflict in the continuity of the plot line. I wear puffy jackets in the summertime and light sweaters in the winter.  I barely need an umbrella and I didn’t realize the heat in my apartment didn’t work because I haven’t even tried to turn it on the past two years.  I found a photograph of my friend Holly and I standing on a roof.  There were fireworks in the background and we were in puffy jackets.  I still, to this day have no idea whether it was New Year’s Eve or 4th of July.  


Taken in North Beach, San Francisco in 2006–not quite sure whether it was January 1 or July 4.  Leaning towards July 4.

So about a month ago when it started to cool down, we got all excited.  Winter is here!  Blow the dust off the Hunter’s rain boots.  The problem is, winter was actually here for real and none of us really knew what that meant–especially those California residents who have moved here in the past 5 years.  To them, winters meant 55 and overcast, not 34 and hail.  Call it El Nino if you want, but Mother Nature is pissed off.  It’s not only California.  On the East Coast, Christmas Day was a mild 64 and flowers started to bloom, only to be killed by frost two days later.  In Texas, Missouri, Mississippi and Louisiana dozens of people are being killed by tornadoes and flash floods.  Meanwhile over here, all us fragile Californians are freezing in million dollar homes with no insulation.  And forced to use credit cards to scrape ice off their cars.   And yes, I’m exaggerating a little since of course, it’s NOT THAT BAD, PEOPLE! But then again, as I sit in my home with a space heater on full blast wearing two sets of sweatpants and a down blanket over me, laptop on my lap just for the heat it provides, I cautiously check the ten day forecast for the third time today and wonder if puffy jackets will ever go on sale again.

Extra Credit:

One of these was taken in January, the other one was taken in June….

How about this?


One time, last year, it actually did get cold.  We all freaked out and took novelty pictures of this crazy frozen water phenomenon and started buying peppermint mochas and fleece lined running tights like our lives depended on it.  It lasted for a week.


It can get hot too.  At this temperature, Bay Area folk start cooking from the inside out.


But let’s not kid ourselves, most of the time summer looks like this.  Except this wasn’t summertime.

And we love you anyways, you crazy confused beauty…


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