Winter in MN

A few topics regarding winter in Minne-soh-tah.

One. That's actually how I say Minnesota. Minne-soh-tah. I've recognized and accepted that I have the up-north Midwestern accent that was depicted in the movie Fargo. Well, maybe they took it a bit far. But it's definitely there.

Two. I FINALLY got out-friggin'-side this past weekend. Pond hockey Friday night, pond hockey Saturday afternoon, and snow tubing Saturday night. Note: "Pond" hockey does not mean I played on a pond. I actually rarely play on ponds. I have now used the word "pond" too frequently in the past few sentences and it is losing its meaning. Weird how that happens sometimes.

Three. When it snows say, 3-4 inches, on a work day, everyone with a drive home over four miles DREADS that ride home. It'll be 2:30 in the afternoon, you'll look outside, and you're like, "Shit." You know what's coming. I'll describe mine today:

I'm gonna leave early, beat rush hour, and make up the work hours later in the week so I can get to my buddy's house to make spaghetti before "24" starts at 7. I leave work at 5, thinking I can get to my place to grab the ingredients and make it to his house by 6. I know of side roads that can get me to my place in 30 minutes, tops, even on a crap weather day like this. I'm smart.

I check the clock on my car as I leave the parking lot, it's 5:08 PM. I get to the side road, plug along, and there isn't really much more traffic than I anticipated. Maybe I'll get home in 25 minutes... this isn't so bad. Then I see the back end of the cars farther back than I've EVER SEEN on this back road. Apparently others are smart and have learned how to use Google maps. Oh well, I can still probably make it home in 35 or so. I see the distant traffic lights turn green through the blur of the fat snowflakes. I don't move. The light turns yellow, then red. I begin to move. Slowly. I move about 10 cars up and dread sets in. But it's okay, I preheated my car, I'm listening to a new mix I made last night, and I have a fun evening of spaghetti, 24, and hockey waiting for me.

Fast forward 30 minutes. I've moved about four miles out of the eight to my apartment, and I'm in another cycle of sitting through traffic lights. I'm beginning to realize I won't be making it to my friend's house by 6. Oh well, he has DVR and we can start it whenever we want. I like this new mix I made. But this traffic is getting old...

Fast forward another 15 minutes. I'm in ANOTHER one of these traffic light waiting cycles. The morons (yes, morons) in front of me are taking their sweet-ass time moving when the light turns green. I'm about 13 or 14 cars from the front. It's a longer cycle and I've been sitting idle for almost the entirety of Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful". (Joke.) (Joke!) (Or is it?!) I peek my eyes left and right at the perpendicular traffic lights, and they finally go from green to yellow to red. We're next. D'oh! Forgot about the frickin' green arrows. Green arrows go to yellow arrows, then disappear. Finally our light turns green. Okay people, gun it. Go. Go. Come on. Go. GO. Make it. Make it. MAKE IT. MAKEITMAKEITMAKEITMAKEIT DAMN IT. I'm second in line behind some wuss I am considering rear-ending. UGH.

Fast forward five minutes. I make it through that horrendous cycle, and I'm just on the other side of the intersection in the left lane of two lanes, and we have to merge. Well, the people from the right have to merge, I'm smart and have strategically positioned myself in the left lane. It is bumper-to-bumper. I don't even think about allowing more than 10 feet of space to develop between me and the guy in front of me so the idiots in the right lane don't pull a fast one and cut me off. I thought ahead and made sure I was in the correct lane, damn it, so don't you even THINK of jumping in front of me, buddy. (Well, when we get to the absolutely-must-merge-now point, I have a rule: I will let one person over. One. One. ONE, damn it.) It gets to that point and I let the one person in. And... the jackass behind him thinks he can scoot behind him and also merge. Uh, NO?!?!?!?!?! I post up behind the just-merged guy and don't let more than 1 foot of space develop between him and me. The guy in the right lane trying to scoot in does the same. Who wins? The guy that thought ahead and is already in the lane that doesn't end. THAT'S ME. Flick me off or get pissed, whatever, I'm not letting two people in. (Moron.)

It took me 56 minutes to get back to my apartment, and I make it home in nine minutes on a good day. I said precisely nine minutes and didn't round off to 10, because nine minutes is awesome and you know it. Saying 10 minutes could mean 14 minutes. Think about it. It's true. You know you've done this before. Recap: nine minutes on a good day, 56 today. Depressing.

Fast forward to tomorrow morning. Thousands of company dollars will be wasted away in the conversation topic of "How long did it take you to get home?" Many responses that include "Wow!" and "Oh my gawd!" will be uttered, and as word gets around, people will direct you to the lady that had the two hour and 47 minute commute. You will go and ask her about it, and she will tell you, with more enthusiasm than she will put into any other conversation that day, that it took her "TWO HOURS AND 47 MINUTES TO GET HOME LAST NIGHT". Welcome to Minne-soh-tah.