Ok, Seattle, you listen to me.
When I decided to cross this great country of ours and leave everyone and everything I knew and loved behind so that I could come and be with you? It was based on the premise that Seattle has mild weather. MILD. Like, grey and misty and 50 degrees in the dead of winter. And yet, what is happening this week? Snow. And ice. And winds that smack you in the face and give you a busted lip like a big abusive mothersucker. And from what I hear, we are going to be having this for a while, not just a flukey one day span. This afternoon temperatures are supposed to be in the TEENS.
WE HAD A DEAL, SEATTLE. And you are cutting out of the deal that we made. I left my home! My family! My friends! I knew no one, but I knew I could count on the fact that I would never have to feel so cold that my bones would want to snap ever again. You were supposed to keep me warm, Seattle. Or at least soggy and lukewarm. And I was willing to live with that because I grew up freezing my holy ballsacks off for 6 months out of my year my whole entire life which is bad enough as it is, but when your family is from a tropical paradise and you are genetically predisposed to sunny sandy beaches and feel all sorts of physiological confusion that your parents left all of that behind to birth you right into the Frigidaire state of Michigan, it is extra double super imperative that I turn to you to warm the cockles of my ass. You promised me! If I moved out here, you would take care of my temperate desires. No more long undies! No more scraping windshields in the morning! No more breathing in and feeling your boogies freeze in your nose!
YOU FRIGGIN LIAR.