cold as ice

Among the many and varied reasons I moved to San Francisco, getting away from weather was way up at the top of my list, above even some of the abstract, emotional concerns I had, which were of course very meaningful and important. But I remembered being so, so very happy about not having weather any more, and not being cold and living in sunshine and plucking oranges on every street corner and right up off the ground. California, land of happiness and warm toes. I gave away my winter coat. Apparently, I never checked the weather forecasts before moving out here, because San Francisco? Fucking cold, man. I mean, nothing compared to what I was coming from, but still. A wee bit chill.

I have acclimated to what passes for weather here in the sunshine state, and now cannot survive without a heavy coat and a sweater and a scarf and gloves and if I wore socks, they would be wool socks but you cannot wear wool socks with fabulous shoes. There are some concessions I will not make. There are some toes I can no longer feel. But that is okay! I am, pretty much in every way that counts, a San Francisco girl, all the way through to my backbone, and we do not truck with weather. Why I am moving to Utah again? Really, please. Look at those lows, and then explain to me, in small, single-syllable words, why this is a good idea.

Tonight I am flying out for the weekend, to attend E.’s holiday party
and hopefully nail down one of those 2-bedrooms-for-$300 apartments
that I’ve been corresponding about with landlords (wait! There’s a
reason. Ah, that’s better. BUT NOT MUCH) and then, round about Saturday
at 2:00 p.m., I plan to freeze completely solid and then shatter into one
million pieces. I cannot imagine that I will ever, ever be warm again,
once I have set foot outside the Salt Lake City airport and the wind
knifes me and takes my bag and knocks me down. We are going to have to
figure out how to make a hot bubble bath fully enclosed and totally
portable, because I am not going to want to ever, ever not once or even
for an instant get out of it and breathe in the air that will lacerate
my lungs and ice over my veins and kill me completely dead.

Have I mentioned that I am a delicate flower? So delicate! Such a
flower! I should be raised in tropical climes and fed drinks out of
coconuts, please, not made to race through the streets in a party dress
and three-inch heels and bare legs to go to a holiday party where only
sweet, sweet bourbon will keep me warm, but also probably encourage me
to pants E.’s boss and send him to stand shivering in the cold on the
line to pick up blocks of government cheese. I don’t think he’d
appreciate that. At least he will die of hypothermia before he has to
actually eat the greasy cheesefood, and that is only a blessing.

I am actually excited about going, this weekend—it has been such a long
time since I’ve seen E. And I am excited about wearing my lovely party
dress…the bronze one, with the full skirt. I do not regret the four
hundred dollar dress, or the red dress; I have got shoes that go
beautifully, are so tall and yet easy to walk in, and which make me
feel fancy. I tried on the whole ensemble, earrings and shoes and
supportive bra, and I looked at myself in the full length mirror and
then the bathroom mirror and then the full length mirror again. I
thought huh.

I paraded up and down my little hallway, into the living room, the
bedroom, out into the kitchen and back into the living room. I thought
Okay! I sat, I stood, I did an experimental dance move (the Running
Man! Okay, the twist) and I realized I felt pretty, and comfortable,
and even if I was nervous about meeting all of E.’s friends and
coworkers, at least I had looking good on my side which makes you armed
and dangerous to the hearts of millions and man, my house is a mess and
then I realized I had spent the last twenty minutes cleaning up while
wearing a dress and three-inch heels.

So I am looking forward to this—even the part where I am going to be in
Utah, in the cold and the snow and the ice and the sleet and the hail
and the wind and the terror and mayhem. But I think that maybe looking
hot like the sun will keep me totally warm.

3 Replies to “cold as ice”

  1. I love that paragraph of you parading around and cleaning up and dancing the “Running Man” in your “supportive” bronze dress & heels, all the while looking GOOOOD. hee hee!! I had a bad morning and this cheered me up enough so that I don’t think I even need that half a xanax anymore…I think I’ll be alright just with my tea, even though it’s day 3 of a horrible migraine. For Utah, how about They’re cheap and warm and lightweight… a couple sleevless tees and one or 2 longsleeve tees and one pair longjohns for under your jeans should do ya?
    I love me my silks.

  2. I’m sure you will have a great time. Buy a down coat and down comforter before you move; they’re secret weapons.

    Hope to see a picture of you all fancied up! Have a great trip and great fun at the party.

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