The Blizzard of Aught Seven

Once, 29 years ago, Cleveland was hit with a blizzard, commonly known as The Blizzard of '78, that people still talk about to this day. I, being young and vibrant, was not alive then, but have heard much of its fury and anguish.

But let me just say, that blizzard was probably pansy-esque compared to this.

After finally being released from work today at 4:30, it took me three hours to complete the normally 30-minute drive home, including an unscheduled and most unwelcome stop at a BP to chisel free my windshield wipers from their awkwardly-frozen ice prison, which caused them to seize up and completely stop functioning about ten miles from home. Finally, after prizing them free ("THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT, MOTHER FUCKER!" was, I believe, the exact phrase I used once they finally began moving again-- Ashley can corroborate this, as she was on the phone with me at the time-- on my hands free, of course, as I do not have a death wish), Ben came and rescued me, and I followed him the rest of the way home.

I would like to thank the manufacturers of my intensely oversophisticated ice scraper and the makers of Orbit Mint Mojito gum (it really tastes like an alcoholic beverage!) for helping me survive this ordeal.

In the meantime, I thought it would be prudent to announce, for those of you who don't know, that I WILL BE IN WILMINGTON THIS WEEKEND, and expect to see all my Wilmingtonian friends while I'm there. Please tell me the temperature is about 18 degrees, and I will be able to get the car wash I so desperately, desperately need.