A Disruptive Snow Event

Here we are, bracing for yet another "disruptive snow event" in this the winter of our discontent. I can't help but notice a little trend here. The weather forecast is for no snow to a dusting and we get 6 inches. Now they are calling for 1 to 4 feet for the weekend. What do you suppose the chances are that we'll get off easy with an inch or two? Yeah.....slim to none. It seems that they are only wrong in one direction. Gone are the good old days where they used to look like idiots for estimating large snowfall amounts only to be met with a dusting or less. People were pissed off because they stormed the grocery store and cleaned out every loaf of bread and roll of toilet paper available....for what?! I miss those days. Now they just look like idiots for trying so hard not to look like idiots.

Speaking of idiots, what is it about snowfall that makes people want to eat a shit-load of sandwiches and spend vast amounts of time in the bathroom? I just don't get it. If the power goes out, I think I can manage to survive without a loaf of wonder white. Honestly........if I have to lay in supplies, they might look more like chips and dip, any breakfast cereal with those little marshmallows, a nice hunk of smoked Gouda and a crusty loaf of sourdough. If by some truly unfortunate turn of events I were to run out of toilet paper, I'm sure a reasonably intelligent , middle-aged woman such as myself could manage to fucking improvise.

So here's what a day looks like when I am trapped like a rat in the house with my dogs who do not understand 12 inches of snow as a deterrent. Of course, I can't sleep in because as we all know, the sleep fairy is a sadistic bitch and only wants to come on workdays. It's 6:00 a.m. and it's snowing and I'm up. The dogs are jumping and piping at any movement that may signal a walk at the ponds. Nickolai will want to go out and just get snowed on. He will lay outside on the top step trying to look regal and authoritative as snow piles up on his ridiculous head.

All of the things I should do, I won't do. Instead, I'll find myself watching the great Texas barbecue cook off and wondering how long it's been since the guy with a smoker shaped like a six-shooter has had any intimate female companionship. I'll complain because every movie on is either an old western or one of the Matrix movies, and as we all know by now, something always goes wrong with the plasma screen when Keanu Reeves comes on, necessitating yet another foray in to remote control land which usually ends badly. I'll pick up a trashy romance novel but will put it down again because I find myself envisioning Mr barbecue six-shooter as the hero, ripping bodices in between dry rubs and indirect apple wood smoke. I'll sigh and look out the window to see how much snow has accumulated on Nickolai.

It's usually later in the afternoon, when the dogs have realized that we are not going walkies unless they want to harness up to the old sled and take me out, that I finally manage to sit at the easel and get some painting done that I can feel good about. By then it's time to engage phase one shoveling: The storm is half over and the dogs have taken their place in the window to watch the snow accumulate on my ridiculous head.

Welcome to my world