Snow. Boo. Hiss.

It would seem that I, Elly Lonon, am the only person on the face of the planet that doesn’t like snow.  Well I just don’t.  And no amount of cutesy photos of kids making snow angels or tweets about your dog’s icy paws is going to change my mind, damnit.  So suck it, snow lovers – you bitches are crazy.

Commuting Snowman
Commuting Snowman

Even my husband (the TRAITOR) interrupted yesterday’s intense brainstorming session (yes, I was totally about to solve the clean energy crisis) by dancing a little jig in his polar bear covered boxers and singing “I love the snow” to the tune of Madonna’s “Borderline.”  I somehow resisted the compulsion to throw my mug of green tea at his shimmying ass, but just barely.  He’s lucky my fingers were too cold to work properly.


In my mind, Hell isn’t some fiery molten burning pit.  It’s an arctic tundra with constantly falling snow and howling winds.  And Rod Stewart is my only companion.

Snow isn’t just cold; it’s wet, icky and treacherous – like Joe Lieberman.  The only way I’ll voluntarily interact with crushed ice is served in a cocktail glass with a disproportionally large splash of alcohol and a tiny paper umbrella, preferably served to me by a well tanned, shirtless waiter on a tropical beach.  I damn sure don’t want ice sprinkling into my collar, or drifting over the tops of my boots, or burying my car, or making my stoop treacherous, or…you know…generally wreaking havoc on my very existence.  I’ll say it again.  Boo.  Hiss.

My little chemo addled brain feels like a drunken hamster trapped in a spinning exercise ball when I try to understand the people that willingly travel to cold destinations in search of snow.  Vail?  Aspen?  Tahoe?  What the HELL is wrong with these people?  Then after spending large amounts of money and effort to reach said wintry destination, they plan their itineraries to maximize their interactions with the sub-arctic temperatures.

If someone drugged and kidnapped me, then I woke up at one of those hideous ski resort places, I’d hole up in the hot tub and drink my weight in hot toddies and Baileys-infused hot chocolate until the preheated taxi was idling at the front door to take me to the airport.  I damn sure wouldn’t ride some crazy lift through the frigid air, strap a pair of 2×4’s to my feet, then hurl myself down an ice covered mountain.  As my Appalachian kin say – That don’t make no sense.

Ok, I’ll admit it’s amusing to see the drunks flopping around in Times Square, attempting to make snow angels between the piles of vomit and yellow snow, but that loses its appeal after four hours, tops.  It’s also nice when everyone with half a brain runs home to hide, and the normally swarming streets of NYC are able to stretch languidly down the length of the island in their absence.  Being the only set of footprints on Broadway doesn’t happen very often, nor last very long.  Ten minutes?  Maybe fifteen?  Then you’re left with mucky slushy ick for weeks to come.  It’s been a long time since I’ve done accounting, but even I can see the cost-benefit ratio there is not good.  Not good at all, people.

You snow lovers wouldn’t buy a pair of pants that lifted and squeezed your ass into the perfect replica of a nineteen year old Heidi Klum butt for the first half hour, then morphed your booty into an imitation of Susan Boyle’s rump in water-logged Depends for the following six days.  Wait, would you?  You’re willing go out and “play” in the wet and cold.  Clearly your decisions are driven by something other than logic and sanity.  Maybe you would go and buy those ridiculous mythical pants.  I’m done trying to reason with you crazy masochists.  That’s it.  We’re breaking up.

It’s not even technically winter yet and even more snow is on the way.  I’m never going to make it, people.  I’m not leaving my house again until May.

Here are some photos of funky NYC snow, merely seven hours after falling.  It’s disgusting already.  I’ll say it one more time:  Snow = Ick.  Boo.  Hiss.

Pretzel - Before and After
Pretzel - Before and After

A Small Puddle of Funk
A Small Puddle of Funk

Snow is in Session
Snow is in Session

Mounds of Misery
Mounds of Misery

Snow Flinging
Snow Flinging

A is for Arctic
A is for Arctic


  1. I’m with you. Let’s set this shit on fire and watch the flames roll downhill and out of our lives.

  2. You are definitely not alone. I see only one good thing about snow — it sometimes gets me out of work. I am particularly bitter about this most recent snowstorm because we were already out of school which meant it does no good at all. Bleck.

    1. I don’t think you should have to wait for snow to get out of work. I’m a big believer in calling in cold. You shouldn’t have to leave the house if temp is under 50 degrees.

  3. I used to LOVE the snow. Not anymore. I just spent three whole days in Lake Tahoe with my two small kids, a grumpy husband and my mother. My mother? What was I thinking? Do you know how long it takes 5 people to gear up to go outside into two feet of snow for 5 minutes? One hour. Not kidding.

    What made it the tiniest bit bearable for me? I was drunk the entire time. I am so happy to be back in San Francisco…
    .-= Amanda´s last blog ..I Think I Need A Cookie =-.

    1. I’m thinking you’re frickin nuts. So are your kids if they’re looking to frolic in that mess. Glad your back home. I’ll be here, in the snow, all alone, in the dark, jealous of your weather.

  4. Go West, young woman!

    Pacific NW, to be exact. Hardly ever snows in Portland, and if it does, like AT ALL, the whole city shuts down because no-one here knows how to drive in it. Plus, there are hills. So you can enjoy winter the way God intended: under a quilt, with a mug of hot chocolate. And for Rocco, 45 minutes to the mountain–that whole thing is pure snow.
    .-= Falling´s last blog ..For People Without Kids, There’s a Joke at the End =-.

  5. I’m thinking you *might* need to consider somewhere like say…..Hawaii?

    You could totally get a job making and selling those partial crushed snow, mostly vodka beverages…

    And PS: No, we don’t make out. Ever, actually. Do we *really* sound THAT sweet? Wow. Who knew?
    .-= Jessica´s last blog ..Courtyard Surprise =-.

    1. I could practically hear the slurping.

      I don’t really like fish or poi – Hawaii might not be the answer. I do like sour cream and guacamole a whole lot. Voy a Mexico!

  6. I freaking hate snow. If I have to travel in it I curse and cry. I have a tantrum when it hits me in the face. I wouldn’t be caught dead at a ski resort! I also live in NYC and I absolutely hate the snow here because like you said it turns into a gross black slush in no time! To me it just makes things look dirty! Yuck! Boo Hiss indeed!

    1. Hopefully our scheduled Christmas torrential rain will at least melt away the top layer of black and yellow chunks. Dead sexy – and appetizing, too.

  7. The “idea” oh snow is fun and festive…and I used to love it. Now I am freaking surrounded by it 8 months out of the year. *facepalm* I don’t even usually mind the snow that much, but you mix it with wind…oh my gosh I HATE wind! Wind is of the Devil, I kid you not. I am not even go into how much I despise the freakin wind and its crazy howling that keeps me up all night!

    ps…love your blog and thank you so much for stopping by mine. =)

    1. I’m with you on the wind. No chance of me moving to your neck of the woods any time soon. Especially since you are LITERALLY in the woods. Heebers Jeebers!

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