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damn.

that is what I woke up to Friday morning. I was scheduled to be at work at 6, so I did my usual ‘alarm-goes-off-at-4:30-oh-god-damn-make-the-noise-stop-smack-the-snooze-for-10-minutes-roll-out-of-bed-hating-the-world-then-take-the-bloody-dogs-out’ routine. Only this time of the year its more like “put-on-jeans-boots-reasonable-sweater-heavy-ass-coat-knit-hat-gloves-scarf” then take the dogs out. Though I have to attach their leashes before I put my gloves on otherwise my poofy hands can’t get the damn things hooked.

My beagle waits at the door like a damn thoroughbred at the gates anticipating the gunshot. While I’m gathering my bearings (i.e. managing the door as well as my greyhound’s leash in the other hand) he’s doing his “imaginary treadmill” trick. I am used to this routine. I’ve got this shit down, man. I’m a pro.

This routine takes a slightly different turn when there is a foot of snow outside the door. Duke freaks out when there is snow. I mean freaks out. He responds with extreme hyperactivity to any sort of new stimuli in his environment (wind, new neighbors, groceries being brought in, my husband sneezing, barking at his own damn reflection in the fireplace…), so the whole snow thing was making my job very difficult.

My greyhound is another story. She was a racer in her early years, topping speeds of 40 mph. Now she is like a three-toed sloth on prozac. She lingers behind at a less-than-leisurely pace, just kinda lookin’ around, coming to a dead stop once in a while with this blank expression on her face. Meanwhile, her brother, despite the 15-foot limit on his retractable leash, is digging into the snow like it’s a bloody foxhole, with his big fat beagle-rump sticking up in the air. I’m just wishing they would piss and shit already so I can get my rump back in the house.

What normally takes about five minutes ended up taking twenty, so needless to say I was running a tad bit behind on my morning work-prep routine. Got the kids back in the house, put them back into bed with their father. (He gets to wake up an hour later then I, so the kids try to get a few more minutes of sleep. They have rough lives, you know…)

It was at this point that I realized I may have some vehicular issues once it was time to leave for work. I have a Jeep Cherokee, the old-school 1998 model, that is not a 4X4. It’s a wannabe Jeep Cherokee. So it’s not the prime choice when handling over a foot of snow. I also live deep within the bowels of my apartment complex, meaning that I must traverse several different driveway-style mini-roads to get to the parkway. These driveway-style mini-roads are neither shoveled not plowed. Nor will they be for some time, as our maintenance guy keeps as few hours as possible.

So I decided that before I waste any more time getting ready for work, gleeful at the possibility of having a ‘snow day’, I decide to make an attempt at getting my car out of it’s parking spot.

Problem.

The dude parked on the opposite side of my car, directly behind me, had the same idea as I. Only long before I did.

It hadn’t worked out.

Damn. Looked like I was stayin’ home.

I called work and informed them of the situation. Luckily, due to the weather, there were only four reservations that morning, thus staffing needs were minimal. The other server made it in, thanks to her living in the neighboring town, which, because of the elevation change, had virtually no snow. They’re pretty good about getting the roads cleared as soon as possible around here, so she had smooth sailing all the way in. I wasn’t too worried about it getting busy for her, since the likelihood of walk-ins was nonexistent as the latest crop of Washingtonians react to snow as if it were a nuclear apocalypse, thanks to the large amount of Californians moving up here all the damn time. (I will save the story behind Native Washingtonians’ (like myself) inherent hatred of Californians for another blog). I spent the day cozied up at home with intermittent snowball fights with the kids outside. It was good times.

Fortunately, enough of the snow had been cleared before I had to leave for the Sonics game that started at 7pm (I am a Sonics fan as long as they are not playing the Spurs), and my neighbor was able to relocate his vehicle so I could get out. Missing work: hell yeah. Missing the game: hell no.

I have my priorities.

Voulez-voulez-vous priorities.