Battle of the Snow

Whenever it snows, I’ll excitedly take a picture and text it to my mom. The part of the state where I go to school doesn’t accrue quite as much snow as I’m used to, so whenever we get a dusting of it, I’m disproportionately excited. She knows this.


More often than not, however, in response to the above picture my mom will simply text back, no words necessary:


IT’S NOT A COMPETITION, MOTHER. (Not one that I can win, anyway.) I can’t wait to go home. I’M COMING, SNOW. I have boots that are going to look really good as I trudge through snowy parking lots and spill hot chocolate on things! Don’t melt before I get there!



Last week I was bitching about a tornado. This week I’m bitching about snow.

Over the weekend, Tara came to visit. I woke up on Saturday morning, but it was cold and I didn’t think Tara was awake yet, so I just stayed in bed wrapped in my blankets like a burrito and stared out the window. It started to snow lightly, which then turned, right before my eyes, into a fully fledged whiteout snowstorm. It was at this point that I sprang out of bed, ran into the hallway, and collided with Tara, who was gesturing at the window and going, “Holy shit! I mean… wow. I think I’m going to be trapped here forever. Holy SHIT.”

My mom called last night and asked if there’s anything she needs to bring to my grandparents’ house when we meet there for Thanksgiving. I told her I need my winter coat, because after twenty years of living in a place that is prone to snow, I’m still an idiot. I’m literally walking around campus while it is fifteen degrees out wearing three jackets on top of each other.

“Okay,” she said. “So I’ll bring your white North Face jacket.”

“Mother,” I said, “we are WAY PAST the white North Face jacket. I need the gigantic black coat that makes it look like I’m walking around in a SLEEPING BAG.”

I’m wearing sunglasses everywhere even though it isn’t sunny, just to keep the wind off my face. My car door handle was frozen shut this morning. I got frostbite walking back from class because I forgot my gloves. I know this certainly sounds like bitching, but I’m actually just getting excited. Wind and snow and frostbite means WINTER IS HERE. CHRISTMAS IS COMING. I need to make some Pillsbury cookies or something!

Snow Days in April

I’m bitching about weather again, but not MY weather. That’s the important thing. It’s raining, and I am content sitting in my room and eating chocolate. No problems there.

But my hometown had a snow day today. A snow day. In April. There was too much snow for them to get an education. And this is even taking into account the fact that they’ve already had EIGHT snow days. EIGHT. So it wasn’t like the Snow Day Committee got together, shrugged, and said, “Well, we have some snow days to spare. Let’s throw ’em a bone.” No. We are generally allowed three or four snow days every year. They have now had nine. They are going to be in school until July. No, at this rate they aren’t even going to HAVE a summer break. This school year will transition seamlessly into the next.

The only reason this pisses me off is because I’m petty. When I was in high school, we did not get nine snow days. We got, like, one or two snow days, plus some questionable calls during which the superintendent did not call a snow day and people nearly died braving the blizzard on their way to school, and then all the parents complained on the school’s Facebook page.

And it’s off to the races!

Today it snowed. Big surprise. Yesterday it was sixty degrees and I was digging out the spring attire, hopeful and naive. No such luck.

It was snowing so hard that, by the time I got to the dining hall, I had decided I wasn’t leaving until it stopped snowing. Everyone else, apparently, had the same thought. I wound up staying there for two hours, doing homework and generally eating a lot of food, while the dining hall slowly filled with people. And then there was a break in the storm. “It stopped,” the girl at the next table said suddenly. And it’s not like the dining hall was deathly quiet and her voice carried for miles around, but it seemed like everyone noticed it at the same time, and there was a mad dash of people ditching their trays and bolting towards the door so that we could all travel without the burden of snow in our faces. I accidentally elbowed some dude in the face. I apologized, but he was already sprinting down the hallway with the rest of the pack.

In other news, I pre-ordered Les Mis on DVD and Blu-Ray. I’m not even sure we have a Blu-Ray player. The parents were fuzzy on this topic. I’m assuming we do. I think we do. I’ve seen something that looks like a Blu-Ray player. Alas, we shall see.

