Never Gave A Damn About The Weather

Today’s weather: blah. I can never get used to November. It’s the first season to grab you by the collar and tell you to take the cold seriously or January’s going to come over and beat the shit out of you. And sure enough, each year a personified winter month takes a wrench to my kneecaps. It’s no fun at all.

Each year I really am surprised people aren’t running around screaming obscenities over the seasonal weather changes. I would join them- it always seems weird as hell when one day everyone’s in booty shorts and flip flops and the next day they’re all in booty shorts and Uggs (some people determine seasons by temperature change and changing leaves; I go by bad fashion trends. Crocs mean spring is coming!)

Despite my annual shock at the completely not-sudden cold, weather as the topic of conversation irks me. It’s like waving an intellectual white flag- you may as well say “It’s cloudy. I’m uninteresting.” Because weather is literally the most obvious thing in the world. It affects how people dress, travel, eat, what they do and don’t do-except for the people who surf behind the Weather Channel reporter explaining that Hurricane Bitchslap is about to hit the beach behind him. Those guys, and I mean this will all due sarcasm, are the COOLEST. In all my conversational elitist glory, the only way I see weather being an acceptable topic of conversation is something similar or congruent to the following exchange:

Me: Hey, what’s up?
Not Me: ZOMG A HURRICANETSUNAMITORNADOVOLCANOQUAKE IS ABOUT TO HIT THE HOUSE RIGHT NEXT TO YOURS.
Me: Oh. How is a volcano hitting that hou-
Not Me: THEY’RE DROPPING ONE ON IT.

In conclusion: how do you pronounce “zomg”?