It didn’t snow.
They told me it was going to snow. Everybody said it was going to snow. But it didn’t. It didn’t snow. And I’m not OK with that. Not in the slightest.
Well, I’m sure it snowed somewhere. I saw the news. I saw the pictures. It snowed in a lot of places. But it didn’t snow in Athens, Ga.
And don’t you feed me this bullcrap about “Well, I saw a couple of flurries! There were snowflakes on my car and on the leaves and stuff! It was pretty!” First off, if you’re seeing leaves, that’s a pretty good indicator that you didn’t see snow. Second off, that was not snow. That was a tease. It’s like those friggin teaser trailers that let you know that a trailer will come out soon. That doesn’t tell me anything! I already knew that!
If you can’t tell by now, I’m pretty ding-dang peeved by the lack of solid precipitation coagulating on slick and cold surfaces outside my apartment. And it’s not because I’m a child who wants school cancelled or wants to build a snowman or wants to run up a hill and scream “DRAGO!!!!!” at the top of my lungs. It’s because of sick and tired of being lied to.
I’ve lived it Georgia pretty much my whole life. And without fail once a year the pundits who pundit weather tell me it’s going to snow. And then we’ll get 1/16 of an inch of frost and one or two icy patches of road every couple of miles and we call it a snow day. No. That’s not a snow day. That’s just a mild inconvenience resulting from barely-above-freezing temperatures. And I don’t mean to minimize how difficult cold conditions may be for some people or how taxing living in an environment that constantly receives snowfall has to be. But this is about principles.
I’m sick of people getting all excited because it might snow. Because I don’t get excited easily. Not much makes me feel all happy. But snow does. And invariably I will buy into the hype. And that will lead me to excitedly look out my window and open my front door seven or eight times an hour looking for snow. I’m like a dog waiting for his owner to come home that runs to the door every time he hears a car on the road. But with snow. And I’m sick of it.
If it’s going to snow, tell me. If it’s not, tell me. That’s all I ask.
I know you can gather this from the rant, but I really do love cold weather. For the longest time I told people that I don’t get cold. That’s not entirely true, but it’s an easy way out of a conversation.
In reality I do get cold. I feel temperature. Not so much in my legs, but definitely in my upper body and extremities. The hard part to explain is that I like that. I like the feeling of being cold. It’s a phenomenon that I really can’t explain, but it’s kind of exhilarating to me to experience the chill of a low temperature against my exposed skin.
So Saturday night I went out with a few friends. We just hung out at a bar and talked in a booth for 90 minutes or so. Nothing special, or turnt as the cool kids say. But it was sub-freezing by the time we got there. And by the time we left it was well below and into the 20s. I was wearing shorts. And I gave my jacket to a friend who didn’t bring hers. So I was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, walking around downtown Athens. I was attracting stares like William Shatner at Comic-Con. I was attracting stares like Frank the Tank streaking across the quad. I was getting more stares than Rocky training for a fight. Yes, that’s a stare vs. stair pun.
But I came to the realization while I was taking that walk that there’s just something about being outside and cold that I truly love. It’s weird. When I’m inside I can’t stand being cold. I sleep under a thick comforter in August. But when I go outside, I prefer it to be so cold that I am shivering. Legit, I drove home that night with my windows rolled down to celebrate the temperature.
Don’t worry Mom and Dad, I didn’t drink while I was downtown. I was fine to drive.