I don’t expect to ever be fully dry again.

Today it rained, and I was not thrilled about it. But I donned my boots and raincoat, and grabbed my umbrella, and I went to class like a trooper.

Sometime during the hour and a half that I was learning about fish biology, the snow began. And the snow continued. And the snow did not cease.

I need to set the scene a little. The building that my lecture hall is in contains only one hallway. On one side is the classrooms. On the other is a wall made entirely of glass. So that entire side is just a window. Now, our professor had let us out ten minutes early, so we all came bursting out of the lecture hall in high spirits. Until, of course, we caught sight of the whitewashed world of rainstorm turned blizzard, and through the sudden silence you could just barely hear a hushed voice from within the crowd: “Holy shit…”

I swear all one hundred of us—the only ones who had bothered to come to class in the first place—just stood there with our mouths open. If any of us had been the intelligent sort (you know, the kind of person who checks the weather and then dresses accordingly), this probably could’ve been avoided. But that just wasn’t us. And this was a problem. We all just milled about in the hallway for a solid five minutes, hovering, unwilling to go outside because, hell, we just weren’t dressed for it. I was dressed for rain. Sideways rain at the most.

I walked until I wasn’t even fully aware of myself as a person anymore. And now I just really want some hot soup.

Happy birthday to me

Twenty years ago to this very day, I was born and I ROSE FROM THE ASHES LIKE A PHOENIX DEMON INTENT ON CONQUERING THE WORLD.

Sorry. That’s the fun version. The real version is that I was born in the middle of a blizzard and everyone was cold and it took about four months for me to smile at my parents. I think they’ve always held a grudge.

All throughout middle and high school, there were three other guys in my grade that had the same birthday as me. And I always felt like it was a competition. None of us were friends, specifically. There was Guy 1, who was a major jock and kind of an asshole; Guy 2, who was really smart and a huge Harry Potter nerd and we probably could have been friends if not for the reason that we just weren’t; and Guy 3, who was at the forefront of the stoner clique. Now, we all knew each other, and I know we were all aware of this quadruple birthday fiasco we had going on. And it wasn’t that big a school. Guy 1 was on the football team and was friends with my brother. Guy 2 had been the object of Tara’s discreet affection since elementary school. Guy 3 had dated my friend Kathryn at one point. We all knew each other. We had exchanged words. But we weren’t friends. We never so much as delivered a “happy birthday” on each other’s Facebook walls. Because this was a competition only one could win.

I haven’t seen any of those guys in two years. Well, except for Guy 1, but that was just a quick giving of the finger when he cut me off in the Wendy’s parking lot.

So now I just share my birthday with Abe Lincoln. And Jesse Spencer. Whoo boy. *fans self*

I almost pulled a Regina George today.


So we seem to be getting some snow. Everyone’s bundling up and bumping into each other on the way to class. We are essentially amorphous blobs of winter coats waddling around campus.

Before class started, I was talking to the girl next to me about how slippery it was out there, and she said in a low voice, laughing, “Yeah, I actually saw this guy wipe out on his bike. And I don’t mean to laugh, but he did almost hit me when he zoomed by. And then he went around the corner, and I saw his tires starting to spin out, and he just went careening off the path into a bluff of snow, around the corner and out of sight.” She giggled. “I shouldn’t laugh. But I am. It was funny.”

“This is really awkward,” said this guy on the other side of the room who’d apparently but listening, “but, uh, that was me.”

By now every other conversation had screeched to a halt, bringing about this weird, tense silence like it was a standoff. We were all exchanging raised eyebrows, like, “Is this funny? Should we laugh? The longer this stretches on the weirder it gets. I’m going to let out a peel of good-natured laughter and see who follows. Come on, who’s with me?”

Finally, the girl said, “Oh,” sounding surprised and somewhat mortified, and then the silence continued, and finally she just let out this great snort of nervous laughter and said, “I am so sorry,” and then he snorted too, and suddenly everyone was laughing. It was quite merry.

And then I almost slid right into the path of an oncoming bus on my way home. It was a day full of ups and downs.