baby, it's snurshy outside

Snurshy [sner-shee] –adjective, snursh⋅i⋅er, snursh⋅i⋅est. Of or pertaining to the rainy, slushy, snowy, sleety mix falling from the sky today. At one point the snowflakes were so big we thought it was raining meatballs with alfredo sauce.

In an effort of self-diversion (I recently ended a nascent relationship and I feel, well, snurshy) I bring you the following:

1. The foley artists for Titanic, Poseidon Adventure and The Abyss have forsaken those movies and taken up residence in my microwave. For some reason, when the rotating plate goes around and around, the creaking/whining/creepy soundtrack it emits causes the rats and roaches to all head for the hills and my neighbors start lowering liferafts.

It's odd.

2. I've seen too much homeless butt today. More in numbers and square footage than I care to discuss.

3. I did my first improv show in about eight years tonight and I have to say, it felt pretty good! Unfortunately, I asked too much of my deodorant (having gone to the gym beforehand) so perhaps it didn't smell quite as good as it looked.

4. So, after a whole day of eating mostly cookies and rosemary squash lasagna, I had pretty much sworn off the cookies we frosted this weekend, but tonight, I played right into the devil's hands. I ate a cookie. By tomorrow, I'll be about forty pounds heavier and missing a cookie or twelve. (Don't worry, I'll take pictures.)

5. At my office holiday party last night, I thought I might have to call the EMTs. A big mucky-muck partner was on the dance floor flailing about so wildly that I was sure he was in coronary distress. Thank goodness for the female associate drunk enough to practially perform CPR on him while his wife looked on from the sidelines! (Yay, Office Politics!)

6. Also at my holiday party, I discussed the fact that the number of fuckable coworkers at my firm are somewhere between none and zero. As a torture device, my friend made me come up with a list of five partners I'd sleep with. On that list are a couple of decent human beings, but there's also this one partner who thinks he's hot shit on the dancefloor. At the holiday parties, he likes to work it -- especially with all the hot ladies of color at our firm. (Fine by me, as it spares me the fun of dancing with him myself.)

A couple of glasses of wine into the party, I pridefully added him to my list, "just to show him what a white girl could do."

Which, I'll add, is (in my case) NOT DANCE.