Frost on my Windows and a Tear in my Beer

...I don't even drink beer. It just sounded like a melancholy title.

My head is simply a-buzz with thoughts, and if I know me (and I think I do), it's best just to get it all out.

When Neil stepped outside this morning to cool off since I'd jacked up the heat to 74, he noted there was frost on his car windows. He was leaving then, a half hour before me, and I thought to myself "Don't worry, my frost will be all melted by the time I have to go." Which is, obviously, retarded. As if the half hour between 7:20 and 7:50 in the still-darkened morning would be enough to completely eliminate it, with 34-degree (28-degree, with the wind chill) temps.

So, I didn't bring gloves out. Christ, I wore flip-flops not a week ago--I'm not wearing gloves today. At Grinnell, it invariably snowed at least once in October and once in April. But this is not Grinnell, folks. I will not accept that it's wintry on October 29 when the trees are at their very best, when I haven't even been thinking of a decorating scheme for Thanksgiving, and when memories of my extremely fall-ish wedding are still so fresh. (Speaking of--I'll save the reception for a separate entry. It deserves its own space. Suffice it to say, it was fabulous.)

But back to gloves.

I have a very tumultuous relationship with outerwear. Socks, shoes, scarves, jackets, bulky layers, hats, ear-warmers of any kind and, of course, gloves/mittens. Don't get me wrong--I appreciate all these items individually. And when you find an adorably flattering coat that fits you perfectly (especially over a sweater), who doesn't want to wear the crap out of that thing so people might see you on the street and say "My, isn't that pretty young thing wearing a marvelous coat?"

But, I don't like the transition of "No socks ever! For months!" when I fly out the door to do errands because all it means is slipping my bare feet into a coordinating pair of flops, to the time when I have to pull out a pair of socks, find a clunky pair of shoes, and have to sit down for literally minutes to pull and tie them on. (Okay...I may be exaggerating. It doesn't take that long. But it isn't flying. You know?) This is one of the reasons why I want a pair of Dansko closed-back clogs in three basic colors (black, brown, and a sensible red brocade).

However, socks and shoes don't exactly bug me when I'm wearing them. I'm not going crazy, my feet itching to burst Free of Footwear. This is not the case with scarves, headgear, or gloves. Unless they are absolutely necessary, I won't wear them. The material bugs me, that it's covering parts not covered inside bug me (I believe you all know of my aversion to indoor scarves. I don't mean the filmy Hermesy things--I mean when people wear a scarf, intended for the outdoors, however thin and flimsy, around their neck, inside closed doors, often to achieve a hipster look)...I've tried the softest scarves imaginable...furry-lined gloves...velvety ear-bands...I just hate it all.

My rule about those types of items is: if I start to feel the material (in other words, if it is no longer cold enough for me to fully appreciate the protection the device is offering me) against my skin, it's off. This is especially true for gloves.

I understand that this may sound like I don't have all my eggs in one basket (look at me, mixing metaphors! That didn't even make sense!), but I assure you, the logic is perfect, to me.

So, no gloves this morning. And you know what? It was cold for a few minutes, but then I got in my warm car after scraping not half what the girl beside me did (I've told you about my car's turbo-defrosting skillz), and my hands were fine.

In other news:

I was loving this year's TV line-up. I couldn't believe so many brand new romantic-comedy-light shows made it, and I should have known it was too good to be true. Valentine, Ex List, Privileged? All so pleasant. Maybe Valentine was a little weird, but I'm trying to keep up with it, and swear I'll watch the rest of the eps before I delete them from the DVR. I heard that one was cancelled, and thought "Well, yeah. When your biggest star is the youngest tomboy girl from Step by Step (with a frighteningly bleached blond Staci Keanan [where are you, My Two Dads on DVD? WHERE ARE YOU???]), you may not go far." But now EW says The Ex List is getting the axe too?!! What do shows like that do when they know they have a limited run? What I mean is, that show has a single-goal plot line: a psychic tells Bella she has a year to marry or she never will, and she's going to marry an ex. So do the writers scurry to end it on a satisfying note, or finish the remaining episodes as planned without a real ending, embittered that they'll have to find new jobs now? Or, seriously, cancel Kath & Kim instead, man. That one suuuucks.

