SNOW. DAY. YAY!!!!!!!!!!!

SNOW DAY. SNOW DAY. SNOW DAY.

Am I conveying the excitement? I mean, I grew up in the Midwest. Nothing topped a snow day. Nothing. And yet, we took great pride in never actually needing them. “Oh, it’s not that bad. We totally could have gone to school today.” (Only spoken aloud once the official decision to close school had been announced on the radio! Otherwise, you jinx it!)

One of the major reasons for snow days was safety. The roads were unsafe, or it was too cold outside, or there was some other reason for the school board to fear being sued if one of us died while standing at the bus stop. And yet, I can remember multiple snow days of my youth where we ended up driving to the mall (sometimes the big mall in the big city 40 miles away.) Or where it was deemed unsafe to wait for the school bus outside, but just fine for us to go sledding or cross-country skiing.

Oh the snow day. Always welcome, never needed. Until I grew up.

I haven’t had a snow day since my senior year of high school. My hardy Midwestern university would have scoffed at the very suggestion. But the university I work for now, those pansy city folks, canceled everything. And it was glorious.

So now, let’s recap my day, shall we?

7:03 Phone rings. Very confused about whether phone is ringing or alarm is going off (Clearly not so bright in morning.) Finally deduce that phone is ringing and attempt to answer. Too late.

7:04 Voicemail beeps. “Hello, Sarah, this is O. from the provost’s office. This is official notice that campus is closed today. Have a nice day.” Shriek with excitement. Figure neighbors are up anyway.

7:05 Brush teeth.

7:07 Emerge from bathroom to see that phone has rung again. Another voice mail. Creepy boss asks me to start office phone tree. Realize that he clearly does not understand office phone tree, which HE MADE UP. Lament having to call him back on morning off, but don’t hate co-workers enough to just let him flounder.

7:14 Call creepy boss. Ask who in office I should be calling. He makes up some names, as clearly has no idea what is going on. Realize would hate to be with him in real emergency situation.

7:15 Creepy boss also tells me to call his new intern, who is supposed to be starting today. Good thing for him I have internet access in my apartment, as have to log in to webmail and dig new intern’s resume out of deleted items, as do not routinely keep new intern’s information stored in the forefront of my brain (or in my home.)

7:23 Call appointed staff members and new intern.

7:30 Log onto Facebook. Post excited status message using obnoxious capitalization.

7:36 Decide to see what snow looks like outside, as can only see back yard from window.

7:38 Probably should have put on coat and socks, as look ridiculous in pajamas, robe, and loafers. Also, feet very wet.

7:41 Return outdoors with coat, boots, and camera. Become the person I always made fun of by photographing snowy street. I mean, it’s snow, ok? It’s not new. Should get a grip. Am still overwhelmed by wonderfulness of not having to go to work.

7:47 Log back onto Facebook. Leave friends more obnoxious messages about how I have a snow day.

8:03 Wonder what to do with the rest of the morning, as am clearly up and also clearly not venturing outside. Could do many things: practice a few French lessons, clean apartment, call brother and gloat about snow day.

8:06 Decide to re-read Baby-sitters Club novel checked out of library last weekend (Told creepy library man that it was for my niece. Clearly untrue, as do not have a niece.)

8:10 Actually, decide to take a nap. After all, have been up for over one hour.

11:45 Decide is good time to get out of bed. Should shower and attempt to be decent human being.

12:45 Eat grilled cheese sandwich and watch Friends. That Chandler is one funny dude.

1:11 Want to bake something. This is what one does on snow days: one bakes. I remember making cookies with my mom on lots of snow days. Decide to continue tradition.

1:15 Decide to make cake, not cookies. Yum, cake!

2:13 Cake done. Appears to be overcooked. Damn oven thermometer that apparently does not work. Waste of six dollars. Also, what the hell am I going to do with an entire cake?

2:20 Read Baby-sitters Club book. That Stacey McGill is still so cool.

4:30 Watch Friends again. Eat cake. Cake is overdone, but still tasty. But still, what the hell am I going to do with an entire cake? Will NOT eat the whole thing. Could, but would be very, very bad idea.

4:41 Realize would already be out of work on normal day. Have not really accomplished anything, therefore fulfilling the immutable laws of snow-day-ness. Good work, Me!

Is it Cold in Here or is that my Icy Black Heart?

