I fucking hate February. I hate its ashen skies. I hate its frigid air. I particularly hate this February. Record setting amounts of snow. Unfathomable cold. And I guess I’m just not coping with it well. The Better Half is away and instead of being a productive, healthy member of It All, I’m ordering Domino’s Pizza and wondering if I can hack elastic bands into my overpriced Name Brand, Fancy Pants leg-warmers.

The February Funk must be conquered, though. Rode out to its logical conclusion, the hopefully more endurable Ides of March. And this is a list of the stuff I’m begging to help carry me through this week. The Monday Morning Commute, as they say.

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How is it that I only had three days of work this week, and I’m fucking staggered? Could it be the Omni-Pall that has encapsulated Massachusetts? Perhaps, perchance, probably. All I know is that it’s Friday and I’m ready to hit the Open Bar. Shove aside Rendar who is bartending, reach behind the counter, find the biggest, filthiest bottle of Mind Alteration, and take a rip.

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