I Got Pop-Tart In My Bible

What a great day to do laundry. Not only was I beginning to have trouble walking around my room due to the overwhelming mass of dirty clothes, but it's a friggin' blizzard outside. I like doing laundry on shitty weather days, because otherwise I tend to feel like I'm wasting my time. Today it simply feels like an excellent excuse to stay inside. Ah. I walked around outside for a little bit: you know, to get a taste for both the weather and a ham and cheese sandwich. Nothing feels better than walking around in shitty cold-ass weather and then coming inside and taking a shower. Well, maybe things do fell better than that, but let me have this one, will ya? You always have to question everything I say! CAN'T I SIMPLY STATE THAT SOMETHING FEELS NICE WITHOUT YOU JUMPING ALL OVER ME???

The three question marks really add to the intensity of the statement, because there are times when caps lock is simply not enough.

What doesn't feel nice though is walking around in socks and then stepping on wet ground. Yuck. That totally ruins the entire day for me. Seriously, I'll be going to sleep after masturbating and brushing my teeth, getting in my pajamas and preparing to drift into beautiful slumber, when I realize the whole day sucked ass because 8 hours ago my foot got kinda wet. I'm the type of person who doesn't want to wear shoes after taking a shower on days like this. For me, showers are turning points in the day. On normal school days, a shower will be my way to wake myself up and get motivated. However, the exact opposite effect is achieved on weekends: a shower is a signifier for not wanting to go outside, do work, or otherwise move at all. The feeling I get right after I step out of the shower is one I want to bask in for the duration of the day and not be bothered by anyone or anything. Which is why I don't put on shoes afterwards. Shoes would tell my body that I'm about to go out and accomplish something, and the post-shower joy will be washed away with iron-will determination. And I fucking hate iron-will determination. I would much rather lie in bed for 10 days then climb Mount Everest or lift a truck over my head. Thusly, I tend to walk around the halls and stuff in socks or bare feet, because shoes detract from my entire experience. See, if I'm in my socks, I can trick my body into thinking I'm lying in bed when in actuality I'm accomplishing something like doing laundry and the like. I retain the laziness feeling while still doing something productive. It's the best of both worlds. Which is why it sucks so damn much that all the floors are wet on account of it being so friggin' snowy out. My feet get soaked and it destroys everything I hold dear. Everything I love is flushed down the toilet like so much displeasing stool samples.

The key is people need to wipe their god damn feet. I can understand it being wet right near the front door, but in the elevator? On the floors? You have about 50 feet of pure unadulterated carpeting to wipe those bad boys dry before you can get to the elevator. Take advantage of it. I don't want my floor-transporter as mucked as Kevin Costner's Waterworld, both in a literal sense and a that-movie-sucked-donkey-balls sense. The shoeless use these things too. People never look out for the shoeless. All the shoed think they're so great because they have an extra layer between them and the ground. But this attitude is destroying the lives of those who are far too lazy to bend over and tie something. I feel like I'm playing some playground game where the ground is actually lava when I walk, because I have to jump from one dry patch to the next in the vain and ultimately futile attempt to stay in the comfort zone. Eventually as the day goes on, heavily populated places like the front door and the elevator become so far gone that they have literal puddles in them. I feel like I should bring bread to feed the fucking ducks.

I feel like people in this city are in denial about the existance of winter. People don't wipe their feet or shovel their walks or wear warm clothing because they like to pretend it's not snowing out. See, back in my hometown of St. Paul, Minnesnowta (See what I did there? Play on words, baby. See, see, 'cause Minnesota gets lots of snow, so I inserted the word "snow" into the place on the word that rhymed with snow to signify this in a joking manner... Get it? I can explain it again...), we knew and accepted the winter. It was like the hobo that lived in your backyard: You couldn't really do anything about it, and it was pretty annoying, but you dealt with it, knowing it would leave eventually. Everybody shoveled; everybody wiped their feet; everybody knew how to deal with winter because we had all come to terms with it. Here in Chicago, it seems like people are hoping that if they ignore winter, it'll go away. If they go about their regular business and pretend like the weather is keen as a peach, bad old Father Winter will stop nipping at their nips and move along his jolly way. Don't bother getting the ice off your car or plowing the streets; it's not winter out.

But they only seem to deny its existance as far as the preparation for it goes. No one shovels; plows are few and far between; everywhere is slushy and gross. This city is full of deceptive puddles, which are yet another inflamed cyst and the asshole of my life. You know, places that you think are solid ground but turn out to be giant deep sloshes of ass. Fuckin' hate that shit. Can you not see my passion? Socks get all wet, shoes change color, lives are lost. Metaphorically. I don't know. Shut up.

I saw a man with 3 feet of sidewalk to shovel with a snowblower. How god damn lazy are we, people? Don't try to play like you didn't know winter was coming. Law of averages does not imply that because it's happened every other year that it's not going to happen this time. Get an orange and a marble out to symbolize the Earth's rotation around the sun and you'll notice that when the sun, which is hot, is far away, things get cold! And snow falls down. And you have to put up with it because you're not god damn Atlas and you can't simply move the Earth back to sunny Acapulco-style warmness because you don't feel like wiping your god damn feet when entering a building. Lick my nuts and make a sandwich, you cocks.