Musing on a Friday

Weakness

I'll just say it and get it over with. I'm so weak. I caved in. I'm not talking about the pizza. Or the cookies. Or the Pad Thai at Noodles. I'm talking about MySpace. I caved to peer pressure to open a MySpace account. I don't know yet if I'm a Snickers Bar or which muppet I'm most like ... I may never know these things (or share them with you if I find out) ... but somewhere in the cyberspace of MySpace ... is me.

Will it never end?!?

The snow. The ice. The cold. The car stuck in a gutter somewhere ... it never ends. My poor little car has gotten stuck in snow/slush/ice at least four times this winter, and that's with the good tires. One o'clock this morning was almost the straw that broke the camel's back. I almost packed in the kitty litter and windshield de-icer and headed off to crash on my cousin's sofa in Dallas until July is here and the possibility of snow in this God-forsaken stretch of land has passed.

Dad posted photos from Gillette, though, and whatever inspired my griping is nothing compared to the six- and seven-foot drifts that covered both cars in their driveway this morning. "I almost gave myself another heart attack shoveling the driveway this morning," he told me. Considering that the ambulance likely wouldn't be able to reach the house this time, I told him to pack it in and call it a day ...

In other weather-related news, some place in the Wind River area got 58 inches of snow from this one system. How do you measure 58 inches of snow, I asked, because I'm curious about such things. It was suggested that we drop Barb (one of our former photgraphers, one of the shortest people I've ever personally known) in the drift, and if it reaches the top of her head, it's about 58 inches, which led me to wonder if, along with "snain," I could propose to the world a new word and a new unit of measurement: The Barb. How much snow did we get? About half a Barb. Maybe a bit less than half a Barb.

Mission accomplished ... sort of ...

Operation: Rescue Mom from Denver, Phase I was finally completed today, after being delayed a day. The day began with a pot of coffee and a quick call to WYDOT; the trip (but not the day), ended with Yours Truly being pulled over for speeding, five miles outside of Laramie. I think I flirted a bit, though (trust me -- this guy was worth flirting with), and I have a warning instead of a ticket ... The seven-hour trip overall wasn't too bad, but during my change of roads in Cheyenne this morning, the Flying J was out of coffee ... which could have spoiled the whole day. But I persevered. I'm tough like that. Plus, Mom and I got to eat at Noodles in Fort Collins, which has somehow put a gloss over the rest of the day ... that and the Starbucks that is fueling my body right now ... God bless the near-omnipresence of the soulless Starbucks; there are three that I can find with relative ease in Fort Collins, even in a sleep-deprived haze.

Phase II of the mission to rescue Mom back to Gillette will have to wait until tomorrow, when the roads out of Gillette will (hopefully) be deemed passable and Dad can skedaddle from the power plant to Laramie. He'll have fine company in all the other people headed to Cowgirl Central for the game tomorrow afternoon ... but, alas, he has refused to go to the game. Says he'll be tired or something after working a 12-hour shift and then trekking down here ... wimp.

Though Colorado got hit with the southern portion of the same system that blanketed Wyoming Wednesday and Thursday, there was no snow on the ground to show for it. A few overturned cars ... but it was green and beautiful, with low clouds turning the Rocky Mountains to mere shadows in the West ... it was one of the most perfectly beautiful days I've seen in a long time ... until I got pulled over ...

I've said it before ...

And I'll say it again. I'll shout it tomorrow 'til I lose my voice, along with the rest of Laramie. Go Cowgirls! If you encounter someone in the next few days who is minus a voice they either a) lost it screaming hysterically, along with 15,000 of their new best friends, at the AA, or b) have strep throat, and you should stay as far away from them as possible.

But all of you should be wearing brown and gold tomorrow and either filling the stands or tuning in on the radio or on Fox Sports. Face-painting is encouraged. Belly-painting ... maybe not so much. Depends on your belly, I guess. Loud cheering, erratic dancing and spontaneous high-fives are mandatory. And I've already discussed what is deemed proper Barrel Boy attire.