Why is it so cold here? Someone make it stop!!! It’s pretty rare that I notice the cold. I’m a normal Midwesterner- We discuss the weather (incessantly) but we don’t complain about it. How much you can stand before you break down and admit to being cold is a matter of pride, and I will never give in, especially not around all the whiners in NYC. Buck up, kiddos! When it’s -32, your complaints will start to be legitimate. When it’s 32 degrees above zero, you are just a whiner.

But I admit. I’m giving in. I’m cold! I need to go to the grocery store, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk 4 blocks in the cold today. I’ll just eat that lonely Lean Cuisine that’s been languishing in the back of the freezer and hope that tomorrow the temperature is higher. I really should have gone to the bank today, but oh hell no. That check can wait until my ears aren’t pink from the cold, despite my awesome hat. Instead, I will curl up on my couch with a glass of red wine to stay warm (some people might suggest hot cocoa or coffee, but they clearly have never experienced the warming powers of a bottle of Montepulciano, poor souls.) I will watch Gossip Girl reruns and 30 Rock DVDs and let my idol Blair Waldorf and true alter ego Liz Lemon enjoy a chilly NYC (after all, they look so much cuter in it that I do!) while I remain in my toasty warm apartment (not that my apartment is all that warm, but it is once I am cocooned in 8 layers of fleece, flannel, and down!)

I’m starting to think the prairie dog has the right idea after all. Wake me up when spring returns, okay?

Property Values...

Am I old? Of course I’m old. I mean, I’ve always been a cranky, cynical 85 year old woman on the inside (and outside as well… sometimes I shop at Eileen Fisher…) But I must be old, because lately, I really, really want to buy an apartment.

I mean, I have a great apartment. Or rather, I rent a great apartment. For more than half of my monthly take-home salary, I might add. But what can you do? This is the (second) greatest city on earth (my heart will always belong to London) and it requires sacrifice to live here. I don’t mind… most days.

But I want to own property! Maybe it’s the Midwesterner in me? It must be. As I reach the turning point of my quarter-life crisis, I’m becoming so traditional! Not only do I now want to get married, I want to own a home. I want to paint it whatever color I want! I want to be able to hang pictures on the walls without worrying about how much of my security deposit I’m losing with each nail! I want hardwood floors and crown molding and a stainless steel sub-zero refrigerator! (As you can see, I also want to be independently wealthy.) I want an Upper East Side penthouse. No, a brownstone in the West Village. No, a sprawling loft in Tribeca. Ooh, a Riverside Drive condo! So many choices. I can fill it with antique furniture and black-and-white photos that I’ve taken on my travels around the world (assuming I ever actually do any more traveling.) I can sew curtains and make little potpourri sachets for each bathroom and… DO YOU SEE THE PROBLEM?

Who is this domestic diva? Where did she come from? Can I send her back? I’ve never wanted these things in my life. Potpourri sachets… I can barely keep myself stocked with tissues and contact lens solution. I’m no Brie Van De Kamp… I’m lucky if my dishes ever make it from the drainer back into the cupboard. I Swiffer maybe once a month, unless I’m having visitors. When the power’s out or the boiler quits or the basement floods, I like that I can call my landlord any hour of the day or night and make it HIS problem, not mine (but then, I suppose if I had a husband, I could make it HIS problem… reason #136 that marriage might not be so bad after all…)

All in all, it’s a moot point, anyway I suppose. I can barely keep my head above water, much less save for a down payment. I’m struggling to keep 3 months emergency money in my savings account, I’m never going to come up with 2 years’ salary for a down payment. Is this why people move back to the Midwest? Cheap home ownership? Yikes. We’ve clearly gotten the girl out of the Midwest, but it’s still going to take some work to get the Midwest out of this girl. I just want to own a piece of my beloved concrete jungle.

Is this adulthood? I resign. Where do I turn in my clubcard?

Things I should Probably Do this Year

I'm not making any New Year's Resolutions this year. Every year I make somewhere between 12 and 15, and every year I break them all. So this year, instead, I'll just create a general master list of "Things I should probably do this year."

Things I should probably do this year:

Curb my spending: I know, you’re all thinking that I’m the cheapest person you know, how could I possibly curb my spending, unless I stop eating or paying rent or buying a Metropass. But the truth is, I’ve gotten lazy, and lazy means I’m spending more money than I should. I’m cooking less and eating out more. Going to the library less and buying more movies and books. Filling my apartment with all sorts of wonderful things, but running out of places to put them. In this time of recession, when everyone’s cutting back, it’s odd that I’m finally starting to cut loose. Why am I always such a weirdo?

