The Super Bowl and the Snowpocalypse

Two questions:

1. Do you live in a section of the country where you’re imminently awaiting the snowpocalypse? [FYI - A snowpocalypse, as defined by BonBons, is a panic-inducing monstrous snowstorm where you'll find yourself watching far too much of the Weather Channel, even though you can witness the real weather right outside your window].

OK.  Next question….

2. Are you planning on throwing a Super Bowl party on Sunday?

If you answered yes to both #1 and #2, then I am worried for you.  Specifically, I have concerns regarding the success of your Super Bowl party.  In fact, I can see your future and it doesn’t involve 7-layer dip, buffalo wings and beer.  Instead, your party spread will feature stale saltines and concentrated orange juice.  Saltines and OJ?  I’m fairly certain this meal would starve and disappoint any Saints fan, Colts fan and/or anyone looking forward to somewhat acceptable Super Bowl food.

But wait!  There’s still time to salvage your party before you find yourself buried in twelve feet of snow!  Get up.  Put on your jacket.  Grab your wallet.  Go to the grocery store.  Buy chips.  Buy salsa.  Actually, since the prior planners of the world probably ravaged the store last night, just buy whatever remains on the shelves.  Then buy toilet paper and beer solely so you can add to the cliché of frantic snowstorm shoppers.

If you find yourself too tired/lazy/busy with your 9-5 to go Super Bowl snowstorm shopping then, I beg you, just buy macaroni and cheese.  It will make all the difference.  Plus, you can add those stale saltines to the delicacy.  Simply tell your guests that the meal is “recession chique. “

Whether you go Super Bowl shopping or not, the good news is you won’t have to stress over what to serve for sweets.  Just step outside and get your free dessert.  Snow cones, anyone?

Punxsutawney Phil Party

Tuesday is the day when Punxsutawney Phil’s shadow will decide our seasonal destiny.  What – did you forget about Groundhog Day? Winter, spring, winter, spring. What’ll it be, oh mighty groundhog? I’m putting my betting chips on an early spring. Did you hear me, Phil? I said spring!  Sionara, winter!

Since we’re on the subject of February 2nd, I’d like to propose a brilliant idea. Drumroll, please……Ahem. I hereby announce the grand plan to lobby for the popularization of Groundhog Day parties. Super Bowl parties are so out. Groundhog Day parties are totally 2010. Now who’s with me?! Anybody? Somebody? Nobody? I think I’m hearing crickets.

OK. Fine. I can take a hint. Let’s revise this plan. Take two. I  hereby have an amendment to my official Groundhog Day party announcement. You don’t actually have to abandon your dear Super Bowl parties.  Super Bowl and Groundhog Day can live in harmony because there’s room for everyone when it comes to February party time. Warning – get out your notebooks because I’m about to get all Martha Stewart on you. Now lets get to the fun part of Groundhog Day party planning. I’m not talking just chips and dip, either. There are themes to think about:

Activity: I vote for “Pin the Shadow on Punxsutawney Phil.” If you can’t find this game at a party store then just make do with “Pin the Tail on the Donkey.” Donkeys…groundhogs….who can really tell the difference, anyhow? If this doesn’t appeal to you, then try a reenactment. Go find yourself a groundhog, put a top hat on your head and raise the Phil impersonator high in the air. That’s easy enough, right?

Movie: Go grab a copy of Groundhog Day. If you can’t find one, contact Bill Murray. I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to help.  I’ve heard a rumor you can track him down by dialing 1-800-BILL-MURRAY. Who knows – maybe he’ll even come to your party.

Food: There are a few options here.  My first idea is for you to make a groundhog-shaped cake.  If you have trouble finding a groundhog-shaped cake pan, you could alternatively contribute Pennsylvania-themed snacks such as Hershey’s Chocolates, Utz Pretzels or even a good old Philly Cheesesteak.  Come to think of it, I’m sure you could even get away with serving Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.  Ben & Jerry received their ice cream degrees from Penn State, after all, so Phil would approve.

There you have it, party planners.  3 – 2 – 1 – Go! You now have four days to put this plan into action. Godspeed, good luck and don’t forget to think springy thoughts.

Oh Glasses, Where Art Thou?

I’m a long-suffering member of the nearsighted club and, until I lost my glasses last week, it had never dawned on me that I should actually become president of said club.  Sara: Prez of the Nearsights. Sounds good to me.

Back to the problem.  My glasses have escaped me.  They have gone into hiding.  They have joined the ranks of the missing solo socks from the laundry room.  In addition to the concern of not being able to see anything beyond 30 inches, here’s my beef with the glasses going all MIA on me:

1) No TV Allowed:  Unless I sit directly in front of the tube, watching TV has become problematic.  Need proof?  Last week, I was scrolling through the listings on the DVR while attempting to read the TV show names.  I spoke aloud to whomever would listen: “Does that say Married with Children?”  No.  It wasn’t even close to married with children.  San glasses, I somehow converted the word “Kendra” into “Married with Children.”  If I’m mistaking a 1990’s sitcom with a 2009 reality show, then I’ve got bigger issues than the missing specs.

2) Marco…..Polo:  Why won’t they call back to me?!  “Glasses, glasses, I know I never clean you and you’re old and achy but come back to Mama!”  If only they had some type of remote control function with an alarm and flashing lights.  Furthermore, the problem with searching for your own lost glasses is quite obvious.  You.  Can’t.  See.  I’ve looked like a zombie, sticking my arms out straight in front of me, while feeling my way around the house for anything resembling my dear departed frames.  “Sharp knife, are you my glasses?  Power cord, what about you?  Nutri-Grain bar, can you help me see?”  No.  Nyet.  Non.

3) Vision Vanity: Inevitably, one who loses their glasses is left with a decision.  Option A: Walk around blind – OR – Option B: Wear the old glasses.  Gasp!  Did you hear me?!  The OLD glasses.  I’m talking about the glasses from 8th grade and, may I remind you, nothing from 8th grade should be repeated as an adult.  Needless to say, I’m sure you can guess my decision.  Call me vain but, I assure you, you would rather walk around blind than wear glasses from the Blossom Russo days.

Since I can’t bear to leave you in suspense, there has been a semi-happy conclusion to the saga of the AWOL glasses.  They are called contacts.  I know, I know, I’m behind the times.  Maybe by 2020 I’ll learn what the word “LASIK” means but, in the meanwhile, I can’t help but continue to wonder: “Oh Glasses, Where Art Though?”