SNOWPACALYPSE

As you know if you’ve read my About page or have been reading my blog for awhile, I live in Washington state. Wes, Aidan, and I call a small suburb about half an hour away from Seattle home.

As you can tell by how I referred to distance in terms of time, I’m not originally from here. I’m a California transplant, one of the most-loathed imports in this area for reasons inscrutable to me. I’ve lived here for twelve years, so I’m hardly fresh off the airplane anymore so I doubt anyone can tell I’m not a WA original.

Anyway, one of the things I’ve learned since moving here is that Washington is a state of extremes. If you have six inches of snow in a few hours one winter, you’ll probably get bupkes in terms of snow the next year. If you have one summer that’s blistering hot, with endless days sans rain or clouds, the next summer will probably be cloudy, humid, and blah.

Last year’s winter was mild, with hardly any snow worth mentioning, which means, of course, that this year was the SNOWPACALYPSE.

Snow in Washington is treacherous, which means that when it starts sticking to the roads you should probably hunker down and leave your car (or SUV) in the garage unless you absolutely have to leave.

Why? Because of HILLS! We have hills! Everywhere! Huge hills! Icy hills! Bobsled-run grade hills!

And ice! And other bad drivers (hi, fellow Californians!), and did I mention the hills that people slide off of?

It’s a mess.

Add to that a power outage thanks to snow-laden, frozen tree branches crashing down on power lines and you have a huge mess. A power outage is challenging enough as it is, but when it’s twenty-something degrees outside it can get downright perilous.

The one nice thing about the snow though? Refrigeration! Did you know that if you take all the food out of your fridge and bury it in the snow, it won’t go bad? The more you know.

Still, chilled food aside, the low outside temperatures can be a big problem. When our house’s temperature dropped down to 61 degrees after eight hours without power, Wes and I packed up Aidan and braved the mile-long drive to Wes’s parents’ house. They have two gas fireplaces that keep their place nice and toasty.

Plus, they have people to talk to there. After eight hours without power, Wes and I were starting to run out of stuff to talk about. And did you know that you can’t shoot zombies on your Wii without power? LAME!

Snow and utility woes be darned, we survived last week. Not only did we survive, we had a lot of fun. We played catch with Aidan in the snow, we played our guitar and clarinet for Aidan, and Wes gave our son his first snow driving lesson.

The biggest takeaway I got from that lesson? Don’t drive in the snow. It’s dangerous, and cars in the snow = death traps. I’m from California, you won’t convince me otherwise. I’d feel much more comfortable taking a dog sledding team to the grocery store.

I doubt the dogs would enjoy schlepping me and my groceries around, though. Too bad! I shall pay them with sirloin and all will yet be well!

Can you tell I haven’t left the house much lately?

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Addled (and not in a fun way)

I don’t do drugs.  Never have (not even the seemingly obligatory toke in college), never will, it’s just not my cup of tea.  My world is colorful and ludicrous enough without chemical enhancement, thankssomuch.

Why then, did I almost get arrested for drug possession this weekend?

Because I’m a bad driver, that’s why.  I was driving home from the grocery store on Saturday, my trunk full of food and my head full of fatigue thanks to a few sleepless nights with an inexplicably fussy baby (teething? growth spurt? the vapors?).  I was stopped at an intersection, first in line, when an ambulance came squealing up behind me.

Seeing as how I was in a position to free up the intersection so the ambulance could go through, I scooted into the intersection and pulled over to the side.  The ambulance went by in a flurry of lights, and I checked my blind spot and pulled back into traffic.

Apparently I pulled right ahead of a police officer, cutting him off and forcing him to slam on his brakes.  To my infinite chagrin, I didn’t even know he was there until he flashed his lights and pulled me over.  As I pulled over, I realized I had my cell phone in my hand, having been interrupted in the act of putting it back in my purse by the ambulance.

Uh oh.  I was fairly certain he was going to give me a ticket for texting while driving, even though I wasn’t doing anything of the sort.

