White Christmas

Anyone who tells you that it snows in Missouri is lying.

Sure, it snows, but it's not real snow. The tiny wet flakes pierce your skin as they fall to the ground and dust the grass with a spilled salt look.

I have heard that it has been snowing a lot back home but I hope the Chicago skies save some of its large, fluffy flakes for me. I'll be home again in 12 days and the storyteller in me always hopes for a white Christmas.

I will never drink red again

So, I am back in CoMo. Back to my apartment, back to a queen sized bed (as opposed to the twin sized cocoon I sleep in in Western Springs) and back to college debauchery. When Laura and I returned to our William street home yesterday we were welcomed by a large splattering of fruit punch-colored vomit covering the sidewalk that we are forced to use to enter our house. How do we know it's vomit and not just fruit punch, well it ain't smooth.

To make matters worse, this morning I left my house, forgetting about the barf, and walked right onto it/slid over the frozen mess. In the real world will there be no barf to avoid when you want to come in and out of your house?