Baby It’s Cold Outside!

America,

It’s colder than a chics nipple in a brass bra! Brrr! *pulling hat down over ears, rubbing mittens together* I’m talkin’ about the type of shyt that provokes tears to stream down your face. I’m speaking on a wind chill soooo fierce, that you have to walk down the street backwards, just to avoid your face from freezing over and cracking into a million pieces. Straight up, it feels like Old Man Winter is standing in dead in my grill, blowing his frosty breath all over me. Shhhhhyt, please believe Angelique is high-steppin’ from one place to the next these days. A trip to the corner store feels like a mile.

America,

I’m telling ya, the winter months are like sloooow torture for me. And for those of you, who haven’t experienced the wrath of the artic blast, please believe it takes a special individual to muster up the gusto to deal with is day in and day out.

Did I tell you it’s cold outside? Yeah, it’s like ICE COLD and it has nothing to do with Andre 3000. . . Straight up brutal. The “Hawk” is out! (Not sure what that means, but that’s what they say round herre) Earlier, when I was running for shelter, I was thinking what is must feel like for a person from a much warmer climate - um, let’s say Africa for example - to step off of an airplane, into a winter wonderland like Minnesota? I’m almost sure a mo’fo must instantly slip into a deep depression.

I hate winter. The skies are gloomy. The days are short. I don’t like dressing in layers. There is something that takes all of the cool out of you when you when fall and bust your rump on the ice. Not that it’s ever happend to me . . .

I know some of ya’ll can relate. I also know a few of ya’ll are reading this post, posted up in shorts, T-shirt and flip flops, with a Berry Blue slurpee in hand, laughing at me. I guess I can’t be mad. It’s not your fault I’m regionally challenged. But um, when that next earth-quake is off da scale or your crib has been washed away by “hurricane so and so”, don’t come crying to me. It will most likely be spring by then and I won’t be thinking about you . . .

Right about now, I see visions of sandy beaches. I see palm trees swaying in the wind. I can almost taste, ripe island fruit. I can feel a sexy stud rubbing my back down with oil. I picture myself indulging in the sun with out any interruptions. Ah yes, that sounds so lovely. But unfortunately, it won’t be taking place anytime soon.

“Chilly Willy” - I love that dude. Woody Woodpecker too:)