Decide once and for all whether or not to get therapy: Let’s face it, I’m f-ed up. I can either face it head on or ignore it and put it behind me, but it’s time to make a decision.

Learn French: How have I gotten this far in my life knowing so little French? It’s not that I need to know it, or that I regularly feel myself lacking because I don’t know it. It’s just one of those things that I’d feel better about myself if I knew. This will require a serious, concerted effort, something more than just buying French Vogue at the newsstand and turning on the French subtitles while I watch Gossip Girl reruns.

Find a man: This is the year I make my grandmother's dreams come true. Whether I have to go to church, the singles' bar, or finally agree to date that creepy guy from the library, this is the year that I achieve a semi-functional, longer than three months, sort-of adult relationship. I always swore I wouldn't join an online dating service until I was 25. That said, see you on Eharmony on April 13 of this year.

Further my education: Ooh, maybe I should take a French class! Two birds, one stone! More than that, though, I’ve got to find a graduate program and get started on it. I might or might not want a Ph.D, but if I don’t get started on something soon, the opportunity’s going to pass by, and the decision will have been made for me by my own inertia. (Oh my goodness, that could apply to so many areas of my life…. Oh dear, must find therapist with whom to discuss! See resolution 2)

Leave the country: I've not crossed the US border (not even to Canada!) since returning from London 4 years ago. I'm not even sure where my passport is these days. I'm getting antsy... Where shall I venture this year? So many options, so little vacation time!

Blog more!!! My life is actually pretty interesting… at least, it keeps me entertained. Why shouldn’t everyone else think so? Besides, everybody’s got a blog these days. If I can’t keep up with Lindsay Lohan, I’ve got even bigger problems than I realized!

Resolutions for the Rest of You

Well, that time of peace and joy and love for my fellow human beings has passed. We’re now in the dark winter of cynicism and sarcasm and wishing everyone else would get a clue already. However, before writing me off as a bitter Betty, consider that it is only my deep concern for my fellow human beings (and my high regard for myself) that allows me to present the following list of Resolutions for Everybody Else. Follow them, and make the world a better place (for me) this year.

1) Resolve to always take note of your surroundings. Are you walking down 8th Avenue in a throng of hurrying commuters? Then perhaps now would not be the best time to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and tie your shoe. DUH.

2) Resolve to hold the door open. It’s common courtesy. Whether you are male, female, old, young, whatever, it is very, very rude to let the door slam in the face of the person behind you. DUH.

3) Resolve to turn off your cell phone in churches, theatres, and other quiet environments. There are signs everywhere. It’s printed at the top of the church bulletin. There’s an announcement before the show starts. There is no excuse for “forgetting” to do this. Can’t miss a call? Every cell phone on the planet has a “silent” tone. Learn how to use it. DUH.

4) Resolve to have your method of payment ready at the check-out. You’ve seen those commercials for the Visa check card? They’re more accurate than you think. Don’t be the dingbat fumbling in the bottom of your pocket for and additional 12 cents. You know what that time you spend standing in line is for? It’s for you to get out your cash or your credit card, find your wallet, end your cell phone conversation, and just generally be ready for your interaction with the cashier so that you don’t hold up the rest of us. DUH. And for that matter, if you are one of the 14 people left on earth who still write checks at stores, buck up and join the 21st century. Get yourself a debit card and learn to use it, STAT. Or at least stop shopping at the places I’m shopping, because I will shoot you murderous looks and not so subtly mutter about you under my breath. DUH.

5) Resolve to send thank-you notes. Has someone done something nice for you? Did they give you a gift? Did they go above and beyond for you? Don’t you think you could do them the small honor of taking pen to paper and thanking them? Like your mother always told you, it builds character and it displays character. Be a good person. DUH.

6) Resolve to let other people exit before you enter. This applies to train cars, elevators, and buildings in general. There’s no need to shove yourself in. That seat isn’t going anywhere, that elevator isn’t going to move, until the people who are already inside get out. Make life easier for everyone and do your waiting on the platform. DUH.

7) Resolve to ask yourself, when faced with a behavioral conundrum, what would Sarah do? If in doubt, feel free to ask. I will always have a right answer for you. DUH.

