Dec 2, 2018 3 min read

My mother was right. My face did freeze this way. That pained expression on the aforementioned face is a reaction to a bitter cold blast of winter. Picture Jack Nicholson’s icicle-covered head in “The Shining.” That’s how I feel. I’m just not quite as murdery. Yet.

My face hurts. I know, it’s killing you. Whoa. Flashback to third grade.

By now, you all know I am the Anti-Elsa. The cold really does bother me. I’m just not smart enough to figure out how to live somewhere tropical.

We got an early Thanksgiving this year, but the holiday brought winter with it. It’s the first week of December and I’m already over it. Even though I am a hairy, bear-shaped man, I’m not allowed to hibernate. Too many bills will go unpaid, and I’ll get ejected from my cave.

All I want for Christmas is a Balaclava. No. Not a delicious honey-covered Greek pastry – though I won’t say no to one (hint hint). I need that face mask that makes me look like the outlaw Jesse James during a train robbery. That, or a fur-lined hajib. Something to cover my whole frozen face.

My only fear is I’ll walk into Dollar Bank and get tackled by the security guard before I make my way to the teller.

All I really want for Christmas is a summer vacation. Stat! I need to feel warm sand between my toes. I guess I can sit in my car barefoot. I keep finding grains of sand under my floor mats. Even though I’ve vacuumed the car about a hundred times, tiny remnants of my visit to the Outer Banks remain in my PT Cruiser. When they say, “The beach never leaves you,” they mean the sand. It’s everywhere.

Side note: People think that it’s romantic to make love on the beach. It’s not. Sand gets into places it should never be. The friction removes layers of already-sunburned skin, like sandpaper removing layers of paint from an old house. Also, it’s illegal. Sex on the Beach is, however, a delicious beverage.

But I digress, like I do. Winter doesn’t officially begin until Dec. 21, but I’m already ticking off days on my calendar. I’m not the only one. The other day a bus in downtown Pittsburgh told me to “Think Spring.” Of course, another bus told me “Pittsburgh is stronger than hate.” I’d like to believe both buses.

P.S. I know buses don’t actually speak to me. I’m not the Son of Sam. The Port Authority flashes cute messages in neon between their route numbers. It’s like “36A Banksville.” Then, “Pittsburgh Strong” and “27A Fairywood” and “Think spring!”

P.P.S. Where the heck is Fairywood?! It sounds like a neighborhood in a Peter Jackson movie.

Another digression! This column is full of them. I guess the cold weather penetrated my face and froze my brain. I will thaw it out with a mixture of vodka, orange juice, cranberry and crème de cassis, AKA Sex on the Beach.