A Warm Greeting in a Cold State

For the readers not in Minnesota, it’s cold outside. I mean, really cold out. I mean, it’s holy shit balls cold outside. The temp is -9°F with a wind chill of -31°F. There are severe wind chill warnings and suggestions in red to limit outdoor exposure.

Look, Canada. We get it. You’re tougher than us. You’re so tough that you had nothing to prove and named your towns things that sound silly in English but mean things like “majestic eagle” and “dancing doe” in other languages. You’re so tough that Wawa, Ontario (Ojibwe: “wild goose”) has the same exact temp and windchill, and historically speaking, today is “a little on the chilly side.”

The town of Wawa, as seen from the other side of Lake Wawa.

The town of Wawa, as seen from the other side of Lake Wawa.

But to the rest of America, Minnesota right now is the frozen wasteland that we imagine Wawa to be. Minnesotans cultivate this “tough as nails” persona because it’s the only way we can justify staying here. While California today is complaining about 33°F, Minnesota is shouting Minnesota nice (there’s seriously a wikipedia article on MN nice) at them, like “do you need us to bring you a sweater?” secretly hoping they say yes so we have an excuse to go to a place where the temperature is above freezing.

Minnesotan’s also have a habit of saying the phrase “cold enough for ya?” It’s like we’re daring each other to give up and go back to nicer climates. And because we’re stubborn bastards, we’re all still here, on a bet that we can’t hack it.

If you can't take the cold, get out of the freezer!

If you can’t take the cold, get out of the freezer!

I used to live in North Minneapolis. It’s known as a “bad neighborhood” which is unfair to the good parts of North, but there are some pretty scary pockets. I was living in one of these scary pockets, possibly the worst (Jordan neighborhood, for those in the know) and one particularly bitter winter day, I needed to go grocery shopping. So I went to my local store, purchased the needed items, and headed towards the exit. On either side of the door were two urban youth. And by that, I mean young men dressed in the kind of clothes you picture when I say “gangsta rappa.”

And only one of them was black. Way to be racist on Martin Luther King Jr day, asshole.

Anyway, I see these two guys, and I’m thinking “well shit. I’m about to get harassed.” Not because they’re men, or even that they’re urban youth. But because they are dudes in that particular neighborhood at that particular store where I had been harassed by dudes 100 times before on exiting. Somehow they always seem to know that I have a sweet ass, even under my 20 layers of winter clothing and knee-length winter coat.

So I brace myself. I walk out the door, and sure enough, I get hailed by one of the urban youth. “Yo,” he says, and as I turn to look him in the eye, he adds “cold enough for ya?”

I’ve Got a Case of the Goddamned Mondays

I know- I’m a homemaker. Mondays shouldn’t affect me anymore. When I took the gig, I was looking forward to not having to roll out of bed at 7 in the morning so I could get to work at 9, drink a bunch of tar that passes for something coffee like, and then walk people through creating desktop shortcuts. A typical conversation would have me saying “No, I want you to right click on the desktop. No, not the computer icon. Yes, that’s right. Right click on the picture of your cat.”

Look, if you could figure out how to change the wallpaper on your desktop to a picture of your cat, you should know what your desktop is. Hell, you probably right-clicked your desktop and went to properties to change your wallpaper in the first place.

LOLcats on a Monday morning. See, it’s funny ’cause cats don’t have jobs or drink coffee, but people do.

The point is, I left all that to spend days home, working on projects, helping my son school on-line, and keeping my home clean and cooking meals for my man. LIKE ANY GOOD WOMAN SHOULD.

But what really happens is that I get out of bed at 8, make breakfast for Jared and get him ready for school which he starts at 9, figure out the schooling for the day, and then I stare blankly at my computer screen trying to figure out what blog post I’m making for the day.

Ahem.

And still, Mondays are the worst. I spent all day yesterday curled up with my husband watching Parks and Rec, and now you’re telling me I have to deal with Monday again? Seriously, fuck Mondays.

And by Mondays, I do not mean black people.

Yeah, I know everyone else learned this a few months ago, but I’m just now catching up. If you have been living under a rock with me, this is for you. Monday = African American ethnic slur. For more on this, we turn to on the scene ace reporter Russell Peters:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nnc6Asflzq8]

To be fair, if you’re going to be insulting, calling someone a Monday is possibly the worst day of the week you could throw at them. I mean, I really can’t think of a better day of the week to throw at someone.

There. the post is done. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back to drinking coffee and looking at cute pictures of cats. Just not black ones.

What? It’s because they’re bad luck.

Racist.