Suck It, Bing

This weekend, we were hit with another snow storm in Chicago. It seems like we’ve actually gotten more snow in the past few weeks in Chicago than we have the last two winters combined.

The last bigger snow storm we had, I was at the hotel for the sales conference. I was sitting on the 32nd floor, staring out at the Wrigley Building and Michigan Avenue. And it was really pretty and calming. I even ordered chili from room service and was thinking it was a perfect winter night. Until I realized that it is possible to fuck up chili and to never order chili from hotel room service ever again. How do you screw up meat, tomatoes and beans?

And I was inside. And didn’t have to go outside. And I didn’t have to drive in it. So I could actually enjoy the peacefulness and beauty of it all.

Last night, I did not enjoy the snow. In fact, I am going to go out on a limb and say that the time above was probably one of the few times in my life I enjoyed snow. Because I loathe snow.

I spent a lot of my afternoon on Saturday in the car. I had two places to be. And one was in Indiana and the other was in Wisconsin. Well, not really. But pick the suburbs right across the border of those states and that’s where I was. Most of my drive up to Wisconsin was fine. It was a bit wet, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Well, until I got off the expressway and got onto a country road in the middle of nowhere where there were no lights. And dayum it is DARK in the country. Stars, schmars. I like city lights.

So as I’m driving like an 80-year old woman because I can’t see anything because of the DARK and the snow, it starts coming down even heavier. And it’s coming right at me. It was like being stuck in that Windows screensaver with the stars. And then all of a sudden I’m hypnotized by the snow and its white fluffiness reflecting off my headlights, I end up in a damn ditch because when you drive in the snow, you don’t pay attention to each flake. You pay attention to the road, dumbass.

OK, no. I didn’t end up in a ditch. Because when you’re 80 and driving 10 miles an hour, it is really hard to do that. Or at least that’s what the ladies at the senior center tell me. Because they are 80.

As it is coming down harder and there’s more of it everywhere and the plows are nowhere to be found and if you have a fucking plow on the end of your truck, put the damn plow down on the GROUND. Do you need a damn handwritten invitation to plow the snow-filled streets? Because the white SNOW should be your first clue.

So then I just start panicking. Me and snow, we’re not friends. We have battles. Gone are the days of admiring its beauty on the 32nd floor. I will never feel that way about snow again. Snow is dead to me. And as I start panicking, I just don’t know what to do. Except drive slower. And you can drive so slow you just stop moving.

I was heading to Jenn’s house for our girls Christmas party. She lives up by my brother. Once I got to the stoplight where heading right would have been closer to my brother’s and turning left would have been more time on the road with the snow, I flipped out. Full on crazy. Because as I tried to turn out of the intersection, I got stuck. And I just sat there with my tires spinning. Because the Sentra misses California and she decided right then to revolt and NOT MOVE. Finally after promising a car wash to make her feel pretty, she made it through the intersection.

It didn’t get much better. But I finally made it. After many tears. And calls to my mother. And every swear word known to man. You did not want to be close to me then. Sadly, Jenn and her house full of guests did have to hear the venom I can spew and the atrocity that is me stressed and pissed off and for fuck’s sake I can be such a bitch. I calmed down later after a few deep breaths gallons of red wine. But not before making the entire room uncomfortable and wishing that they were sitting outside naked in the snow because that would have been a more pleasant experience.

And I do feel bad for the way I reacted. But snow is the worst. You’re completely helpless. Nissan Sentras and wet, slippery surfaces do not play nice together. And pulling over is not an option. You have to get to your destination. Otherwise you’ll end up a frozen corpse when they pull your body from your car after they dig it out from the three feet of powder packed on top of it. So that plus being in the car for like four hours for 150 miles does not a happy Kristabella make. It doesn’t excuse my behavior, but at least I chilled the fuck down after that. Wine has so many useful properties.

But as my socks are still drying out because my boots are much better utilized as paperweights than actually on my feet to keep the wet, cold snow from getting inside my shoe, I’d like to let Bing Crosby know he can take his White Christmas dream and shove it right up his ass.