Holy crap, yall, it's a freaking blizzard! I just attempted to get to my friend's house for a party despite the fact that the snow is already above my ankles and still falling fast. No matter! I'm intrepid! So I strapped on my hikers, bundled up and headed for the bus. However, after tramping through the snow, flailing wildly at a bus to get it to wait for me, climbing on said bus only to realize it's the wrong bus and shamefacedly shuffling off at the next stop, I decided that perhaps this party was not meant to be for me tonight and headed home.

Remember that scene in Laura Ingall Wilder's The Long Winter, where she and some of her schoolmates are lost in the blizzard, trying to make it home with snow whirling around them, worried that they might not survive the night? That's how I felt as I plodded up the hills back to my apartment, except I didn't think I was going to die and I had a bottle of wine and nachos waiting for me instead of, like, journeybread and hash. As an added bonus, some guys catcalled me as I waited to cross the street (as I'm sure I was looking super-hot in my giant red puffy coat and hat pulled down over my forehead) and ten yards later they were pushing their car up a snow-covered hill. Eat karma, suckas!

I'm actually not terribly upset about this meterological downturn after last week's 40-degree, one-pair-of-pants weather, because it's kind of fun to see Wisconsin freak out about snow. As long as the cold doesn't last as long as before, because I was really starting to lose it.