Weathering The Storm

I haven't blogged in a while. Partly because in this day and age of instant Facebook status update gratification, actually taking the time to write a lengthy missive seems quaint and outdated. Partly because I have been too busy to pen such a lengthy missive. At present, I find myself grounded at home because of the massive blizzard, Nemo, that has paralyzed the region. (Since when did they start naming winter storms? And since when did they start naming crippling winter storms after Disney fish?) Under normal circumstances, the storm may have been a welcome diversion. After all, I got Friday off and I spent the day cooking, cleaning my place, catching up on leisure reading, doing laundry, and patently ignoring the Matterhorn of grading I brought home with me. Sounds good, right? Wrong. You see, I should NOT have been doing my best impersonation of Martha Stewart this weekend. What I should have been doing is molesting my girlhood-to-womanhood crush, Jon Bon Jovi. Let me explain. About three weeks ago, my sister, Lauren, called me, completely out of breath and seemingly on the verge of a breakdown. I thought she was about to tell me that somebody had died or been seriously injured. So, I braced myself to become the pillar of strength one knows one should become in the face of devastating news. I encouraged my sister to take a deep breath and tell me whatever she had to say. Eventually she recovered her breathing enough to tell me that she had won tickets to see a dress rehearsal for a Bon Jovi concert on Friday, February 8th at Mohegan Suns Casino. This was a promotional gig, open only to 500 ticket winners, of which we were two. Plans immediately went into effect. I would take a personal day for Friday. The concert would be general admission, so we would need to use our considerable height to our advantage. We'd just have to step right on or over people, causing bodily injury if necessary. We've done it before and were fully prepared to do it again. Those of you who have never seen Bon Jovi in concert may not understand our willingness to inflict injury on innocent souls. Those of you who have been within groping distance of Jon Bon Jovi's walnut-cracking ass will fully understand. (I hope there are Bon Jovi fans on a jury if my sister and I are ever charged with Jovi mayhem. We'll win acquittal for sure.) Wardrobe choices needed to be made accordingly. I bought us both small cross-body purses, and we agreed that sneakers would be our best stomping-other-bitches-to-the-ground-to-get-closest-to-the-stage sensible footwear. And because life is never easy.... Predictions of snowfall on Friday began to fill the media airwaves. At first there was passing mention of a few flakes. Then a few inches. Then a substantial snowfall. By midweek, there was talk of apocalyptic snowfall. Undeterred, we agreed to leave Boston late Thursday evening. And then reports of closed roads, shut down casinos, shuttered hotel restaurants, and roofs unable to bear the load of the girth of the anticipated snowfall arose. And so we had to back out and forego the chance of a lifetime. Skunked again.

So as I spend the weekend digging out my car and contending with gale force winds and thigh-high snow banks, I'll seek warmth in dreaming of what could have been.