Ice Ice Baby

Whenever I think of icicles, I think of freezing unbearable temperatures, those awful scrapers for windshields, and a variety of ‘How cold does something truly have to be in order for your tongue to get stuck on it?’ scenarios. But after that, I think: pretty. Icicles are quite beautiful, honestly. A captured piece of nature and science, each authentic and organic within it’s environment.

These are pretty little gems, right? 

They can be delicate and shatter easily, or they are thick and as strong as, well, solid ice. They can represent the fragility and beauty of the winter season, or at least provide for a good photo op. I've also always associated icicles with the color white. All that I have seen are either white, or transparent, or a combination of those two. Sometimes if you look close enough you might see some dirt specks, but probably not. As the visual parade of icicle photos makes the rounds on Instagram and Facebook, I am further convinced of this as being the normal way of frozen water.

Only….this year….at my house…they are…not. Where I live you see, we have an assortment of decently sized icicles framing our outer borders that are the opposite of white and pretty and sparkly. They are, how shall we say, brown. Yes, brown. Our freaking icicles are gross and jaundiced, and big. And a lot. They hang directly below a blanket of pristine white snow, contrasting in a way that either make you want to laugh or cry, or laugh so hard you cry, or if you live here, just mainly cry.

There is no way to hide this, mind you. Every house on our street glitters with their pretty icicles, and sandwiched between them all is us. The brown sheep of sorts. Complete with a soundtrack of ‘One of these things just doesn't belong herrrreeee…’ playing in the background. We have become the smelly kid of houses! I have no idea why this has happened. Why the icicle gods have forsaken us, leaving a trail of rejected poo-stained icicles in it’s place. Ridiculous.

We are not a dirty house. Now, while we may not be of the June Cleaver category, we can maintain an appropriate level of cleanliness and charm. Leaves get raked, dishes get washed, and sidewalks get shoveled. We get as much rain as the houses next to us, our roof tiles are blue, and there is no reasonable explanation of why my home must suffer this way.

I confided to a colleague earlier today, describing how they looked. She suggested that maybe the roof was just dirty or something. Not a big deal. Then she came over and saw them. And burst out laughing. Laughing because “Oh my god, they really are BROWN! I thought they were just tinted or something but no! Those are so BROWN!” (I really don’t exaggerate half as much as people think I do. Most of my life is so weird, I never have the need to.)

At this point, I just don’t know what to do about it. Am I supposed to get a stick and try and knock the impostors off? We would then be the house with NO icicles (also weird but way less gross). Then maybe I could bury the frozen corpses in the backyard, and leave the graves unmarked and full of shame? This is a bad plan. First of all, IF there IS an icicle god, AND if he/she IS angry with us, I’m sure my destructive tendencies will not help our plight. Also, one might hit me in the head, and since it’s made of some vile blend of scummy water and who knows what else, I could get violently ill and die. So yeah, bad plan.

I could paint them. I could tape pictures of pretty NORMAL icicles on top of them. I could string clean ice cubes together and hang those up, outnumbering the gross ones. OR I could just hide in my house. I could use a disguise when entering and exiting, shielding my identity from being associated with such an unbecoming sight. Another option would be to write all about it and post pictures to prove it on my blog. Yeah, I think I’ll just do that. 

Oh. My. Lord. What is WRONG with this? 

The No Pants Proclamation

So, I’m taking a break from my hiatus to tell you to stop wearing pants. At first, this idea could seem uncomfortable, please give me the benefit of the doubt. If you got as far as the first sentence and just nodded, well…I’m the one writing this thing so it’s pretty clear we should be friends.

Think about it, seriously, in a reasonable, logical, manner. Pants are a conditional hazard brought on from ‘the man’ as in ‘stick-it-to’. Do you want to be a follower? NO! You don’t! You don’t want to lead your life following the actions of some pants loving crazie! You’re better than that! Live like me instead. Pantsfree in a one, two, three!

