An early Christmas present from a friend:
The week began quietly enough – I became an espresso snob, creeped the boyfriend out with my mouse catching, and attended my last formal law school class.
And then the “Minneapolis Blizzard of 2010” came.
Sigh.
The snow was so bad that the Minneapolis Metrodome collapsed. My friend Krämer moaned that Minneapolis only makes national news when something collapses, but I reminded him that we are also famous for Prince and recounts.
I completely cleared and salted my building’s sidewalks on Saturday, but everything was re-buried by Sunday morning. Apparently at least one tenant thought I that I had not shoveled at all:
Halvers wasn’t amused by the note.
Yesterday’s blizzard brought 17 inches of snow. Shoveling my building’s sidewalks took forever.
I eventually cleared my building’s sidewalks, but then the winds completely recovered everything. I even got a bitchy note from tenants who thought I didn’t shovel at all. It was horrible.
So Havlers decided to come over on the eve of the blizzard.
We started the night by walking the dogs around Lake of the Isles and went to bed after watching trashy reality TV.
Halvers insisted on bringing his car to my place (he lives two blocks away) and… well…
Massive fail.
We stayed in my apartment all day.
Oh the majestic stacks:
That’s the view from Hanson Hall, which is part of the business school and has a full-service Starbucks. I love it best during the winter.
Timing is essential at the Hanson Hall Starbucks because the line is 30-people deep between classes. Nothing is worse than waiting in a flock of undergrad business majors.
I officially live in a winter wonderland.
This weekend’s storm dumped about 6 inches on Minneapolis, which Gertrude loved.
She may have a thoroughly embarrassing job, the fake snow might be toxic, but she’s all smiles!
I’m not going to make a crack about “Minnesota Passive Aggressive.” Really. I’m not.
There are some typical scenes on my dog walks such as the frozen lake:
…and the geese over-population problem:
But there are several less-mundane scenes, like the bridge crashes and random blood on the snow:
And even political statements in the porta-potties:
Christmas shopping season means that the Mall of America is insufferable on the weekends. At least the decorations are pretty:
It is Saturday night and my car glides through traffic on 494. Whip my Hair is on the radio and I am excited about tonight’s date. Things are awesome.
The awesomeness ends approximately 15 minutes later when I open my apartment door and get smacked by the smell of rotten eggs. Harley is sick and yarked everywhere.
I manage to clean up the copious amounts of yolk-like vomit, take the dogs out, drain the building boiler, and get dressed within 25 minutes. I am not going to be late for this date, dammit!
So of course, when I open the door to leave, I hear “BLARRG!”
Nathan and I leave Pagoda and get on the highway to the movie theater. There is a light rain. Traffic is horrible.
We sit in traffic for a while before we see the accident: one car smashed into a metal barrier, front crumbled, airbags deployed. Two goofy-looking teens stand next to the car in the rain.
Ahead is a SUV facing the wrong direction in the middle of the road. The driver is a frantic-looking blond girl. Traffic moves around her car on the shoulder.
There’s usually a moment on my dog walks where I almost hang Harley in an attempt to prevent him from eating goose poop.
Ick.
Today I tried a new tactic: the epic flip-out. And it worked! Harley dove for a piece of goose crap and violence ensued.1 I try not to get animal abuse-y, especially in public, but it was totally worth it because Harley wouldn’t even look at the poop after that.
I took them on a second walk around lake Calhoun this evening and had no issues. Great success. And yes, I plan on doing the same thing if my future children even get NEAR goose crap. Hide yo kids, hide yo wife.
I dread parking in the Salon parking lot.
There is a parking lot attendant who always creepily compliments my haircut when I pay. He makes me uncomfortable and I have a hard time understanding his thick-Somali accent. He makes me feel as if I’m in some sexual-harassment training video.