(I know. I know it's on a different channel and cancellation doesn't work that way.)

Oh, well. I still have Privileged (crossing my fingers pleeeeease don't go), Desperate Housewives, Ugly Betty, The Hills, The Office, 90210 (I can't help it, y'all, they keep bringing in original cast members), and [*gulp*] Rock of Love Charm School.

This weekend, Neil and I leave for Ohio (Thursday night) to see the Dazets. This time, we're breaking up the drives to & back so those days won't be as miserable, and since this is the closest thing we'll have to a honeymoon until spring, we're staying in a kind-of luxury room when we're there. And I am SO not on plan during this trip. McRib is back, people. You think I'm missing that just to fit into my new trouser jeans?? Speaking of--since Neil had been so sick this week, and I was also occupied with recovering from the weekend, I haven't even started planning or packing. I need to buy mini-mouthwash and mini-contact lens solution and check out where we're thinking of boarding Sean over the weekend. And I feel so good when I make a packing list, so maybe I'll curl up in the red chair when I get home and do that with a good sturdy notebook so I won't have to use a book underneath for a hard surface. I love that. (It's the little things, you know?)

I was at the pet store buying eight cans of crickets (it's a pain to keep going back, so I just bit the bullet) and was mindlessly looking at the woman in front of me--specifically, her coat. And I began thinking and thinking about her coat, and for the first time in my life, my head was filled with ideas for a book. I have only really ever been decent at this journal stuff--casual, stream of consciousness, my own point of view--but I wonder if I might have a little fiction in me. (I want to rephrase that, because it reminds me of those commercials about having a little Captain in you, and I HATE THEM.) I'm almost afraid not to start writing this down, because I fear I'll lose the instinct, and forever will have to say "I had this idea in my head once. But I don't have it anymore." You hear about the Rowlings and the Meyers who have these colossal stories in their minds and turn it into a phenomenon--these non-authors, and one of whom is...well...not a very good writer. I don't think I'm a writer, and I would never presume to think anyone else would want to read what I write, but I'm pretty sure I should take these ideas down in black and white rather than all floaty-abstracty in my head, for me.

A word about photos.

Something a friend wrote in their blog recently struck a chord with me. He apologized for the lack of photos/images in his entry, since most people are looking for that in a blog. I kind of despaired at his words, since for the most part the images in my blog consist of the most clever result from a Google Images search I can find (and I think that's against some law anyway), or on a rare occasion, a personal photo taken by me (very average) or Emily (always gorgeous, but since I didn't take it, I feel guilty about using it). And the process of finding/downloading/placing photos on here is, for me, tedious. At first, I tried to include images in every entry (generally from Google), but I began to notice when, in others' blogs, they did the same--and it began to look like clip art, a little. Not every single time. But a lot of the time.

And, bottom line, I'm not a photographer. I don't have an interest, I think if I do begin carrying a camera with me everywhere I go I'll become obsessive about capturing every little thing of interest or beauty I see, and I'll never have the eye or the talent many around me have. Since I'm more a reader, I really, really appreciate blogs with long textual entries--but am I alone in this? Is a blog not really entertaining unless it's illustrated? And should that be my first priority anyway--making sure my readers are satisfied? Or should I only worry about what I want to get out of this? I am sooooo philosophical today, guys! Eeeee! (Also, did you see? I underlined! I figured it out!)

So: I'm sorry my blog doesn't have many corresponding images, if that's your bag. If I have a photo that's relevant, or feel the entry would benefit from an image I find, I'll use one. But I guess I'm more of a journal-writer than an artist--no, no, there's no 'guessing' about that one--and though I've tried, I don't think any artistic skills are in my blood. Though I did some impressive sketches of Charlie Brown when I was younger. (Great Pumpkin was on last night, YAY!)

(This is why I love scrapbooking embellishments. It totally makes it seem like I might know what I'm doing, artistic-wise.)

I'm not done with the randomness shooting around my head, but I got things to do, folks. Not a lot of people to see...the life of a cataloger is woefully unsocial (what am I saying, 'woefully'?? I love this isolation!)...but I have a cart-load of books, and Library of Congress subject headings aren't gonna attach themselves to records.