“Would you consider driving to Steve’s Saturday morning to miss the snow storm?” Asked my rightfully concerned mother before I departed Chicago Friday night. “MOM. I. WILL. BE. FINE.”
Or so I thought.
I pulled my trusty car out of the garage with a slightly elevated heart rate, knowing that my drive wasn’t going to be as easy as usual. But I never would’ve guessed that my typical three and a half hour drive would be extended to a never-ending drive from HELL. Getting through the tolls, and getting out of the city, proved to be the easiest section of the journey; the roads were a little snowy and wet, but I handled it with grace. The further south I pushed, the heavier the snow was falling. Soon enough, traffic slowed, and eventually came to a complete stop. (So much of a complete stop that I turned my engine off to save gas.) I radioed in to my traffic control tower, which was Steve and his wireless internet, and he told me which lanes to avoid, approximately what was causing each slowdown and at what exit things would start to clear. I was ready to pull off and spend the night at a Motel 6 when I realized I probably would’ve been chopped to pieces by some axe-wielding murderer that frequents Motel 6’s, waiting to prey upon unsuspecting and stranded 20-something woman. A little theatrical, I realize, but that was the least dramatic situation running through my overactive imagination on that drive. Fortunately I had Steve, who kept me focused, and I pushed onward.
This situation continued for hours upon hours, my knuckles as white as a baby’s ass, when suddenly I had to pee. Every exit ramp was looking mighty daunting, with piles of un-plowed snow instilling fear into my already tense emotional state. I pride myself on my quick decision-making, and thought what better time to execute this talent than in an emergency situation? So, there I was, slowly pulling off to the road’s shoulder, carefully exiting via passenger door, and peeing right then and there on the snowy freeway. As far as I was concerned, all social norms had gone out the window at that point. MUST. PEE. NOW. was my only concern.
Seven and a half hours later, empty bladder, treacherous conditions, stopped traffic, jackknifed trailers and dozens of cars slid into ditches all around me, I finally, FINALLY pulled into my parking space at Steve’s apartment building. You think this whole story is over, right? RIGHT?
Well, you’re wrong.
In my frazzled state I managed to bundle up, grab my bags and get Olive out of the car with my eyes focused on that door. The door that leads to the love of my life, my mental health, and don’t forget my escape from the blizzard. I FINALLY MADE IT! I eagerly placed my hand on the door handle, pulled down and pushed…. and nothing happened. The door was stuck! THE FUCKING DOOR WOULDN’T OPEN!!! After a few good kicks, Steve came running down the stairs, and in-between the paned window he could see my pained desperation. All that was separating us is an inch of glass and a door that won’t open. He can’t get out and I can’t get in. And that is the exact moment I lost my shit. I started sobbing uncontrollably. There were noises coming out of me mid-sob that didn’t sound unlike a grunting animal, slowly and painfully suffocating, on it’s way to a prolonged and gradual death. The maintenance guy finally got there (mind you it’s 2AM) to take the door apart, and I was at last able to get inside to try and find any part of my remaining sanity.
One of my favorite motto’s is: “All’s well that ends well.” After my emotional break-down, and a hot shower, we were actually able to laugh about the whole ordeal and I realized that Steve was my pot of gold at the end of a very, VERY long and shitty rainbow.
Needless to say, I learned my lesson, Mom and Dad.
A Manhattan sunset, as seen from a Brooklyn rooftop. August 2008
Remarkable, kind, caring and honorable. All adjectives that describe the man in my life. Although I could alphabetically catalog all of his wonderful attributes, none of them can describe how truly significant he is to me.
He has surprised me with a trip to New York for my birthday and our one year anniversary. The trip isn’t until mid-March, but thoughts of Broadway theater, romantic dinners and visits with old friends has me giddy with excitement. Well played, Steve. Well played.
taken from the top of the Hancock Building, Downtown Chicago. I live generally by the giant white arrow.
I love this photo because it was taken on one of my happiest days in Chicago.
Anytime I’m with my parents or my boyfriend I feel like I’m home. No matter where we are. We could be out in the middle of the Sahara desert and I’d put down a nice oriental rug and prop up a picture frame, and I’d be home. Steve is normally the one who makes my weekends feel homey in Chicago, so having my parents in town took the pressure off him for a few days. It was the first time they’ve been here since my move-in, and it was terrific having them here with me. They got to ride the bus from their hotel to my place, see my Thumbelina-sized apartment, and take in all of the holiday lights that illuminate the city this time of year. We went to see the musical Jersey Boys, and spent a little time shopping and walking the magnificent mile. Besides the annoyingly large throngs of people that inhabit this city, the weekend was lovely. I am counting down the days to return to Columbus for some serious R&R, not fighting any crowds, and just spending some time in a house where I can’t touch both walls while standing in the middle of the room.
And this temperature doesn’t even reflect the windchill that I encounter while walking Olive RIGHT by the water. I’ve decided now, more than ever, that I need to spend the big bucks and get a warm winter coat.
Olive is gaining concern over these new weather developments.
