when it rains, it pours
It's been a rough week for your intrepid reporter. Last Sunday I was snowbound by the biggest snowstorm of the season, lasting from before I woke up until well past dark. The next day, the weather reverted to unseasonably warm, so that the 16.5 inches of beautiful snow we got disappeared quite rapidly. On Friday it poured, which destroyed what little snow was left. Meanwhile, I've had the worst toothache of my life, on and off (mostly on), all week. It was the first Valentine's Day since splitting up with my husband. I had to work overtime every day. And the biggest project I'm assigned to at work is rapidly turning into a shitstorm of legendary proportions. Meanwhile, a friend sent me an angry, expletive-laced email commenting on a few of my personality flaws. I think I set a new personal record for quantity of alcohol consumed; if only drinking were an Olympic sport, "I mighta been a contendah!" Despite all that, I found time to speak with a PR consultant about a possible magazine interview on women and guns, which would get the FSP some much-needed publicity. And I have been working feverishly on the next incarnation of this blog, which should be ready for launch within the next week; stay tuned! On a more positive note, I was gruntled to be elected to the FSP's Board of Directors. Crafty strategic move on the part of the voters, or blatant example of the tyranny of the majority and democracy run amok? Guess you'll have to decide that for yourself.
"What an incredible Cinderella story, this unknown comes outta no where to lead the pack, at Augusta. He's on his final hole, he's about 455 yards away -- he's gonna hit about a 2-iron, I think. Oh he got all of that one! ... This crowd has gone deathly silent, the Cinderella story, outta nowhere, a former greenskeeper now -- about to become The Masters champion. It looks like a mirac -- It's in the hole!" - Bill Murray, in a manically brilliant improvisational moment