He approached my window and I handed over my license.  I explained that I was wasn’t texting, he explained that that didn’t necessarily mean I wasn’t a bad driver, I agreed, and he asked for my insurance and registration.  I was driving Wes’ car, so it took me awhile to find the requested materials.

Just as I found them, someone smoking weed drove by and suddenly the officer’s asking me whether he smells something he shouldn’t.

To be honest, at first I thought he was asking whether I was flatulent.  Then, dawning horror gave way to incredulity as I sputtered something like, “No.  Um, NO!  I’m a mother!  I’m breastfeeding!  I have a baby!  I would never do drugs!”

He smirked, and replied that since it was my husband’s car, maybe he had something in there that maybe he shouldn’t.

At this point I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  On the one hand, I know my husband and I know he doesn’t do drugs, nor does he ferry them around.  On the other hand, if everyone knew their husbands as well as they thought they did, there wouldn’t be so many Lifetime movies with sad, crying wives, would there?

I assured him there were no drugs in the car, and he said he’d go run my license and that the smell had better be gone by the time he got back.  Suffice it to say, the smell was gone and he let me go with a warning to be less harebrained.

And that’s the story of how I almost got arrested for drug possession.

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My Brush With the Law

I am one very fortunate little chica.

I was leaving work last night and, in order to get home, had to make a left turn across a very busy road.  The visibility on both sides was blocked on both sides by parked cars, making my left turn very hazardous indeed.

I found a window in traffic and gunned my Kia engine for all it was worth.  I made it to the other side safely, but not without (unintentionally, obviously) cutting off a police officer.

As soon as I got to the other side I knew I was busted.  I slowed down and waited for him to flip around and come chase me with his bright whirly lights.  I pulled over and turned off my engine, waiting with my hands folded like a good law-abiding citizen.

The young officer came up to me and said, “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

I replied, “Yeah, that was a really stupid thing to do.”

He asked me why I did it, I explained the dangerous lack of visibility thanks to the parked cars, and he said he could see my point.  I handed over my license and registration and watched as he took my license back to his car.

I could just feel the ticket coming, like the early days of congestion that precede a really nasty head cold.

He came back to my car and surprised the stuffing out of me.  After handing me back my license he said that he was letting me off with just a warning, owing to my squeaky-clean record (Heh. After my car accident last year and now this, is it really all that squeaky-clean? Should I even be driving at this point? Discuss).

I drove home and, as I put distance between myself and encounter, wondered how I got off so easy.  I was clearly wearing my wedding ring, and I looked frumpilicious with my ponytail and sweatpants.  I’m not so pregnant you can tell when I’m sitting, and I was definitely not hitting on him.

How the heck did I get such a nice police officer?  Clearly I am the recipient of some serious good blessings.  Quick, touch my sleeve and then buy a lotto ticket to see if the blessings are catching!

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Lemonade From Idiocy

In what is the ultimate turning lemons into blog lemonade, I now present to you my newest work: A Tale of Two Bumpers…

It was a cloudy Seattle day. I was stopped at a red light. I thought the traffic was moving (but was distracted because I was putting my hands-free headset on. According to state law, it’s safer to drive with this stupid thing in my ear. They fail to mention that in order to abide by this law and inhabit the 21st century you either need to drive with it in your ear constantly, which makes my ear hurt, or learn how to put it in while driving, which as you can see, is neither safe nor possible. In so many words, this law sucks) but it actually wasn’t and I drove right into a stopped pick-up truck.

The end.

Today I was involved in my very first it-was-my-fault car accident. Somewhere, my mother is pulling out her baby album and writing all these details down under the section, “Baby’s very first moving vehicle violation.”

I am so fortunate because not only was the guy whose truck I hit an absolute nice guy, his truck was not damaged. As for my car, it’s not pretty. Here’s the money shot:

Kermit, my trusty Kia car, will not be winning any beauty contests any time soon.

