Cocaine Tea and Seasonal Nudism

Winter has finally arrived in New York City. It is snowing tonight, the soft, sparkly kind of snow that makes everything sound quieter. And it's damn cold. My fingers and toes hurt just thinking about the weather outside. I have closed all the curtains in my apartment so I don't have to think about it. I just hate winter. It's full of disagreeable things, like heavy coats, dry skin, and stuffy noses. As soon as the temperature drops below 40 degrees or so, I will maintain a stuffy nose until it warms back up. Lots of snot and phlegm. Mountains of used tissues cover every surface of my apartment. Yes, I know that tissues are disposable, but for some reason, I feel compelled to save a tissue after blowing my nose and set it aside for later. There's always a clean bit left, and it's only until I cover every square centimeter of the tissue with boogers that I can be ok with throwing it away. It's gross, for sure, but it's good economics. One box of Kleenex may last me all winter.

Everyone at work has had the flu recently, so I am doing my best to avoid coming down with any form of this menace. I am drinking hot tea like an addict, and I even made my own formula last night with fresh lemon juice and chopped ginger. It was a little too strong, and I think it may have stripped some of the lining off the inside of my esophagus, but no flu yet. Tea is just great. I remember, when I was in the high mountains of Peru, downing cup after cup of mate de coca, a tea made from the leaves of the coca plant (yep, coca as in cocaine), to fight the effects of altitude sickness. That stuff is AMAZING and it wouldn't surprise me if it could cure cancer and/or baldness. It can certainly cure headaches, nausea, and a rotten mood. I think it's illegal here in the US, but on my next trip to the Andes, I am bringing back 14 boxes of that tea in my dirty sock bag. I have smuggled much contraband into this country that way. Nobody ever checks the dirty sock bag.

I also hate the clothes associated with winter. All those bulky layers and sleeves and extra fabric flapping around. I already hate sleeves, no matter what time of year it is. If I could live in just a tank top (pants optional), I would, no doubt. Sleeves always make me feel itchy. I habitually push them up past my elbows, and then they fall down, and then I push them back up, only to have them fall back down two minutes later, and the mad cycle continues. Also, I only own, like, three long-sleeved shirts because I can't be bothered to buy any more when I hate them so much. And don't get me started on sweaters. Or turtlenecks. Lord. I absolutely cannot abide a turtleneck. A friend gave me a cute shirt once that had a turtleneck, and I cut it off. I think comedian Mitch Hedburg, may he rest in peace, said it best when he quipped that wearing a turtleneck is like being slowly strangled by a really weak guy. Ditto for scarves. I would just prefer that nothing be touching my neck or arms, except maybe my hair, which sometimes feels nice. Also, I'm not a big fan of socks. Or shoes. Bottom line, clothes stress me out. I think this makes me a prime candidate for member of a nudist colony. However, I still cringe at the dimply boobs and bottoms that come flying at me from all directions in the women's locker room at the gym, and penises make me giggle like a maniac, so I may have to go blind first. Yep, if I go blind someday, I am definitely moving to a nudist colony.

This post is for David and Pedro, currently my two biggest stalkers. Thanks, boys, for your interest in my life and work. I'll let the creepiness factor slide as long as you keep reading.