I Want To Be A Snow Bird When I Grow Up

or I think Old Man Winter just grabbed my ass?!

Okay so, every year my work buds, Beets, Jude, Suzette and I trek up to the outlet shops about one hour or so North of here to lunch and shop for Christmas. The funny thing is one of us will see something we like and the other will like it too, so we buy it for each other. Right there. In front of each other. We dutifully take the "surprise" gift home, wrap it and exchange it at the Christmas luncheon. Silly, yes. But it's what girls do. 

Anywho, we always end up in the Mecca of gutchie stores, Jockey. There's always some sort of sale in which we have to pull all of our purchases together to take advantage of the discount. Plus we are highly entertained by the men's section displays. Seriously. The photos are outrageously...endowed. 

These boys are packing some major heat. (salutes ...Major Heat-ala How I Met Your Mother) It's like they've got armadillos in their briefs. There was one display that had four styles of briefs, one of which was called the "Paco". I kid you not. Paco. So naturally, our phrase of the day became, "How's your 'taco', Paco?" Yeah, okay you probably had to be there, but trust me it was hilarious. Another girl thang. But I digress...

So I drop off Suzette and realize we were charged for some other chippies gutchie supply. I call them, explain the situation but have to drive all the way back up the next day to have my unmentionables sorted out, so to speak. No big whoop. 

So I drag my sorry ass out of bed at bloody 7am--I'm on vacation mind you--drive up North in record speed, singing (badly) to Old 97's the entire way. (That's my not-so-secret passion...singing loudly in the car. It's like the verbal equivalent of Elaine Benis dancing. I'm sure I look like I'm having a seizure.) Ten minutes later I'm back in the car heading South to pick up Suzette for another round of shopping at Macy's.  

Three hours later, with many gifts in hand including a fabulous Pea coat and shirt bought for each other (again with the girl gift thing--it's an illness in need of a twelve-step program), the weather had turned decidedly unpleasant. The roads were covered with snow that didn't seem too ominous until my ride home.  I passed three tow trucks cleaning up accident messes. 

What the ef?! Did Armageddon strike while we were buying baubles? It really didn't look that bad. Until I got to our hill. 

We live at the bottom of a steep hill. I'm talking like 60 degrees. Okay it's not, but it certainly seems so especially in bad weather. There is absolutely no way around it. You have to go straight up to get out, and straight down to get in. (that's what she said)  There was a Cadillac in front of me on the descent. I stopped near the top to allow further distance between us, you know,  just in case. I threw the car in the lowest gear and started down. Next thing I know I'm starting to slide. Now I live in Urban Suburbia which means roads are tight and there are always cars parked on one side of the street. 

Holy crap! I was not stopping or slowing down. 

Stupid Stupid Ice!! The only course of action was the curb.

BANG!!

Poor Rita. (Yes, we name our cars.) We limped around the corner into the driveway. I fully expected to see a trail of car blood trickling from her front tire teeth. Fortunately there was no visible damage, but one thing was abundantly clear. 

My tires SUCK!! 

Now I have to spend all of Monday at the tire store dropping several hundred bucks we don't have. Joy. It's only December 7th, for ef's sake. *sigh*  Well, at least I'll be able to finish my book.

Seriously, I am totally going to be  a crazy-asssed Northern Snow Bird when I grow up. Screw this weather.

(Rhett Miller Concert Countdown: 5 days!!)