OOOOHHH the weather outside...

Sucks.

In case I haven't mentioned it fifty thousand times yet, I hate the cold. Hate, detest, abhor, loathe, despise, ... um, where is my thesaurus when I need it??

As soon as the temps drop below 50, (and ideally it should always be at least 75, but I try to give nature a bit of a break) I get cranky. I own one coat, because I hate coats. I hate buying them (freaking expensive!) and I hate wearing them. (freaking bulky! Like I need to look fatter!) I hate dragging out the sweaters, and the corduroy pants, and the hats and scarves and gloves. I hate going outside in the cold and warming up the car. I was so thrilled when my used Durango had leather seats... NEVER AGAIN. Those fuckers never get warm. My ass is a perpetual ice cube. (I asked Santa for corduroy seat covers for Christmas, but Santa thinks they are a waste of money and that my ass will be cold no matter because I am impossible to please this time of year, and I need to shut up and get happy because we don't live in Jamaica.)

Right now, it is like, 20 degrees or something outside. The Natalie Thermometer says that it is -200. I may as well live in the Artic Circle. My hands and feet are never warm. This house is old, and poorly insulated and with natural gas prices the way they are, we can't afford to keep the thermostat on the 85 degrees that would make me happy. We don't have a fireplace, (note to self - next house: two bathrooms and fireplace.) and when I go to visit people who DO have a fireplace, I spend the visit sitting IN the fire, finally warm.

My skin gets so dry and itchy this time of year that the only thing I can do for relief is to take baths with a ton of baby oil in the water. If not, I will scratch my legs bloody in my sleep.

At the office, I work with three men who love winter, who duck hunt and deer hunt in their underwear, and with 7 women who are apparently in the midst of menopause. It is nothing for the office temp to be displaying a flashing "57" degrees. And more often than not, if the temp gets up to 60, they are crying about how stuffy it is, and propping open the front door.

I keep a tiny space heater under my desk, my feet up against it all day long. Co-workers come in to bring me my mail, or to ask me a question, and without fail the conversation goes like this:

"Hey Natalie? Mr. Robbins just called and ... OHMYGOSH!!! It is so FREAKING HOT in here!! How can you STAND it??"

"Uh, get out." I say. "You are letting in a draft." I shove my toes into the slats of my heater. My socks start to smolder.

My dad is the same way I am. The only difference is that he jacks his heater up, and has had little gas wall heaters installed in every room of his house. He says, "I don't care if I have to file fucking bankruptcy, I will be damned if I am going to be cold in my own fucking house."

(My dad really does talk like that, by the way. Just in case you were wondering where my gutter mouth came from.)

My mother, not so much. My mother burns up all the time. She just gave me a wool blanket because she can't sleep under it because it is too hot. She rarely runs her heat at home. I hate visiting there in the winter. I feel like little Laura Ingalls during the long prairie winter, cuddled under a blanket, not even daring to go and pee, because my pee would probably freeze into a little yellow icicle. Ma cooks supper in her shorts and t-shirt, and I am wondering if it is possible to get frostbite while sitting on a leather couch in the game room.

My kids seem to be oblivious to the cold. It is just me continually freezing. Day in and day out.

I wish I could hibernate.