Comma Dot Comma

It was a foolproof plan. “Winter, Schminter” I said
to myself. “That big baddie won’t get me for WEEKS yet.”

Itchy, layered clothes? Don’t need ‘em.
Icicle fingers and toes? No way.
Perpetually chapped lips? Right out.

The plan was simple and direct. It required no work except willpower. It involved nobody else. It was a perfect plan. Ready?

Okay. The plan had two parts:

1. Do not turn on the heat in the apartment until after December 1.
2. Do not open the box of sweaters and fuzzy tights until after December 1.

Yes. I, Dottie of comma dot comma, would hold back winter by sheer stubborness. Name it and claim it, baby.

So it was that I found myself in the midst of 20+ degree days, completely unwinterized. I still had mostly open-toed shoes! Of my two winter coats, one had no buttons and one was all ripped up inside. I found a right glove and a left glove, but they were trendy (if by “trendy” you mean “not remotely matching each other,” which I do. Because it is going to be a trend someday soon, since I have resolved to wear them all winter. I don’t have a history as a trend setter (brown cords with pink blotches all over them, anyone?) but it could happen. ).

I also turned on the heater. It smelled like burning dust.

DRAT! FOILED AGAIN!

But now it’s been hovering in the 60′s for a few days. Maybe my plan worked after all?

Whatever happened to Neneh Cherry?

Who’s that gigolo on the street
with his hands in his pockets
and his crocodile feet
hanging off the curb
looking all absurd
(watermelon watermelon watermelon watermelon)*
sucking beer through straws
where did you get yours?

I remember reciting this in the halls of my junior high. WAY better than “We like the cars, the cars that go boom.” I mean, the sneer inherent in “crocodile feet”! The near-rhyme of “curb” and “absurd”! Followed by girls drinking beer with straws! Good stuff. I recommend singing it in the supermarket or when approached by sleazy people. What junior high song sticks with you to this day?

*What they tell you to say if you are in choir and forget the words.

Classic maneuver for outsmarting procrastination: Back Myself Into a Corner.

In this case, it meant announcing the URL of this blog to a roomful of people, when nary a word had been written thereon. Sho nuff, Mike linked to it (Right back atcha Mike). So now I simply must write something. How about a list or two? The only thing I might love more than lists are multiple-choice tests. First, a thank-you to Nate, who introduced me to the word omphaloskepsis and helped me get this thing set up and kindly badgered me at regular intervals.

Why Comma Dot Comma Dot Net?

Why Procrastinate?