"I'm a scholar, Mother. I enjoy scholarly pursuits."

So I'm walking home from a lovely, Sunday night dinner with my college family (we're just like any other family, in that we argue about television, disrespect each other's personal life choices, and harass one another's flaws relentlessly. But in a loving way) and it's snowing. For a moment, I look up and admire how gorgeous the white flakes look as they seem to magically appear from the night sky. 

However, as I'm walking with my head tilted back, jaw dropped, and possibly drool coming from my mouth, I complete my almost perfected dumbass image by slipping on some nasty snow sludge and falling flat on my ass. And then I remember that snow is a complete and total dickhead. 

Ever since I was a youngin' I did not get the fascination with snow. Don't get me wrong, I loved getting off from school due to inclement weather just as much as the next snot-nosed kid, but it was always bittersweet for me. It was just a matter of time before friends started calling to go "play in the snow." 

Play in the snow? You want to "play"? In the snow? Okay let me get this straight. I'm supposed to pile on a bunch of ridiculous looking clothing, waddle out into the freezing cold, allow total douche hammers to pelt snow balls at me because it's "fun," all so that in a few hours I can let my stinging red fingers and toes thaw out with a lukewarm, watered down hot chocolate? Yes, please. Sign me up.

Then there's sledding. Not only do you have to waddle out to the town's "biggest" hill (ours was at the middle school), but you have to somehow maneuver your bundled up, thousand pound ass into the seated position so you can fall down a hill. 

And don't even get me started on crowds. Waiting. In the cold. To slide down powdery ice. I'm sure your next-door neighbor has a fucking swing set. And it probably has a slide. Use it. 

Then there are the people who don't even wait. "Oh are those people down there? Oh they have a five-year-old child with them? Oh that's okay, I probably won't hit them." BAM! Scarred for life. It's like fucking bowling for these people. "Oh damn, sorry about that. Well, shake it off 'cause you gotta pick up that sled and hike back up that hill so you can do it all over again!"

Now that I'm older it's all about skiing and snowboarding. Now I won't lie, some people are naturally talented at that and can do flips and shit and look like they're having a blast. Especially that Olympic snowboarder, Shawn White or whatever. He's really hot. 

Anyway, it's not for me and it never will be. I've tried it. I've tried it on many occasions. And every time I get out there I remember why I hate it. 

I guess as a child you're supposed to perfect the art of functioning in ill-fitting snow wear so that when you are older you can move on from sledding to the more advanced shit. However, unless you come out of the womb with skis on your damn feet, this shit is impossible. And painful. Just when you think you've got the hang of it, an ice chunk appears and sends you soaring through the air. It would probably be pretty cool if it was on purpose. 

Luckily that soft powdery snow is there to cushion the blow to your face. It's especially nice when it trickles down your neck, through your sleeves, and down your pants, and you're like, "Fuckin great, I'm glad I wore all these clothes that are now soaking wet and useless. How long have we been here? Did we get our money's worth yet?"

And that is why I am watching the snow fall from the comfort of my bed as I compose my first blog post. I am one bitter nerd.