I was able to safely drive him home only to discover, upon asking Wes why our garage smelled like celery, that the radiator is cracked and is leaking antifreeze like it’s going out of style.
Can you believe that damage? I was going less than 5mph (because I only had 2feet to travel between me and the other car) and my car looks like it was rammed into the side of a tractor by The Hulk.

Of all the accidents to have, though, this was a good one to have. No one is injured (thank goodness!), the other guy’s car is fine, and we have excellent car insurance coverage thanks to my brother in law so we’re only going to have to pay our deductible out of pocket in order to get this whole mess cleaned up.

I only wish I weren’t such a moron. That’s the thing I keep coming back to. I mean, seriously, who in the blue blazes drives straight into the back of an unmoving vehicle because they thought traffic was moving and it wasn’t and they weren’t paying attention because they were trying to put in a headset?!

Of course, Wes has been amazing throughout this whole ordeal, as has my brother in law. Honestly, everyone in this whole situation has been angelic. The only person who hasn’t been very nice to me is me. I’m mad as heck at myself. In fact, I’m not even speaking to myself.

Oh, and you know what the almost worst part of it was? Right after the accident, when we were all pulled over and I reached into my purse to grab a pen, do you know what happened? This:

My purse decided it absolutely had had enough with this nonsense and broke. The strap just flopped right off. It couldn’t have given me one moment of peace in that situation, it just needed to bust the heck out.

So, while Wes is off at the autobody place to get Kermit some reconstructive surgery, I’m going to bust out some thread and a needle. After my expensive little foray into real-life bumper car-ing I don’t think Wes will be down with the idea of letting me go shopping for a new purse anytime soon.

If you, or someone you know, has ever been involved in a car accident, injury-causing or otherwise, please share your horror story in the comments section. It’ll make me feel like a lot less of an absolute imbecile and anything that helps in that endeavor is greatly appreciated at this time.

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I got a ticket yesterday and not a cool ticket, either (like a moving violation.) A super-lame ticket: a parking ticket.

I really do think that there are gradients in the kinds of tickets you can get. For instance, concert tickets are way cooler than the little number ticket you get at the DMV…Just kidding. In all seriousness, though, doesn’t a speeding ticket seem much more appealing than a parking ticket?

When I think of someone speeding I conjure up an image of someone rocketing down the freeway in a convertible. The sun on their face, their hair in the wind, and their speed in the 80′s. When the police officer pulls them over, he acts all stern but on the inside he’s thinking that speeding in a convertible on a sunny day is a mighty fine idea indeed.

When I think of someone getting a parking ticket, I imagine some poor schmuck running late for a meeting, parking distractedly, and running into a building. A police officer notices that the car is parked illegally, snickers in a nerdy and entirely unbecoming way, and leaves the ticket. When the schmuck sees the ticket, he hurls his briefcase to the ground and sobs inconsolably.

Do you see? There are very definite gradients of cool on the ticket hierarchy.

Questions of coolness aside, I did get a parking ticket. It was a really dumb error: I parked in front of a fire hydrant. Yup, there’s nothing cool about that. When you consider the fact that the hydrant was painted green, settled in the depths of some green bushes, and behind a grey curb, you understand how I could have missed it.

I am now the proud recipient of a $38 ticket for essentially being a moron. I have requested a mitigation hearing and hopefully the magistrate will take pity on my poor first-time-offender’s head. I’ll let you know how that goes.

In the meantime, I’m thinking seriously about reviving the brightly colored fire hydrant. Honestly, what chance do firemen have if we’re hiding our hydrants with camoflage and discreet shrubbery? Someone has to speak up for our men and women in yellow!

I say we go whole-hog and paint the fire hydrants yellow and the curbs in front of them red. Sure, it will look like an elementary school-kid vomited his finger-painting project all over suburbia but I think it will greatly decrease the number of camoflage-related parking violations around the country. Really, wouldn’t that be worth it?

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