Commuters bundle up against the cold and snow on Michigan Avenue near Lake… (Michael Tercha/Chicago…)
Damn, this polar vortex has me p.o.'d and fat. The forecast calls for temperatures above freezing later this week, but I've lost all hope. I just want to scream, "GO. AWAY. No one likes you!" So over you, stupid polar vortex. Your deadline was weeks ago. If you show up again, Tom Skilling's thumb will fall off from all that tweeting. For real.
Thanks a lot, Canada. Does anyone know if the polar vortex is actually a booze cruise in Alaska? Dairy Queen's new ice cream flavor? Dentyne gum? Seriously, I'm asking.
When the temperature drops below zero, it all feels the same: cold as [bleep]. And to add to my annoyance, the barista at Starbucks cheerfully tells me to, "Have a happy polar vortex!" What?!
And how annoying is it that the polar vortex, with its ass-biting bitter cold temperatures, has its own Twitter account? Tweeting that his feelings were hurt because he didn't get invited to any New Year's Eve parties, talking smack saying, "Your mother should wash your mouth out with antifreeze"? Wow.
Plus, there is just no good way to look sexy in a polar vortex. All items must be polar vortex-approved and layered and layered. So we just end up looking like the marshmallow man or Randy from "A Christmas Story."
While the goal is to try to keep our eyeballs from freezing and falling out of our heads, some of us are still thinking about fashion. But why worry about putting in any effort when nobody can recognize you anyway? We can be walking around wrapped up in every blanket we own—with a bow on top so people can see where our heads are and direct their comments or questions accordingly—and it would be totally fine. Unfortunately, we have things like "jobs" and "dress codes." Ugh. Why is it not socially or professionally acceptable to show up to work dressed in a snowsuit with fuzzy slippers?
With all the layers you need just to get from point A to point B, attempting to walk down the street is useless, so waddling makes more sense. In my arctic commute to work, I carry a bag with hair spray, snacks, ChapStick, eye drops, spicy gum (it makes me hot) and a bottle of Sriracha (it makes me hotter), just to make it through the day.
And that stuffed-pig feeling trying to get in and out of the car in a super-puffy full-length coat, gloves, scarf and snow boots? You would think this cold would burn some calories and help with weight loss (without losing any of good parts of the face). Ha, nope.
But don't worry. I already stocked up on ice cream and Girl Scout cookies, so I am going to be fine. OK, let's all repeat, "IT'S ONLY A MOVIE! IT'S ONLY A MOVIE!!!" Oh, never mind. Torture ourselves with cheery pics of the summer instead? It doesn't matter.
None of us is making it out alive.
Doris Dadayan is a RedEye special contributor.
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