They call this SNOW?
I love it.
Not sure which I love more, the “snow,” or the fact that they actually consider this snow.
I’m from Michigan. Michigan has snow.
Charlotte, has rain that has frozen….and turned into snow.
By accident. I think.
This is called ICE. I-C-E…all y’all. This shit my kids are outside playing in is called fucking ice. And I am dying. They get all bundled up. They put on their gloves, ok…my gloves from 10 years ago, and their hats. And we found some old shovel in the garage, and they ran outside to “play” in the ice. And me, I’m such a sucker for this shiz. I grab my iPhone and start snapping pictures. I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, “LOOK AT ME, OR NO HOT CHOCOLATE!” Whatever. Like they really want the fucking hot chocolate. And the ice is already starting to melt for fucksake, it’s the South. We are in Charlotte. It will be 60 degrees by noon. But I’m thinking…Bar Mitzvah Montage. Get the pictures. I put on my Uggs, and a scarf around my neck…and I head outside on the ice. I’m yelling, and flapping my arms like a total asshole. But I am not going to miss this shot. Hell no. Not a snowball’s chance in well, Charlotte.
And you know they are laughing at me. And I can feel myself going down. I know it’s happening, yes I do. But all I can think is…please, Goddess….not my nose. Please, not my nose! Or, my iPhone. Not my nose, or my iPhone. I can handle any other pain. Or misery. But I cannot live without my phone. Or go through another rhinoplasty. OMG. Have you ever had a nose job? Really. Its like the worst plastic surgery procedure in the world. I was awake for 2 out of my 3. Ya, you read that right. I had 3. Don’t ask. I had a blind date after the second one, and took the stitches out myself. I mean, who would go on a date with a big black stitch in their nostril? NOT ME. So I took it out. Which caused me to have to have a re-do. Shit. I digress. Where was I? This “ice-day” is throwing me for a loop. I’ve played Monopoly 4 times. I have done 5 loads of laundry. And I am not wearing a bra. Oh, I’m also selling all of my clothes on Facebook. I shit you not. I am literally selling everything I own on this kick-ass new FB page my friend put together. I love it. I’m addicted, and I am making extra cash for Botox. It’s the bomb.com. The bomb dot com, y’all. Learn it.
Where was I?
Oh ya, I was falling…
Down, down….down. On my ass, on the ice…in the backyard. Which used to be grass yesterday, and oh how I wish it was today. But it’s not. Its “snow”. So, down, down…down goes Jen. And up, up…up goes my iPhone! Into the air. Into the sky…and I start shrieking, “FUUUCCCCK NOOOOO!!!” And I can see it in slo-mo, in my brain…and feels it like a movie. It would make such a great little bit! Stupid girl from the NORTH falls on her fat ass, while taking pictures of her kids on a sheet of ICE. And scene. Dumb. I should have known better. I lived 36 years in Detroit, Michigan. I was born in snow. I was raised in freezing temps. I walked to class at MSU in 2 feet of slush, uphill….barefoot, backwards…both ways! ha.How does a girl from the D fall on her ass in her own fucking backyard? On half an inch of snowish-ice? Ya, embarrassing.
My ass is bruised, and my ego, too. But the best news is my iPhone is still intact! And I have the pictures of the boys! My work is done here. I came, I saw….I fell on my ass. Guess it serves me right for making fun of my Charlotte peeps, huh? Snow, is snow. Ice is ice. And anything under 50 degrees is fucking cold. That’s right, you heard it here first…Jennifer Hurvitz has officially gone South for the winter. And the summer. And everything in between. Now, who wants to play Monopoly? ;)