So take my advice and take my help, and do your part to make my life a little less stressful this year. It’s the least you can do to make the world a little nicer!

Holy Family Sunday=Hate My Family Sunday

I’m pretty sure that sometime, a couple hundred years ago, some pope had it in for me. I know you’re thinking, “Yeah, sure, dude. I’m sure Gregory the Eighth or whoever developed this modern liturgical calendar was deeply concerned with how it would affect your sad and pathetic little life.” But I say, “Clearly so.” How else to explain the fact that the Feast of the Holy Family falls on the Sunday after Christmas every single year, ie, the one Sunday a year that every Catholic college student and young adult is guaranteed to be sitting in church beside his/her disapproving father and grandchild-crazy mother.

Let’s face it. Most of us were raised Catholic and are now about as likely to darken a church door as reruns of Arrested Development are to show up on the Hallmark Channel. (I myself, with my Eucharistic Ministering plot to meet an eligible, non-gay bachelor, am the rare exception.) But we all go home for Christmas, to listen to our parents tell us every year that this is the last year we will be receiving gifts as we unwrap our new Ipods, to eat ham at Grandma’s house and be slipped a fifty dollar bill and a bag of chocolates on the way out the door with the admonishment to not tell our parents, and to revisit our high school days by sitting sullenly beside our parents in a pew the next Sunday, silently mouthing the words to the Nicene Creed after being elbowed by our mothers and playing a rousing game of “Can I make my sibling wince by squeezing his/her hand during the Lord’s Prayer?”

So some Pope, back in the day, was clever enough to realize that if we’re only going to make it to church one Sunday a year, they ought to make it the one where they can annually beat us over the head with St. Paul’s admonishment to obey [our] parents, and for wives to be subordinate to their husbands (reason number 612 I will probably never get married.) This in turn, seems to make our parents believe they have free license to harangue us for the rest of the day about our life choices and our crazy, liberal, hippy beliefs about gender equality and ideas that maybe, just maybe, we don’t see things quite the same way as our parents and that at the age of 25-ish, it might just be time for them to buck up and realize that the days of obedience are over, and the best they can do is offer unsolicited advice that we will at best, ignore, and at worst, openly mock before defiantly ignoring.

At least this is how it all goes down in my family. No matter what day Christmas falls on, the Sunday after is always that point where we are just about sick of each other and itching for excuses to slam doors and sulk in our childhood bedrooms, if only for old time’s sake. So thanks, liturgical calendar, for adding one more layer to the crazy family Christmas traditions that will keep my therapist in business for the next ten years. At least his kids will get a pool out of it.

Merry New York City Christmas!

Confession time: I’m a Christmas-aholic.

I love Christmas. I love wandering in and out of stores to the dulcet tones of Bob Gedolf making offensively stereotypical generalizations about the entire continent of Africa. It’s the one time of year I can forgive the tourists in Rockefeller Center, because let’s face it, I find the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree pretty damn exciting too. I break out the tree the weekend after Thanksgiving, spend hours wandering the holiday decorations aisles at Target, and annually download tons of new Christmas music from iTunes (What? I have a thing for pop Christmas music. This year’s catchiest tune? The Jonas Brothers’ “Girl of my Dreams”. STOP making fun of me.)

The entire month of December is just a whirlwind of parties and festivals and shopping and traveling and celebrating and I love it. It’s my favorite time of year anywhere, but I think there’s something especially magical about Christmas in the city. Twinkling lights. Carols in the air. Christmas trees and pretty wrapped packages in shop windows. Fluttering scarves in a rainbow of colors as the people scurry home with their shopping bags. Bags from Bloomies, from Saks, from Tiffany, Lord and Taylor, Zabar’s, the Met. Frosty bus windows from which to watch the city fly by. Light snow falling. Holiday greetings everywhere. Smiles. Laughter. Joy.

It’s so rare that I view things with this rosy perspective. I know that if I stop and think about it, I will realize that there is really no difference in the season. No one is kinder or more polite to their fellow human beings. We all race through the streets ignoring each other, caught up in our own little worlds the same as always. That big bag from Macy’s might contain a gift for your mom, but no way is anyone going to let that old lady cut in front of them in the line for the subway turnstile.

But just for one brief season, I choose to ignore my inner cynic. I choose to believe in the spirit of the season. I choose to celebrate Christmas, and to believe that everyone else will make the right choice too.

Merry New York City Christmas!

Bring it on!