Coming home from San Francisco

I went to San Francisco this weekend and it was a lot of fun. Tons of fun, actually.

But we're going to save all that talk about the past for another time. Now it's time for me to share with you my feelings on returning to Chicago.

1. When we embarked for the return flight in San Francisco, the sun was just starting to burn off all that Pacific Ocean haze, and the temperature was on its way up to about 68-70 degrees. When we landed in O'Hare International, the pilot was discombobulated for a second during his "Welcome to Chicago" speech, letting us know that "the skies are clear and the temperature is one... degrees, one degree, um." He should have just told us "welcome to Chicago, it's currently cold as balls, but it's too late to go back. I'm sorry." At least then we could have had a good laugh or cut his head off.

2. I don't think you understand how cold that was. It was cold. It was colder than climbing in a freezer to have a naked snowball fight with the White Witch. Within five minutes of stepping outside, I couldn't feel my feet, my nose had dual snotcicles, and I was crying. Well, I was trying to cry, but my tear ducts were frozen solid (which was cozy), and I was moaning out long, dry cough-sobs and rubbing my chattering-chapped face with the back of my sleeve. This succeeded in friction-melting my snot and grinding into my cheeks, which was both comfortable and attractive.

3. The combination of mild jet-lag, profound hangover and run-of-the-mill misery almost overwhelmed me at Mass last night, when I had to sit back during Communion like a damned Philistine. Then I realized I was probably just dizzy because I had smelled myself.

4. I dragged my ass into work today and learned the hopeful news that the temperature was going up. All the way to 11 degrees. Which was just enough for it to start snowing. We should get about 6 inches.

5. Yes, by the way, the ice cold car seat which sucked the heat from my pants, underpants and backside this morning was exceedingly comfortable, thanks for asking. I almost wish I had hemmorhoids so I could ice them soothingly on the way to work. How do I go about getting hemmorhoids? Is "achieving hemmorhoids" appropriate phraseology? Because I think I might as well achieve hemmorhoids.

6. Luckily, my mom had promised to get the oil changed on my car, which was overdue for it (my bad). Thank God for mom, right? Except she forgot to do that, whoops.

7. I plopped down on the toilet this afternoon at work to rub my frost-bitten ankles, relax for five minutes and, you know, plop down on the toilet. I was thrilled and excited that the man who came and stood outside the door had severe sinus congestion so that he didn't have to speak to let me know he was there and he had to get in. I tried to close my eyes and tune him out, but after a few violent mucusy snarls started getting closer and closer to the door, I gave up and got out of there.

Is that what you do, sir, when someone is in the bathroom and you have to go? Start off my sniffing loudly, mix in a noseblow and 3-5 stifled coughs and then just start hacking and snorting and yelling and wheezing? Doing those long-ass pretend-I'm-clearing-my-throat-but-I'm-really-just-screaming-hoarsely RIGHT OUTSIDE THE FUCKING BATHROOM DOOR?

8. I just made the mistake of checking weather.com for San Francisco weather, and it's 66 and sunny. Here it's 9. Welcome home.

Maybe I'll tell you about some of the good times next time. Right now they would feel like a lie.