Go back to Arendelle, Elsa

I'M ALIVE!!

It's been busy over in Craplandia between work, theater and :cough: playing Skyrim and Minecraft :cough cough: There is a special St. Patrick's Day cartoon I have had in the works since Christmas. Yay for something to look forward to in March! As for Valentine's Day, I am going to just post last year's story. It involves teenage woe and regret. 

In other news, the north is getting buried. Here is my personal experience in the battlefields of Ice Planet Hell. It will be in the form of words and maybe some pictures should my descriptions inspire me to illustrate.

After a wondrous dream of starring in a movie with Jessica Lange and Meryl Streep where they were trying to food poison each other at a fancy restaurant, I awoke to a deep, deep feeling of dread. The walls were a shade darker. It was chilly. Quiet. I believe the sound decibels dropped almost as low as the temperature, if that is an accurate comparison in measurements. Really, I'm just trying to sound clever.

I sprang from my bed to relieve the looming gloom and worry. What do I discover? A world of blinding white beyond the shelter of my balcony. And the first crystal clear thoughts to enter my brain were all but swearwords. One in particular began with an "F" and ended with "Me".

Hey Elsa, yeah hi. Tea time with Snow Miser and Jack Frost is over. Leave us alone!

I dashed to my phone to check my emails for any cancellations at my theater where I instruct a stagecraft class. No notifications. No voicemails. No posts on their website about the weather. So I dawned my best winter garb and bravely braved the storm no sane man dared to step into.

I wish I had a hat like that.

I dug out my poor little car and surfed across the yet-to-be-plowed lot and out into the chaos. My vehicle squealed and begged for me to please turn back, but I could not. I gave it a quick pat on the dashboard and said, "We are in this together, noble steed. I have faith in you."

My car felt more like Beyonce's "surfboart". (Not in like the sexual way but I was definitely swerving on that big body they call a highway. Swerve, surfing all that and it was not good good.)

I arrived at the theater and that is when all F's for the day were depleted from the pantry of F's to give. I developed Louis C.K. Syndrome. Symptoms include misery, sheer hatred for all your fellow men, and exhaustion. Why is that? The damn place was closed.

My hand lingers on the hood of my car. I hang my head low and tell my valiant mechanical steed, "Our fearful trip was all for not. A thousand apologies to you, car."

State of the roads at this point: OFF. They no longer existed. Courtesy to fellow drivers also fell to the way side. Example:

Imma 'splain what's happening here.

There was a mound of sand and slush between the lanes. So when one tries to change lanes, they tend to spray up some of said sand and slush.

While everyone else was doing about 40-50, here comes Mr. Douchey McDoucherson flying down the roads at least 70mph and gets stuck behind a normal safe person in his lane. He decides "Hey, this yellow car left a big gap for me, I'm going to swerve in and out of traffic!"

I am greeted with a wave of shit. My wipers decide to say, "Screw this" and smear it across the windshield. I continued the rest of my trip in a frosty, shitty blur until the next exit where I pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store to scrape it clear.

Hey Mr. Douchey McDoucherson, do you know why there was such a gap between me and the large truck spitting sand all down the lane? Because he was sanding the damn-ass roads so we could actually find the dashed lines separating the lanes. Hence I was avoiding his shit spray.

As I recall this incident, my words devolve into creative swears and thoughtless prose.

There was also a woman, on her phone (like a toolbag), who had the nerve to honk at me as she tried to blow through her red light while I slowly and carefully drove through my green light. How awful of me to obey the rules of the road. Who am I to perform such actions? A pox on my household! I am sorry Debbie, Rogue Phone Talking Harlot of the North, not only was I not informed that the theater was closed, I also did not get the memo that it was Anarchy Thursday.

And then... a miracle. My manager at my other job called and informed me not to bother coming in for my shift. And for a split second within the wind howling across the lack of roads, I swore I heard a choir exclaim "Hallelujah". Only for a second. Then it reverted back to the bombast verses of "O Fortuna" from Carmina Burana.

I made one last stop before returning to my home. The beautiful, wonderful liquor store. Their lot was plowed and flat. The salt crunched under my boots as I stepped onto their shoveled sidewalk. I purchased a case of beer and I was happy.

Oh car, my car, our fearful trip is done.

The snow had weathered every tire.

The prize we sought is won.

I end this tale with this picture.