Sunday, Decemberish, Still in Maryland.
After I tired of the bad football and the Adam Sandler movies on TBS, I hopped in the pussy wagon and headed out to the local grocery. I didn’t need anything in particular, I just decided to strap on my birken-socks and roll out so I could perhaps meander around the MexoRican food section, and maybe do a little research on what is sure to be a large part of my future diet. Maybe this time, I thought, I’d figure out what the fuck horchata is made of, and if I really remember chasing some cheap tequila con los gusanos with it at some blurry point in the past–or if it was just some sort of mistransposed pot memory.
Standing there, feeling quite Lebowski in my pajama bottoms, amidst the Goya (ah ah Goy ah!) products and the pork-mango sodas from Ecuador and the Santa Maria devotional candles, I came to realize that the people around me, the people from Columbia, these ‘Columbia people’, were acting even more bizarre than usual. It dawned on me, of course, when I saw Douchebag A (complete with the bluetooth cellphone earpiece) staring into space while talking obnoxiously about some sort of scheme to prolong his pointless Columbia existence… He was carrying–and I shit you not Marylanders–A loaf of bread, a half gallon of milk, and a bundle of toilet paper. I felt like giving him an atomic wedgie right there in the hot sauce section.
Then it hit me; this might be one of the last batches of snow I see for quite a few years. Snow that’s somewhere close to sea level, and not in Colorado after a 22-hour road trip up some steep hills, that is.
I liked living in Cairo. Even though everything was always covered in dust, I got used to preponderance of sun and the idea of having but two seasons: hot summer and less hot summer. That said, I really have enjoyed the seasonality here in the mid-Atlantic, and I’m afraid that I might again be moving to a place where seasons are far less pronounced, a snow event triggers cries of the apocalypse, and I might feel compelled to wear flipflops in February.
Oh well, I’ll try and enjoy the snow while it’s here, if not the lizard-brained panic displayed by the populace in these parts.
And horchata sucks, don’t ever drink it.
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