or the bizarre case of March of 2012
Okay, so once upon a time I actually updated this piece of narcissistic shite on a regular basis, but clearly even I got bored with the incessant
In my rationalized defense, I choose to ignore my accountability (much like the current Republican party) and place the blame on the most glorious March in the history of my post-fetal life. How could I possibly sit inside chronicling the minutiae of my mundane life when it has been consistently in the upper 70s and 80s during what is traditionally a schizophrenic, hot mess of a month?
This has been the best winter EVAH!
That's my story anyway. Seriously. If this winter stood upright and had opposable thumbs, I'd marry it. That's how much I am in love with the last three months.
|St. Pattrick's Day|
80 degrees + rivers of green beer + three-man sling shot
= drunken merriment
and beads in the eye
|warm enough to pull out the hogs...|
motorcycles, you jack holes
(is it just me, or does this remind anyone else of
Pee Wee's Big Adventure and the cool-big shoes dance?)
For once all the daffodils actually burst forth in bloom on the first day of Spring. Unheard of in these northern parts. Besides the warm temps, full-on sunshine and longer days, everyone is just... so... happy. None of the usual, God-I-want-to-stab-myself-in-the-eye-if-this-GD-snow-doesn't-stop sentiment brought on by the relentless, abhorrent 31 days of January. Nosiree, Bob. It's all Cinderella-happy up in here with cartoon birds lacing up our skirts an' shit.
All week I've been wearing shorts, tees and flip flops. People are dining al fresco and busting out the grills.
|people catching some rays and chewing on the|
breakfast meats in Market Square
circa March 19, 2012
In March. In Pittsburgh. Ca-RAY-ZAY.
|our plum trees bursting forth|
and filling the air with the intoxicating, sweet scent of spring
The trees are in full bloom a full month and half ahead of schedule. For once the Magnolias didn't get burned up from a killing frost. Hell, even the crazy Carney ice cream man broke out the pedophile truck and made the rounds last weekend, blasting his insipid tunes to lure all the youngsters.
All week I've been wearing shorts, tees and flip flops. In March. In Pittsburgh.
And then today came the first true sound of spring... not one, not two, but three lawnmowers in cacophonic harmony making the first cuts of the season.
On March 22.
What. The. Eff?
I am NOT complaining. Not. At. All.
|Okay, one complaint.|
this tree smells like ASS, yo.
trust me. you don't want to scratch and sniff
this bad boy
If this year is the Mayan End-of-Days, at least we get to go out with a lovely taste in our mouths.