My life is like this: If I ever write an autobiography (I won’t, but if I did anyway) it would be entitled “I Hate Wearing Pants”.  When I get ready in the morning-no pants; roommate hazard, but worth it. Go to work, must wear pants due to a ‘professional atmosphere’. Get home, PANTS COME OFF. Immediately. Within minutes, nay-seconds! It’s the fastest movement I make all day. Then I’m in pajamas. Or shorts. I could wear skirts, but meh. Elastic waistband people, I’m just sayin’.

Sometimes, there are events outside of my control that cause me to leave my house post-work day. Like an intense craving for Café Rio. Or Hatches. (Hot chocolate. Go ahead and Google your way to a more enriched life experience.) To which, I unfailingly give in to. As my roommate and I agree to go get ready, it takes me all of ten milliseconds to call down to her, “Umm…so…are you wearing pants?” And we debate it. Talk it out. Usually I put the damn things on AGAIN! Ugh. But no more! Pants are so overdone.  

So today, I’m sporting a ‘transitional pant’, as we decided to call them. They sort of look like pants, but if you get close enough, you realize that they’re not. April Fools Day in May Bizznatches. As I head out the door, yelling out behind me, “Me and my non-pants are off!” I’ve never felt better. No zippers, buttons, or belt loops cramping my style. Just good old fashioned laziness. Now doesn’t this sound like a soapbox worth standing on? Oh, I hope so. 

Feelings Towards Coffee

I like coffee more than I like you. Just kidding; I think… To be completely honest, I’m sort of in love with coffee. Don’t get me wrong, I like you, I do. You’re great! And I’m sure, that given the opportunity, I could learn to love you too… if you were coffee that is. Bah! I’m hurting your feelings, I can tell. I’m sorry. But you have to understand, what it’s like. When the skies grow dark, and the world lies cold, there will still be coffee. And if there isn’t, well then, there really isn’t much else left now is there?  

 I love the color of coffee. It even looks warm. From the bitter black, to the heavily creamed tan it’s inviting. I love the smell. Waking up to it, the morning seems gentler, walking into a coffee shop, it’s like an aromatic hug. It says, your spirit can rest here for a minute.  The sound of it, the language the goes along with it, I love. Professional coffee drinkers flirt with the ranks of the multilingual. You have to know your stuff to get your stuff, and everyone in line behind you knows that even if you don’t. As for taste, I believe it is deliciously acquired. There can be such a range and complexity to it, that it can comfortably reflect the equally distinct personalities of the consumers themselves. And let’s not neglect the containers. Is it a mug, a thermos, a paper cup? Did you brew this delicacy on your own or did you go somewhere to get it? Local or chain? Size? The list goes on. Suffice it to say, I’m a fan.

Surrounding all of this though, there is a particular love affair I share with the second sip. I will tell you why.  The first sip is really good, it awakens your brain to the fact that something good has arrived. That things are about to begin, and you are indeed very lucky. Along with this however, there is climate control. I do not possess a tendency towards patience, and this almost always leads me to drink coffee immediately after having gained access to it. My tongue, my lips, all is pain. That strange sensation you have for a few days after burning your tongue? Yeah, I get that a lot.

 Even in the summer, when iced coffee is the thing at hand, it might be unexpectedly cold. How much ice is involved? Is the consistency different, more or less watery? How hot is the day around you in comparison? All of this taken into account, the first sip is great, but it’s truly a scientific experience. You are internalizing various factors, and preparing yourself to embark on a journey that is unique to each individual cup.

But ahh, the second sip. That is where it comes together. Instead of being surprised by temperature, taste, consistency, blend, roast, no. Now-you can enjoy it. You can relax and melt into it for the first time. The very fact that you’re onto a second sip means that 1) you weren’t just sampling someone else’s and 2) that it is very much drinkable. There’s definitely some security in that. It is no longer you against the day in isolation. No sir. It is you with coffee, and coffee is like the ultimate portable superhero in a cup. You can do anything.

