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2005-01-24 @ 12:04 a.m.
the naked snow angel incident

About midnight last night I looked out into a swirling mist of ice crystals, which were so dense I could barely see the road and got a brilliant idea! Nude Snow Angels! Run out to the middle of my yard in my robe, take it off, fall back into the snow naked, flap my arms and legs wildly and make a Nude Snow Angel. Wouldn’t that be fun????


See what happens when you don’t take your meds for a couple of days?

Because what would actually happen would be something more like this:
I would run out. The door would slam shut behind me and get locked, but I wouldn’t really know since I would be flinging myself out into a huge white abyss of swirling, razor sharp ice crystals. I would then take off my robe and a huge gust of wind would suck it up into some kind of huge vortex and deposit it somewhere over Alabama. But it wouldn’t really matter because it would be so damn exciting standing there naked being pummeled by -35 degree temperature winds and razor sharp ice crystals shorn off a polar bear’s ass in Canada. Yeah baby. And then I would fall back into the snow and....

....totally disappear....

since there are already 42 inch deep snow drifts, configuring and reconfiguring themselves, in my front yard.


And of course, I wouldn't realize that the dental building next to my house has security cameras filming my entire creative endeavor. Oh what fun the dentists will have tomorrow, as they play and replay the tape of the nutty artist girl next door attempting to make naked snow angels out in the yard during the Blizzard of ‘05. They’ll probably even be put on their website...”Naked Snow Angel” starring wittykitty and I won’t even know about it. And then I’ll be really suspicious when men suddenly start giving me their phone numbers at Barnes and Nobles. Because they’ll be (incorrectly) thinking, if she’ll do Naked Snow Angels, she’ll do anything.

So there I am....buried in three stories deep snow...naked...with winds howling....with the, aforementioned razor sharp ice crystals shorn off a polar bear’s ass in Canada, swirling overhead, like so many angry bees. What to do? What to do? Maybe I could call out to the Eye-talian landlord. No. Never. He’d probably add a surcharge to my rent if he had to rescue a naked girl in a snowstorm. Maybe I could yell loud enough for the cute chiropractor guy next door to hear me. We do say hello to each other when we see each other out in the drive-way. And he does have that white Mercedes. Bonus points, right? A Mer-ce-des! Maybe he could attach a rope to his Mercedes and pull me out of the snow abyss and then I would have to reward him maybe let him do some kind of “adjustment” on me. (wink, wink).

yeah, as if a guy with a Mercedes would ever want to rescue me.

I don’t even think a guy in a Ford Taurus would, unless I gave him a cookie.

By now, my extremities are starting to freeze and I'm beginning to look like Omar Shariff in “Dr. Zhivago”. There is the fire station across the street. Think of all the new friends I could make if I could somehow get the attention of the guys at the firehouse. How appreciative they would be to rescue a naked girl in a snow storm instead of the usual old lady needing oxygen. Of course, I would probably require mouth to mouth resuscitation and a way to warm up my body when they rescued me. Wouldn’t that be a blast? I haven’t had a decent kiss since Larry the high school sport star in 1975. Oh wait, I didn’t mean a kiss, I meant resuscitation. I guess I was getting a little ahead of myself, or trying to think of things that might possibly make me warm.

But unfortunately the fire station is over across the street and I’m buried under 43” inches of constantly reconfiguring snow drifts and how could anyone hear me over the fiercely howling Canadian winds? It appears, that right now, I’m about as important as a missing comma in the 9/11 Commission Report.

Suddenly though, I hear a slight scraping noise, and then a louder engine noise and then a scrape noise again. Could it be? Is it true? The impossibly cute guy in the incredibly masculine Dodge Ram truck who plows our driveway has arrived? I mean, what’s he doing out in the middle of a snow storm? Oh yeah, plowing driveways. Plowing our driveway! Yay! And I know he likes me, because he always lets me run out in my pajamas and gives me time to push the mounds of snow off my car windshield so I can move my car, so I don’t get plowed in. And he always smiles at me, and give me the high sign.

Me: Hey, I really like your Dodge Ram. It seems so powerful and forceful!

So I yell out, trying to stick a leg and arm up in hopes that he’ll see them.



Well, even though, basically the snow plow guy pushes all the snow from our triple wide driveway up into my front yard, thus obscuring my house from the street until Spring, he does miraculously manage to see my left wrist with the three silver bracelets glinting in his headlights. He then abruptly stops, jumps out of his Dodge Ram, which that in itself, makes him dreamy, and comes running over to see what was glinting in the middle of the swirling mass of razor sharp ice crystals shorn off a polar bear’s ass in Canada. And there I am, lying naked in a 43 inch deep snow drift, turning a somewhat pleasing though dangerous shade of blue.

He looks down at me and says, “Were you trying to make Naked Snow Angels in THIS weather, miss?”

Me (timidly): “yeah.”

Him: “You really shouldn’t, you know. I always wait, until the winds settle down and then make sure I have my cell phone with me. Its really the only way to go, you know.”

And then with that, he lifted me out of the snow drift, in his big Dodge Ram Tough arms and wrapped me up in his coat and carried me to my front door, which I thought was locked but was actually just frozen shut. And with a single stiff armed push by the Snow Plow Guy, I was suddenly inside my apartment, with a blanket wrapped around me, getting recirculated.

“Can I do anything else for you?”

I looked at the Snow Plow Guy, who was the very essence of manhood, in his tight jeans, his thick black boots (which he had graciously taken off at the front door, so as not to track snow into my house), a lovingly worn leather jacket and his thick wool cap, hiding what looked like dark, curly favorite of course.

“No, I’m fine. But thanks for saving me. By the way, are you an Aries?”

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty