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When you have them. But when you don't have them, you are stuck digging your car out of the snow twice.

After first marching down the stairs through calf-deep snow drifts, I was then met with a very, very buried car. So. I did the logical thing. I rummaged through my car and found the first thing vaguely resembling an ice scraper. A custom burned CD some admirer sent me.

I scrape. And scrape. I clear my windshield and front windows and hop in my car. After mucking about, my shoes are now filled with snow. My coat is caked with snow. My fingers are close to frozen. As in, I cannot feel them and am having trouble wiggling them. (That's ok! You didn't need wiggly fingers, anyway!)

As I barrel in reverse towards the main road, I have a sudden realization: the low hanging branches over the parking area have now attacked my car and dumped another four inches of snow on my car. I can no longer see anything.

I stop. Get out. Re-scrape the car. Re-freeze all appendages.

I get back in car. And proceed to have a minor heart attack when I think I have gotten it stuck.

Do some fancy maneuvering that my father taught me for situations like this. Proceed to creep to work at a mere 40 mph. Mentally deliver a blistering tirade on the evils of snow. Momentarily wish that my flatmate or I had a boyfriend for situations like this.

Get to work. Slog through fifty-seven slush puddles. Soak my trousers. Fill my shoes with ice slush. Nearly fall on the ice.

I finally seat myself at my desk when some insightful male proclaims "What the hell happened to you?! You look like you just finished running a marathon through a tornado."

And that, is why neither of us have boyfriends.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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