I just came in from shoveling...it didn't take that long cause I did it the way my dad taught me and my sibs. The, "Don't you eff it up or you're gonna get it," way. Which was me peeling off the first layer of snow, then the second, and so on, very quickly, no stopping, "or else you're gonna get it."

My dad's way of shoveling snow took me about 25 minutes, opposed to the hour or so it would've taken, whining like a little bitch. Thanks dad.

I dressed in my winter gear, headed down the stairs, out to the door when I realized, "Oh shit, I can't even get the door open."

I snickered to myself thinking, "How the hell am I gonna get out of this mess." I pushed the storm door as far open as I could without breaking the glass, slid my arm with the shovel in my hand out through the little opening and McGyver'd it open but no sooner did I do that did I realize I was waist deep in snow. My shoveling began on the small deck at the side entrance of the house, down to the little pathway to my parking spot hoping a knight in shining plow truck would come and rescue me.






Anyhow, the town sent someone to plow out the private road I'm on so I guess I'll be going into work tomorrow. No one has given me a straight answer as to whether or not the office is closed. I'm not gonna take the, "Well you can stay home, but I'm gonna go in," answer that G-rilla has been giving me.

I stopped watching the game to shovel. I knew the Patriots were gonna win, anyway.

:D