Oh January... Won't You Ever Stop Being a Be-Yatch?
... and give me back my traker, dammit!
Okay, so today In-AccuWeather finally got it right. Boy did they ever! Armageddon struck late last night and continued on... well, it's still continuing as I write this around 5:15pm EST. What the eff??@!#*!?
It started snowing last night. No biggie. But this morning it was 28 flippin' degrees and it was POURING outside.
Rain. Seriously. RAIN.
How can it rain at 28 degrees? How is that even possible. In the meantime, there was at least an inch or so of ice on everything... sidewalks, trees, bushes, neighbors' dogs, leftover creepy Santas, Dick Cheney's discarded soul...
Being the smart sh*t I am, I stretched on my Yak Trakers (the absolutely, most wonderful rubber-and-metal-spiral thingie ever made to help us less than graceful types stay upright and mobile on ice) over my fabulous Lands End snow shoes and scaled up Mt. McBiltmore to the trolley.
Wrestling with the hundred pound suitcase I call "my bag" and the umbrella (did I mention it was raining, in like biblical proportion?) I managed to maneuver down the lesser mountain path to the train. Wherein I noticed I had lost one of my Trakers!?! These things are so tight on a shoe it's like you need a frelling crowbar to get them on and off. How the hell did it get sucked off my shoe?! Frake!
It continued to rain all morning until afternoon, when the precip (settle down...I know weather jargon makes you all hot and frisky) turned to snow. So to recap... pouring rain at 28 degrees... snow at 34 degrees.
That's messed up, Dude. I don't get it. I think the globe has tilted backwards on its axis, because that ain't right.
Lucky for me I walked today because the roads were still treacherous. Even in my one Yak Traker--yes, I'm a dork and wore the one Traker--I made it up the hill when this poor slob couldn't. I feel your pain, Bub.
Alright... I'll concede it is pretty, especially now that I'm inside.
But January's just been a bitter, old, nasty-assed, surly, seismically sadistic Bee-Yatch of a month. It needs to stop snapping my butt with its cold, icy towel and make room for February.
And if that little, good-for-nothing-but-road-kill-stew critter, Phil sees his shadow...