So.

Yesterday afternoon there were these meteorologists.

On T.V.

Getting all excited.

Again.

On account of the snow.

A big snow.

The biggest snow we’ve seen around these here parts.

In years.

Decades.

Even.

One weather dude went so far as to invoke The Blizzard of ’78 .

Followed by a Pause of Silence.

Followed, no doubt, by a Pause of Program Director Crapping His Pants.

Followed by 500,000 viewers looking across the room/table/hot tub/bar and saying to whomever: “Did he just say The Blizzard of ‘78?"

That’s some serious snowshit, peeps. The kind of snowshit that invokes the name of the grocery store, to which I drive, for which to purchase a bottle of He Said ‘The Blizzard of ‘78'.

::In case you’re not familiar with categorical drinking rituals,that would be a lovely white. Said potable is always and only purchased at sale price, so the purchaser can enjoy the comfort of an observably noble reason for having purchased alcohol on a school night, and not look quite so much like someone with a drinking problem. Which is definitely not me, seeing as how I only buy mine on sale.::

So, I get home and commence with the Anticipation of Snow Day drinking.

About 10:00 Cabana comes into the room. “Better stop that drinking. They’ll be no snow day for you.”

I turn on the news and hear for myself, from a team of shamefaced meteorolo-whores, that, well, earlier, they forgot to, um, mention that, well, the storm in question might actually be better defined as occuring in, well, two phases, with phase one pretty much including, well, no fucking snow. We were, however, warned to keep our windshield wipers on for the morning commute, on account of the pouring down rain we will likely experience, to wit.

You know how when your cat thinks she’s all the shit, because she can jump 7 feet from the counter to the couch, in one magical leap? But every once in awhile, when off her game, she misses and kerplomps to the floor? But instead of looking all embarrassed and running away in shame, she stays where she fell and starts licking her paw, all casual, as though the whole thing was just part of the show and silly you for believing for one second that this was an actual faux paw?

Well, that’s the impression I had of these 2nd shift weather eaters.

The weather is commencing as anticipated.
Any impression that the only way out of your house tomorrow would be through either a snow tunnel or medi-vac is the fault of the receiver.

Lick.
Lick.
Lick.

Of course, there was no snow day today.

This morning the local forecast was updated to say that the worst of the snowfall was going to miss us, but we could see a few inches by nightfall.

As of noon today, it’s been snowing like a Mutha Fluffa.

Lick.
Lick.
Lick.

Labels: Bag-O-Hair