We have reached the third sip. While this one, and all the others that follow it, are absolutely wonderful, they have reached comfort level. You already know what’s coming, and are just enjoying the ride.  From now on, the attributes of the coffee will remain mostly stable. No further tasting of this cup will fully capture the beauty of that second sip.

I read one of those Ramona books when I was little. In it, the main character, a little girl, is caught eating a rather large supply of apples. Only she’s not eating the whole thing, she’s only taking one bite out of each one. Confused, her mother asked her what she was doing. She responded that the first bite tasted the best. Therefore, she went from apple to apple, taking first bite after first bite, confident she was only tasting the very best part. I feel like my coffee theory is similar. It’s hard not to want to have the perfect sip over and over again. It is true though that I do get my fair share of them. Being a caffeine addict has its perks, including coffee on a continual basis.

I know that addiction is bad. But love is good. So I feel like the two cancel each other out, with love remaining in the game long enough to win it. With that logic backing me up, I figure I’m in the clear. Besides, there’s no point in arguing against a love this vast. I’m already in too deep. 

Molasses January

So, I've been having those weeks. The ones that don’t seem to be filled with much of anything. Friday arrives, and I’m like, “Oh, you’re here? Well, okay, good.” But not as in ‘Good, I’ve been waiting on you since Sunday ended and never thought I’d live to see you’.  Just… ‘Good. You’re Friday and I’ve been biologically programmed to love you, and I’m glad you’re here because of what you are.’  

But to be honest, right now, Friday feels the same as Tuesday. Or Wednesday. It’s still not on par with a Monday, but I fear that’s the direction I’m heading in. I’ve noticed this lack of enthusiasm lately, and I really can’t pin it down to any one thing. Nothing is particularly bad, or unusually terrible. Things just sort of…are. They just exist without emotion tied to them, pushing me to respond or react to them. So I don’t. I simply exist right along with them. I exist right until Friday, when I wonder where the week has gone, and if I made much use of it.

My theory so far, is that I must be a creature of the spring. As the world wakes up, perhaps I will too. Winter in general provides only a cold backdrop for retrospection. Everything is slower, sleepy. It’s like walking on a treadmill; I’m consistently moving. Always busy, but with no urgency. The road doesn’t end, there’s no rush to get to a destination. As long as I move, at however snail-like a pace, I’ll manage. And maybe in some weird way, this is a good thing. Like a mental hibernation, soaking in all these things that have happened previously and now letting them stew. Seep themselves deeply into my bones, where they’ve belonged all this time anyway. Instead of running; of moving beyond them so quickly that I can hardly remember them later.

I suppose that is my outlook upon my molasses January. It’s sweet, with nothing so very wrong within it, but slow. Thick. When it doesn’t really matter if I just began watching the sap drip from the tree bark, or if I’ve been quietly watching for hours; I’m content to find a log, zip up my coat, and stare into the process for hours. With absolutely no inclination to talk about it. 

You Shouldn't Have. Really...

So I have this friend. And she’s in a bit of an awkward situation. Just so we’re all clear, this friend is really me, and this situation, my situation, is difficult to explain.  Have you ever found yourself in a position where people around you were all under the impression that you liked a certain thing? A character, a certain color, an animal, really it could be anything, but they all thought you just loved this certain thing? That, my dearest readers, is what this story is all about.

 One day you were just hanging out, and foolishly, oh so foolishly, picked up a goofy item and made a random comment, thinking nothing of it, “Oh, that looks cool” And then you moved on from that comment. You went right past it, lived your life, forgetting you ever did such a thing. It was a blip, a non-moment in your repertoire of big, defining moments.

Fast forward a month or so. You get a gift pertaining to that same item from so long ago. You’re a bit confused, but try to seem in the know… “Oh, yes, of course…a hat shaped like a (something, a duck, a frog, the country of France, whatever) hmm…okay…” And you’re all nodding, and the giver is smiling, and they’re clearly so pleased to be giving you this, and you’re starting to get that panicked lost look in your eyes when they mention, “You remember? That day when we went to the park/zoo/mall/restaurant and you said how much you loved this?”

