Seeing as that I have a warped perception of reality, and I’m now paranoid that “everyone” in the whole world thinks I’m passionate about the fact that “true leaders” should make “unpopular decisions” to “protect the public’s safety,” I decided to go to hot yoga tonight. (Actually, I don’t care about any of that stuff — I’m more worried that I won’t be able to find a new roommate by February 1.)
Anyway, hot yoga is super-relaxing in a very sweaty, dizzying, you-can’t-summon-the-strength-to-bother-thinking-about-your-problems kind of way. Plus, they’re always playing such worldly music in there — it’s kind of a cultural experience.
So, yeah. I went to hot yoga because I needed to decompress after a long week of playing catch-up and also slipping and nearly falling on my face in Wal-Mart today (for no reason). The class was really crowded, so my friend T and I ended up in the back corner, right up against the wall, which I thought was a great spot… Until ass-crack dude sat down in front of me.
WTF? How do you roll into yoga in white board shorts? This dude is just sitting on his yoga mat, three feet in front of our faces, with the worst plumber’s crack I have ever seen. I seriously thought I wasn’t going to be able to stop laughing. I had to literally close my eyes every time I was supposed to look forward, so that I wasn’t staring straight into this dude’s butt.
The best part? He was wearing a U.S. Navy t-shirt. Way to represent the military, dude. You are too cool.
To top it off, he was there with his girlfriend, whose ass crack also started showing halfway through the class. OMG ASS CRACKS. It was ridiculous. And pretty gross.
This crazy trip has got me feelin’: silly
And I’m singin’ along to:: Rain King – Counting Crows
Dear Governor Ed Rendell,
You’re an idiot. Was it just that you had nothing else you could possibly do other than watch football on Sunday night? Sounds like you’ve scaled your social life to about the same level as my neighbor who rifles through trash bags on Tuesday afternoons.
As an elected public official, I would think that the safety of the general public would at least cross your mind before you start calling your country a “nation of wusses” and comparing us to the Chinese, who, according to you, can march to football games in blizzard conditions while doing calculus. (Note: Marching because if they can concentrate on sports and calculus at the same time, then I’m assuming they’re smart enough not to drive in white-out conditions.)
The thing is, Ed, we’re not a nation of wusses. We’re a nation of fearless, bumbling morons in pickup trucks who like to drink beer, go shirtless in the freezing cold for football, and drive in f-ing blizzards. So, people like the mature, intelligent mayor of Philadelphia are forced to make unpopular decisions because if given the choice between staying home or driving to a game in the snow, nine times out of ten the “fans’ choice” (as you put it) would be the wrong one. And by getting on the road in a blizzard, those fans would be putting everyone else in danger.
Granted, a majority of the snow didn’t fall in Philadelphia (only a foot!), but everywhere east of there was pretty much pummeled. The Eagles are cool enough to have fans in New York and New Jersey, right? Or maybe even Delaware? There’s nothing going on in that state, so you’ve got to have some fans down there.
My point is this. One of the contributing factors to the lack of plowing going on around here is that there are abandoned cars blocking all of the major roadways. Plows, ambulances, fire trucks, emergency vehicles have been unable to navigate their way to where they need to be for going on 48 hours now, but people are still getting in their cars to drive around, and people are still getting stuck in some places. Do you see the problem?
Think before you talk, Governor. If the mayor of Philadelphia was able to keep even 5,000 measly people off the road on Sunday night, he did the right thing.
To the Eagles and their fans, I’m sorry that Tuesday’s game was a disappointment and you lost, but seriously? I don’t think you wanted to play/attend that game in that snow either. Right?
Anyway, to sum things up, I’m pretty much glad I don’t live in Pennsylvania because I’d be super embarrassed to have my state name associated with yours these last few days. (Also because you have no beach there.) Maybe you should drive your car out onto the PA Turnpike, pull over onto the shoulder, and sit in it for two days. Then you might understand the importance of not driving in snow. (And also how crappy that dumb road is.)
Good luck recovering from this fumble.
A snowed in former resident of your neighboring state of New Jersey whose dad and brother spent 7.5 hours stuck on the side of the road in a car trying to get home from the NJ Devils game, which also should have been cancelled
This was the view out my window when I woke up yesterday morning. Um. Yeah.
Hold on, let me back up. On Sunday night, my dad and my brother took a train to the…wait. Further than that.
One of the gifts my mom gave my dad and my brother for Christmas was a
night stuck in a snow drift near Monmouth University pair of Devils tickets for Sunday night. As the predicted 10 inches (that’s nothing up here!) of snow began to pile up Sunday evening, they drove five minutes up the road to the train station and headed up to the game. I was reading a magazine when they left, but the last thing I heard Stephen say was, “I’m 25, and I care what my hair looks like! I’m not wearing a hat!” Um, okay.
The first plow came through our neighborhood around 8:30 that night, and as the hockey game drew to a close on TV, my mom headed out in the blizzard to shovel a path up the driveway for my dad and my brother to get in. I guess that’s when she noticed there was about two feet of snow in the road. In. The. Road.
We tried to call them and tell them to find someplace to stay in Newark, but they responded with something along the lines of, “We’re two grown men. We can figure it out.” Click.
If you haven’t grasped this by now, it doesn’t matter what kind of car you’re driving, whether it be a Hummer or a front loader — you cannot drive through two feet of snow.
So, they got stuck. They got off the train around midnight, and by 2:00 a.m., they called to let us know that they were stuck with a bunch of other cars near Monmouth University. “We’ve got a full tank of gas and heat, so we’re going to wait it out,” Stephen said.
