Supposedly, we're having a blizzard tonight. Supposedly. I am all stoked to be snowed in; fed my parents' birds and fish a little extra this evening in case I can't make it there in the morning; stayed a few minutes late at work getting a project to a good stopping point in case I can't get in tomorrow. And so? The snow?
NOWHERE. Not a fucking flake so far, and it's now 4 hours after it was supposed to start coming down with a vengence. I cannot even convey how disappointing this is, it's like there's some kind of forcefield around the city preventing me, personally, from receiving the promised snow. Even the weather radar shows that I should be up to my ears in it by now--but direct Window-Cam technology confirms that this is a massive load of bull crap. I'm so depressed I may just go to bed early in hopes I will wake up to a winter wonderland and the museum being closed. (That almost never happens, though. I'd settle for my car being encased in ice for the better part of the morning.)
I know, I know. If this is the worst thing I can complain about, I should be pretty damn glad with my life. But what can I say? I'm a cranky bastard. And I wants my snow.