Meanwhile, your brain is working overtime, searching desperately for anything you’ve ever said about loving this thing. This weird, useless, slightly creepy thing.  And then…you find it. That non-moment. That blip. “Oh yeeeaaahhh….” you say, “Wow, I… I can’t believe you remembered that…you are so…incredibly…thoughtful! Wow, thank you! Thank you so much!” The giver is genuinely happy; they have you pose for pictures with your newly acquired gift. The rest of the evening goes okay, and when it’s over, you pull out the item, shake your head, do that weird face where you’re trying to make sense of something that just doesn’t and won’t ever, and you stick it on a shelf.

Now, if it ended here, it wouldn’t be that bad. I mean, we’ve all gotten (and probably given) gifts like this. Ones that just missed the mark somehow, but were good intentioned and all that. Fine. But-some things have a tendency to keep cropping up. Birthdays, Christmas, Flag Day, you start to see a trend.  More and more energy is being dedicated to you receiving items similar to the original. Mugs, figurines, magnets, shirts, key chains, all focused on that one thing. One thing that, quite honestly, is just…okay. Nothing so spectacular that it would have you writing home about and starting a collection of it. A collection which, mind you, is growing bigger and more dangerous with each passing holiday.

Suddenly, you look around your room to discover that it has taken over. Shelves, nooks, drawers, hangers, this thing has crept itself into every aspect of your life. All because you said something looked cool once in front of an eerily observant human being. Note: this doesn’t seem to happen with awesome things, things that you actually wouldn’t mind taking hold of your style. As in, “Look at these chic European teacups my Aunt just sent me.” Or “Check out my super cute fifties glam sunglasses I just got!” No. This type of passion and focus sinks its claws only into cringe worthy items. Items that, if you had some and I also had some and we caught each other’s eye across the room, we would nod in mutual understanding, knowing exactly the path that had led the other there too.

So, my dilemma is as follows. How do you get something that has taken a life of its own to die down? Do you say something? Is there a point where you can’t say anything anymore? Should you let it continue, and not risk hurting the feelings of loved ones around you, who have so graciously bought into this little game and showered you with item upon useless item? I mean… I don’t know. I’m stuck.

 I’m sitting here, being glared at my the little beady eyes on all of these things, and I’m starting to get this sinking feeling that I’m the only one who knows what I’m talking about. Really? Anyone? Anyone at all who has gone through this, I’m reaching out. This is my cry for help. Am I really so ungrateful? So terrible? Maybe I am. But before you judge me, help me. Once I’m free, you can judge all you want. Until then, I’m counting on you. 

The Chocolate Cake Resolution

Ahh, January. Take a second, and breathe in the deep smell of resolutions in the air. It’s a new year, new start, etc.  I can definitely see the attraction for them.  Looking back, it’s easy to see where things went smoothly, crumbled apart, or simply maintained. If you could just stick to a few simple agreements this time around, then this next stage of your life would be better somehow. However, it must be said that I, for one, completely suck at the entire resolution process.

Making resolutions for the New Year is like having a focused psychological pep talk in your mind, only everyone else around you is doing the exact same thing, at the exact same time, using the exact same wording. You all wind up at some gathering, and some thoughtless guest brought ridiculous brownies with them, and you all stare at her like she’s trying to pass out leprosy, stammer out a ‘No, thank you.” You glance sideways at one another, mutter something about your various resolutions, and eat your fingernails instead. Until February that is; or March, if you’re really disciplined. Or if you’re me, January 1^st, mid-afternoon. To the 3% of you that can actually manage to make a resolution that lasts the entire year, either you're resolutions are ridiculously easy, like 'I will breathe', or else you are one resolute being, in which case I tip my hat to you. 

In general, if I set myself up for a rule regarding anything to do with weight or food, I will, within that same hour, find myself eating a chocolate cake. I just dislike the idea of being bossed around by anyone, least of all myself. I can perform the greatest self-sabotage this side of the Mississippi. ‘Oh, what was that? You say you want to drink more water? Ha! I’ll show you! You’ll never drink water again! Mwahaha!’

