OK - I know its only early March and I should not yet be complaining that winter is still around, but DAMMIT, winter is still around and I HAVE HAD. E. NOUGH.
Last night, driving home from the train station, my car said the temperature outside was 42 degrees. A few weeks ago, when it was snowicaning all over the damn place, I would've been siked for 42. I would've been like, "Hells yeah, spring is coming, spring is coming!" But last night? Not so much. I felt like telling 42 to go fuck itself. Assuming the car was telling the truth, 42 has completely changed its tune since a few weeks back. Or rather, I suppose I expected it to be kinder than it was. But it wasn't being nice. NO. It was being a little bitch actually. That is if it really WAS 42. It sure didn't seem like the 42 that a few weeks earlier I had wished for. Oh hell no. Last night, my sweet little 42 was more like that frigid bitch 32. And that was so uncool. But I didn't want to fault 42 so as I sat there shivering, I actually yelled at my car. Out loud. "Bull-shit it's 42. You fucking piece of shit liar." I know. I know. It's not nice to swear at my car, especially since its a Toyota and is likely to go postal on my ass, but comethefuckonalready. Winter seems so long at this point that I don't even recognize my beloved 42. And that, my friends, is reason enough to think your car capable of temperaturistic plots against you.
Needless to say, if winter doesn't end soon, I may very well have to check myself in somewhere. But at least then I'll be warm. They tend to keep temperatures up in places where people wander around in bathrobes.