A hundred words for snow.

Growing up, the fun fact you always hear about eskimos is that they have over a hundred words for snow. This fact travels with you throughout life–making its way to the inside of a Snapple cap, flippant water cooler conversation, and email forwards. Beyond igloos and furry parkas (both, which I admit are horrible stereotypes I probably picked up from a Chilly Willy cartoon), I don’t know much more about eskimos.

But now, after dealing with this bullshit weather the Northeast has been ever so fortunate to experience, I get their obsession with synonyms.

Here, in the Tri-State area (the “Tri-States” being NJ/PA/DE), we too have several words for snow: Snowpocalypse, Snowmegeddan, Snowicane, Thundersnow, Snoop Snowy Snow, Bitches and Snoes. OK, I made the last two up, but then again, some asshole made up the other four.

This time around, I’m rooting this Snowicane on, mainly because my work laptop actually works now and I have plenty of transcripting to do, which is perfect at-work-sitting-in-my-snuggie work to do. So come on 6+ inches–do right by me and make my Friday commute equal getting my ass out of bed and parking it on the sofa. I promise not to even complain when I have to shovel.

In other news, I went to the gym tonight. For those who know me this is a major accomplishment. I, by no means, am a “gym person.” I wish I was, but I just can’t get the ridiculous notion out of my head that I can naturally be thin or that my metabolism is so awesome I could eat as many Riesens and pieces of Apple cakes as I did this week. This gorgefest prompted my workout, but that’s OK. I’m glad I actually went.

The truth is, when I’m at the gym, I don’t mind it. I even like it. And I actually have a lot of endurance/stamina. I easily did 40 minutes on the elliptical before switching to some weight work. I always feel really refreshed afterwards and swear that I will do it again. This promise to myself is usually where I go wrong… I swear the minute that I “officially” decide I’m going to be gung-ho on the gym, I totally bail on it or do it hardcore for a couple ┬ádays and then skip a day and then end up skipping another and another and then I’m back at square one all over again. So, for now, I’ve decided to make my relationship with the gym casual–when I want to go, I will go, and when I don’t want to I simply won’t.

My biggest focus has been trying to eat better and trying to cook more meals at home has been helping with that. It’s also been helping with the budget. And truth be told, I really do like cooking. It’s a great, therapeutic activity that D and I actually both really enjoy and even better, we complement each other really well with it: the stuff I don’t like to do (i.e., prep work) is what he likes taking on, and the stuff he doesn’t like (i.e., actually cooking it, experimenting with different ingredients, etc.) is my favorite part. I like seeing what combinations work and which don’t. I like modifying recipes, mainly using them as a guideline for what I end up doing. Of course, this is not a fool-proof approach and there are many things that Donnie cooks much better than me, simply because he is a perfectionist with a recipe, but there are a lot of times I’ve managed to improve on an old standard, too.

And as I’m writing, I’m fantasizing about the leftover butter bean burgers in the fridge…

I think we both know which desire–the one to write and the one to eat–will inevitably win my hungry little heart…

’til next time, folks!