Walter Sobchak ate my crocus/
Make me a playlist
I found this lone crocus (at least I think it's a crocus) in my backyard yesterday. I have this craptastic lawn; the grass is dry, hard and doesn't seem to want to grow. So imagine my surprise when I walked to the backyard yesterday to chase away the evil birds and saw this little flash of purple peeking up through the crabgrass.
I had a moment of unmitigated joy. Spring is finally here! I did a little dance - I don't think anyone saw me - let out a small whoop! and ran naked through the yard in homage to the gods of spring. Well, no. But I thought about it, that's how happy I was to see this rogue flower, and with the fact that it was 60 degrees outside.
But spring does make me think of being naked, in a shedding skin kind of way. No more bulky jackets. No more heavy boots. No gloves and scarves. I can open the windows and let some air in the house. I can roll down my car windows and let everyone hear me singing my Spring playlist. Not only that, but opening day (well, night) is on Sunday! SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY! Yankees v. Red Sox at the Stadium, to usher in spring! Grab a beer and a sweatshirt and throw that hot chocolate and parka away, baseball is BACK!
Oh. Nevermind. Guess my crocus will be dead by Sunday night, eh? Nice trick to play on me, Mother Nature. Get me all hyped up and singing the praises of a 60 degree day and then turn around and fuck me in the ass like that.
You know what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass? Yea, well. There's not much I can do to seek revenge on the weather, is there? I just have to bend over and take it.
I was going to title this post "getting anally raped by mother nature" but thought better of having that in big, bold letters right up top, especially when all the fundies are coming here to gawk at what a unholyheathenbabykillernazichristophobescumbucket writes about. Don't want to be responsible any brain asplosions.
I'm ready to make a playlist for the iPod of "Tunes To Listen To While The Window is Rolled Down and You're Singing in Your Loudest Voice and You Don't Care Who Can Hear You Because You Are Pretending the Weather is Spring-like Because Mother Nature is Going to Fuck Me in the Ass Once Again." Which I will shorten to: The Walter Sobchak Playlist.