Now see here, Polar Vortex

March 26, 2014

Okay, New York.  I'm at my wit's end.  I'm begging you.  I'm on my knees.  I'm on Day 3 of this facacta Juice Cleanse and my irritability level was pretty low till now so I need you to hear me out.  Today is March 27th, and it is 22 degrees outside with a "feels like" report of 13 degrees.

 

I call bullshit.

 

 

Now I know that isn't very debutante like of me to say (I used the italics again to make it sound less aggressive), but even my grandmother is known to drop a four letter word in such dire circumstances. I mean New York Harbor is FROZEN.  If that doesn't call for a dirty word nothing does.  Besides, I have been on such good behavior all winter!  Even with this crazy POLAR VORTEX I haven’t complained at all.  Winter comes every year, there’s no avoiding it, so I believe that we just have to put on our big girl pants (probably with long johns underneath), come to terms with the fact that there will be nothing we can do with our hair for three months, and hope to God that we can find a parka that won’t make us look like a miserable marshmallow every time we are brave enough to step outside.  I even went on an OkCupid date during one of those huge storms last month.  I was determined not to let the weather keep me from a free gin and soda or two.  After waiting in the snow for the cross town bus and then walking 10 blocks to the bar he had picked on the Upper East Side, I could see in his eyes upon my arrival the terror of having been catfished by this snow beast of a human, until I peeled off all my layers and shook out my hair.  He warmed up after that.  Too bad I was more interested in Gracie Gold’s long program for the Olympic Figure Skating team competition than I was in what he had to say.  As it turned out he wasn't all that nice of a guy.  Dating is the worst.  But I’ve already covered that two ways to Sunday so let’s finally talk about why WINTER is the worst, shall we? 

 

Winter is so unfair. Not just because it's so cold necessarily, or because it won't end... but because somehow, in spite of the cold, I seem to sweat more underneath all my layers than I do when it's so terribly hot in the summertime.  Not cute.  I become a sweaty Eskimo – a sweatskimo – with an Upper West Side studio apartment for my igloo, or at least it was for the first 2 months of winter that I lived without radiator heat.  I was never so happy to have spent a ridiculous $20.00 on thigh high socks from American Apparel as I was wearing them with a normal pair of socks, under flannel pajama pants, with a sweatshirt worn under a flannel pajama shirt, a scarf, and knit gloves, all just to sleep in.

 

I posted this to my Facebook on November 5th… it was already beginning to get cold:

 

Dear Radiator Heat,
Your presence is requested at my apartment tomorrow for tea, and I would appreciate it if you'd stay till March.  Please RSVP at your earliest convenience so that I know whether or not I need to buy more flannel.

Fondly,

Mary Lane

 

Many phone calls to my super and plenty of flannel later, the city finally got involved and that all too familiar clanking and screeching sound reminiscent of a velociraptor in heat finally kicked in and suddenly my igloo had melted and became a sauna.  Radiators are all or nothing beasts, and the velociraptor will not be silenced.

 

And don’t even get me started on the CLOTHES.  I read Vogue religiously and pine for all the winter looks on the runways.  The coats and the sweaters and the silk wool dresses worn with gorgeous suede ankle boots that will pinch my toes in the most exquisite way call out to me like sirens to Odysseus, tempting me at every page turn.  But then reality sets in.  Unless you have the budget to literally cab EVERYWHERE (and even if you do good luck finding one in this mess) these clothing choices are not realistic.  Therefore winter wardrobe is limited to the following:  Jeans or pants that can be tucked into weather proof boots, wool thermal leggings, lots of layers, and that good old marshmallow parka.  You have the option to accessorize with cute hats and scarves at least, but do so with caution, because the minute you put that hat on you kiss whatever semblance of “tame” you were able to coerce your hair into being goodbye.  It has gotten to the point where I fantasize more frequently about sundresses and platform wedge sandals than I do about Prince Harry.  And that friends is a SERIOUS problem.

 

We’re so close too, I can feel it!  Maybe... JUST maybe... if I shave my legs*, it will serve as a definitive sign to Mother Nature that winter is, indeed, OFFICIALLY over... thus allowing her to finally grant us some lovely spring weather.  Here’s hoping.  Till then stay strong friends, and cozy up with Netflix and your Seamless.com account.

 

With Grace and Good Humor,

 

 

 

 

*Mary Lane does not wish to comment at this time on whether or not this statement infers that she has yet to shave her legs all winter.

 

 

 

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My name is Mary Lane Haskell and my two "claims to fame" are that I have Dolly Parton's fax number and that Reese Witherspoon once liked a post on my Instagram.  I am an actor, a writer, and a profound Chipotle enthusiast making my way in Los Angeles while trying to stay true to my family's southern roots, all with grace and a touch a good humor.  I'm so glad you're here!

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