Mother natures and company dropped several feet of snow on DC twice and got the name Snowpocalypse among others.

Snow-ver kill, snow-verload, or just plain snow-ver it, it’s pretty safe to say that most residents of the mid-atlantic are sick of the abundant white powder that has plagued the city like fat woman at a new Krispy Kreme opening.

That mostly worthless public transit system we so lovingly call WMATA–the feminine entity that promises to open doors but only ends up slamming them shut in your face–is at best a lazy and complacent fat ass becoming more worthless and less useful. Yes, I said it!

First, it was her inability to make a profit even when charging some of the highest fares in the country. Then, it was the “safety problems.” Now, it’s her inherent inability to function under two feet of snow. What good is it to have a day (or 9) off if you cant even go out via the trains? Sounds more like pain, minus the gain.

Note this under: “Useful but irritating FYI”. DC charges a $500 fine for not clearing your side walk; Alexandria only fines you $25 but then charges to remove all the snow for you. But if you had to shovel you realized it hurts.

It’s the only workout I can think of that not only feels horrible after but shows no physical benefit. No toning. No firming. No sculpting. Just no.

All you get is an unchanged pocketbook from the fines you saved yourself from, and too much pain to do a real workout.  Adding insult to carpal tunnel and injury, there isn’t an ounce of fabulous eye candy to motivate you and, unfortunately, Lululemon’s cute workout gear is not at all suitable.

Despite the combination of snow shovels and daily yoga practice, the addition of the freezing cold, house arrest, and sheer boredom seemed to result in heroin-like withdrawals from carbohydrates. This, says my fat, lazy ass.

Shovel. Redeeming myself as a statuesque beauty I almost didn’t need falsies when all was said and done.

Gravity. Normally my dealings with gravity involve anti-cellulite creams, firming serum, and squats (In other words, my dealings with gravity are all about defying it); however, I have no creams or serums or special techniques to keep the roof up, the icicles from falling, or the shingles attached and happy.

If you wanted to see comedy, imagine me walking through Old Town cowering from six foot shards of ice, glacial down pours, and falling slate shingles which all equal one big NO NOT CUTE and good day to you too!

So next time someone says, mentions, utters, reveals, sings, hums that they are dreaming of a white Christmas, they better be thinking about a circuit party somewhere down in Miami, otherwise I’m gonna tell them what they can do with the damn snow and their icicle.

Toodles!