It is, however, not limited to food.  ‘You say you want to save money? Oh, okay, yeah RIGHT! We’re going to buy everything in the entire world!!!’ Organization, spending time with family, quitting something, starting something new, I will find a way to do the exact opposite. And it doesn’t work to switch tactics and make my resolutions initially the opposite of what I actually want. Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me, by me. I’m just way too smart for myself.

I’m not too worried about my lack of resolution making/keeping skills. The really good things in my life have always come about unplanned. There is no possible way I could have designed my life in any such way that any action on my part would cause these things to appear.  I figure if I can just manage not to mess things up too badly, I’ll be lucky enough to keep wonderful people around me. That keeps me busy enough some days! 

Ultimately, events will transpire throughout the coming year that will push you into becoming the person you need to be. People will show up and weave themselves seamlessly into your life, making you wonder at how you managed before them. Decisions will be made that you couldn’t foretell, even if your life depended on it. You’ll get offers, make purchases, and hopefully have a good time doing it.

To all of you, I wish you the best for the coming year. Whether you decide to stick to formal resolutions or just wing it, I hope that you have the opportunity and the guts to make this year everything it should be. Oh, and if you ever find me alone in a kitchen with a chocolate cake, don’t bother joining me. I won’t share. Hey, now that would be a resolution I could keep! 

The Conversation

Nicklebee the Author: (clears throat, pauses) Uhh..hey!

Invasion the Blog: (startled) Oh, oh, hey! Oh my gosh, hi! How are you?

N: I’m good, really good…

I: That’s good…

N: I was in the area, checking my email and stuff, and I just, well, you crossed my mind!

I: Oh, okay, that’s nice.

N: Yeah…so…I’m sorry. This is awkward…

I: What? No. No…well…yes…

N: It’s just that I’ve been so busy. You know, work and everything.

I: Well sure, I mean, you work so hard.

N: But still, it’s no excuse, I should have come by sooner.

I: It has been awhile. A long while actually. More like, well let’s see, months.

N: Oh, are you…are you mad at me?

I: Honestly, Nicklebee, what did you expect? You start this thing up, you post all these 

things, and then, one day you just disappear. Bam! Gone!

N: I know…

I: It’s not like I can do all of these things without you here. Believe me, I tried.

N: I’m…really sorry Invasion. Really. It’s just that…nothing ever seems good enough for you. I have these ideas, and I try to write them out, and they just turn into dumb stuff. And you deserve more! More than my feebleattemptstosoundwittyandtryandbefunnyand (deep breath I’m just…sorry, okay?

I: Wow. Umm…well, I guess I just…wow.

N: I just wanted you to have my best,and then when I couldn’t do it, I just avoided you.

And a week turned into two weeks,which turned into two months,which turned into now. 

And now we’re here.

I: Yes, yes we are. Umm, Nicklebee?

N: Yeah Invasion?

I: It’s okay you know. You don’t have to worry so much about this.

N: What? Of course I do. You’re my BLOG! I created you, and filled you with bright and shiny narratives, and then I , I just couldn’t for a minute, but…

I: But what?

N: I missed you. A lot.

I: You did?

N: Yeah. A lot a lot.

I: I missed you too.

N: I was thinking…there’s a new year coming up…

I: I’ve heard the same rumor.

N: And MAYBE, if you could forgive me…I could try again…

I: Don’t say this if you don’t mean it Nicklebee, I’m serious.

N: I’m serious too. I’ll really do better this time, promise!

I: Wow Nicklebee! I’m so excited! I can’t wait to hear about what you’ve been doing!

N: I know, right? I have sooo much to tell you!

I: (Sigh) Nicklebee?

N: Yeah Invasion?

I: It’s good to have you back.

N: It’s good to be back.  

Stay tuned for brand new musings from the mind of the Nicklebee!