Six to eight inches, they said. The snow should basically stop by the time the Vikings game ended, they said. WRONG!!!
This goddamn snowstorm dumped 13.6" on my hometown. (It will officially go in the books as 10.2" -- it's measured out at the airport, I think -- but the official reading is always a goddamn undercount.) And the snow only seemed to get worse Sunday, as I was heading out to work the game. When I came back, there was a layer of snow so high on top of the car that an oil company could frack the fucking thing.
And then I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) but I could only hang out for half an hour because staying there would only delay the inevitable slow slog back home. There was one ATF that I still owe a dance to; if the forecasters were right, I would've made good on getting a lapdance from her. And I just took off before the stage set of another ATF. Man, I feel so bad.
There were, what 600 crashes and/or spinouts yesterday? And the morning commute wasn't that good, either. Shit, in the evening commute people were still driving 30. I took the slow side street down to work today because the fast side street has a stretch without a stoplight, but it undulates and has some baby curves. I would be compelled to drive a little faster, and that would mean I would spin out and/or crash.
This morning on my way in the weatherman for NPR said that at the last second, the storm that was coming in late Saturday night took a sudden turn south. What was a trajectory well into Northern Minnesota instead became a direct hit right at our poor asses, and turns out central Minnesota got the worst of it. Well, that doesn't fucking help any of us, does it, NPR weather dude?
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