Snowmaggedon 2011 has done more than bring most of the country to a grinding halt. Not only has it shown that maybe Al Gore wasn’t making Pee Pants over the state of the environment just to stroke his own peen and make some sweet, crazy money on his scary as hell movie. But also it has shown that just because you may be knee deep in snow, doesn’t mean you’re knee deep in ass hats too.
So far, this blizzard has been the best thing to happen to my Lil’ Hood here since a few of the peeps who chill in the alley scored a box of perfectly good workout DVDs during an impromptu garbage pick last summer. People have just come together, no questions asked, and for no other reason than for the sake of doing it.
It makes all the cold little bees all warm and fuzzy in their frosty, bee-sicle hearts.
In the wake of the storm, here at my building, one dude began the coalition to shovel the courtyard. I think it started with just him, but it wasn’t before long that the courtyard was like Whoville, everyone all happy, shovels in hand, making merry as they did their digging thing. While I, The Grinch, was still in bed, trying to shake off the sleep hangover I had for only getting about three hours of shut eye. Staring at the purty snow out the window, and watching an all night DeGrassi marathon on TeenNick will do that to you.
I believe that is was The King of the Condo Snow Shovelers, who was responsible for building a kick ass igloo for the wee ones to chill out in. It's good for it to be there so the kiddies can keep busy while their parents attempt to rescue their cars from unbridled snow carnage. I wanted to get a pic of said igloo for you, but I was only lucky enough to admire it from afar. If I get too close, my Pug would be unstoppable to do his own kind of “chilling” out in it, and then I get one of those “shitty” letters taped to my door with a demand of funds for his $50 “dump.”
I’m getting my pun on. This amuses only me. I own it.
Besides, snow piles of any kind are like the flames and pee dogs are the moths. It’s clean, it’s pretty, and it beckons with all of its bright glory. Dogs just can’t help themselves. Just another reason why I’m a dog walking, alley dweller. But alas, another blog for another pee-tastic time.
Since I was late to the front courtyard party, and also inspired by the love, I attempted to join in the do gooding, dig out by trying to shovel the back porch so the stairs would once again look like stairs, and not a black diamond ski run, as seen here...
When I was finished with it, it was passable at best. However, I wasn’t woman enough to work my way up to the second and third floors. Not for not trying, but because other than tossing the snow over my shoulder and onto the alley below, I seriously had no fucking idea on where to put that “shit.” With my luck, I’d get one of those “shitty” notes stuck to my door about both dog and snow “dumping,” and that would’ve “bummed” me out.
Holysnowballs with these bad puns. I’m so sorry. No more Stella Artois and chocolate cherry booze candies for me. At least not until breakfast.
If there’s another round of snow, I’m setting my alarm, busting out The Barefoot Contessa recipe for blueberry muffins, and I’ll be out there, watching people shovel and build igloos while I serve up some noms. That’ll be my little contribution.
A side of honey butter with those muffins, of course.
Brrr bee!
Bootsy
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