Here in Louisiana we’re currently in the midst of ICEPOCALYPSE ’11!!! Most of the schools and government offices in the local parishes are closed; and I am blogging from home, in my pajama pants, because the partners sent us home at noon and told us not to come back until Monday morning. SO LONG, STINKTOWN!

I kid, but really, I get it. People in the deep south just aren’t prepared for ice and snow, and you can’t make fun of them for it any more than, say, New Englanders deserve to be mocked for not knowing how to react to a 6.9 earthquake. And it shuts us down because we don’t have the equipment to deal with it. Stuff like salt spreaders and snow plows cost thousands or even millions of dollars to buy, store, and maintain, and cash-strapped rural governments aren’t going to shell out for something they might need to use once or twice a decade.

Mom and Phil are going to Baton Rouge tomorrow for some medical conference thing (bring me back a Vicodin beach towel and a suitcase of free samples!), so I’m looking forward to a weekend of extreme sloth spent lolling about in flannels, doing embroidery and watching mind-numbing crap on the teevee. Like, a Criminal Minds or CSI: marathon.There’s always one happening at any given time.

I swung by the grocery store on the way home and bought a bunch of frozen junk food — chicken tenders and shoestring potatoes and french bread pepperoni pizzas (also a some apples, and a bag of romaine hearts and a jar of Just Add Lettuce, I’m not a caveman). Even a pint of Americone Dream ice cream, because there is something delightfully perverse about eating ice cream in a toasty house when it’s literally freezing outside.

BRING ON THE FROZEN PRECIPITATION, MOTHER NATURE. I AM PREPARED. I even have extra hot chocolate and plenty of booze to put in it. You know what I recently started adding to cocoa? Frangelico, which is hazelnut liqueur, so it tastes like you’re drinking a steamy mug of Nutella. YOU’RE WELCOME.


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