This is one time where television really fails to capture the true excitement of a large squirrel predicting the weather.

It’s February. Finally.

February means I find out where I’m going to live next year. It means Paul finally finds out if he should leave art for his calling as a professional golfer. It means I finally have time to find my bedroom floor after a month of travel-induced laundry build-up. It means August is 6 months away and I’m pretty darn sure (judging from the last 27 years) that there will be a vacation somewhere in those months. It means I’m settling into all the reading you crazy people gave me for Christmas. It means its finally cold enough (75 degrees, BRRRR!) to wear the 42 scarves I’ve knitted for myself. It means its time for my tri-annual french manicure (SpaNail), and bi-annual CD purchase (KT Tunstall). It means its time to take seriously my commitment to go to the gym 3 times weekly in order not to look like a tub o’ lard in a swimsuit in 4 months. Don’t gimme no lip about my lard. You can see it for yourself if you doubt its existence. February also means president’s days, specifically George Washington’s and my Grandmother’s Birthday. Her ingenious parents named her Georgia.

Most importantly of all, February contains the holiday which is responsible for giving us Bill Murray’s greatest work. “You want a prediction about the weather, you’re asking the wrong Phil. I’ll give you a winter prediction: It’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be grey, and it’s gonna last you for the rest of your life.”

Enough. Welcome to February, and don’t waste it, cuz it’s shorter than all the other months.

This entry was posted on Monday, February 5th, 2007 at 5:43 pm and is filed under From the nation of Indig. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.