“Tell them to keep both tailpipes clear,” my mom said.
“Mommy says keep both tailpipes clear, so you don’t die of carbon monoxide poisoning,” I said.
“Okay, but my phone is dying, so stop calling me.”
By this point, I hope you’ve already learned three things:
1. Don’t drive in the snow if you don’t need to. Ten inches can turn into 30 pretty quickly.
2. If you do get stuck in the snow, crack a window and check the tailpipe.
3. Who the f— leaves the house in a blizzard with a dead phone? Don’t do that either.
Anyway. So, back to the photo up top there. That’s what I woke up to around 7:00 a.m. on Monday. Still hadn’t heard from my dad and Stephen, so we were getting a little worried. We waited around watching the news until about 9:30. Stuff about abandoned cars on the Parkway, busses stuck, people stranded on airplanes and subway trains, women giving birth in SUVs…the works.
Then the phone rang. “OPEN THE BACK DOOR!” It was Stephen.
He had somehow managed to work his way through a quarter mile of waist-high snow to walk home. WTF?
Apparently, they were towed from where they were stuck because they were in the way of an ambulance. They managed to get the car to the West Long Branch fire station, where my dad stayed with my car, and my brother decided to make a break for it.
My mom opened the back door. “Holy sh*t,” I said. “That is f-ing deep.”
“You have to go around the front, Stephen,” my mom yelled to him.
“I can’t! I’m exhausted. Call daddy, and tell him not to try to walk here. He’ll never make it!”
No, seriously. We had to f-ing dig him out. Like we had to bundle up and use shovels to dig ourselves out of the garage and around the side of the house out to the pool to make a path for him to get into the house. No joke.
Anyway, so Stephen got home. My dad, on the other hand, had to stay with the car in case the fire station got a call, at which point he would need to move it out of the way to make room for the trucks to get out.
We hung around the house all day, eating all kinds of junk food, playing Wii games like Boggle, Sorry and Yahtzee, taking naps, shopping online, and various other boring things that people do when they’re stuck in a blizzard. I can say it was still a blizzard on Monday afternoon because
The Weather Channel said so the wind gusts were still exceeding 40 MPH, so even though the snow wasn’t falling, it sure didn’t look very pleasant outside.
By 3:30, we were bored out of our minds and feeling a little bad for my dad, who was still stuck at the firehouse. We hadn’t seen or heard a plow all day, and we figured he’d be spending the night there. We decided to take action and hatched a plan to bring him some supplies and food. We packed up some overnight essentials (toothbrush, pajama pants, slippers) and luxuries (blanket, meatballs, A Salty Piece of Land by Jimmy Buffett) and got ready to shovel.
You can see the flags flying at the firehouse from our window. See them?
The problem is that a very high fence runs all along the side of this property to the road, so you have to go around. We figured we could just start digging where our path to the pool left off. Except that didn’t work out because the wind completely filled it in. So it goes.
We started shoveling.
I thought we made it pretty far, but…after about an hour, we were losing light, losing steam, and not even halfway there. Epic fail.
It was a valiant attempt, though. I mean, look at this mess.
A phone call ensued.
Lisa: “Hi. So, we tried to dig our way to the firehouse to bring you slippers and meatballs, but we didn’t make it.”
Dad: “I told you not to do that.”
Lisa: “I know, but we were pretty bored, so we figured we’d give it a shot. We at least have a really funny video for you to watch if you ever make it home, but don’t expect me to help you shovel anything tomorrow because I’m already pretty sore. Have a good night at the firehouse.”
Dad: “I will.”
I unpacked the supplies and ate one of the sandwiches I made for my dad. My brother and I watched Russell Brand in New York City and Zack Galifianakis Live at The Purple Onion, and then I went to bed.
Remember Christmas morning as a kid? You were so overcome with excitement that as soon as you woke up, you just leaped out of bed and ran for the presents? That’s what I felt like when I heard the sound of a plow outside my window this morning. (Except I was pretty sore from shoveling, so my leap was more like a hoist.)
My dad was down there, too. He managed to walk home on the road once the plow came.
I use the term “plow” quite loosely here. There was some action resembling “plowing” going on down there, but in all honesty, the guy barely made a dent. He said he’d be back by the end of the day with a front loader, and he left his snow blowers for us to borrow. (It’s 10:30 p.m. as I write this, and he’s not back yet.)
We spent the morning walking around outside saying, “Look how deep it is” and “That’s so much snow!” Broken record much?
I’m hoping to one day make it back to Virginia Beach. My Christmas long weekend has morphed into an extended week-long vacation, only I don’t feel like I’m on vacation. More like I’m grounded. And I know for a fact I’m too old to be grounded.
So, by this point, if you’re still reading this, I’m assuming you’re snowed in, too.
Good luck with that.
This crazy trip has got me feelin’: trapped
And I’m singin’ along to: Winter Wonderland – Jason Mraz
While I was doing a little research on St. Maarten last night, I stumbled upon this article about 15-year-old Laura Dekker — a Dutch sailor attempting the youngest solo sail around the world. She’s in port in St. Maarten right now! After I read the article, I found her website and blog here.
Laura set sail in her yacht, Guppy, from Gibraltar on August 21, heading south to the Canary Islands and then further to the Cape Verde Islands. She embarked on her most recent leg (the longest so far), sailing west from the Cape Verde Islands 2,200 nautical miles west across the Atlantic to St. Maarten.
What an amazing feat. I can’t imagine trying to sail around the world. Alone. At 15! That’s pretty impressive.
This crazy trip has got me feelin’: admiring
And I’m singin’ along to: Holiday from Real – Jack’s Mannequin