Uh, OK, Buffalo isn't Cold
So, there comes a moment when while traveling around this great nation that you'll have to answer the question about where you've settled down to live your life.
"Where are you from?"
"Buffalo," I'll say.
There are usually two responses to that.
"What the hell happened to your football team?"
Or
"Seriously? Don't you freeze there? Why do you live there?"
Since I don't truly have an answer to the first response I did my best to go on the defensive about the weather this past weekend.
"We haven't gotten much snow over the last three winters," I said.
The guy from the Oakland-San Francisco area just laughed.
Out loud.
Real loud.
"Seriously," I said. "And besides, what're you laughing at? I lived in the San Francisco area for awhile, you don't have a lot to brag about when it comes to weather. It's 40 degrees there in the summer."
"We don't get 150 inches of snow a year," he answered.
As our plane made its descent the pilot said the following:
"It's 18 degrees in Buffalo and there are slight snow flurries. Go figure."
Again, I wanted to scream that we don't get a ton of snow, but I was wedged in my seat because the guy next to me was about 800 pounds, smelled like cheese and had these big sores all over his hands that I didn't want to touch.
(But that's a whole 'nother story).
"People always make fun of Buffalo's weather," hefty, cheese-eating, Edward Sore Hands said.
"I know," I answered, "And it's really not so bad."
Cut to Tuesday afternoon.
I was walking about three hundred yards from my car to a huge job site in the downtown area. The wind was howling, the snow flurries were blowing directly into my face. My lips were chapped by the cold. My face was burnt by the wind and my forehead was throbbing as if I'd just eaten a half-gallon of ice cream in under thirty seconds.
"This sucks!" I screamed out.
In answer to the three questions posted above:
Q: Seriously?
A: Shut-up.
Q: Don't you freeze there?
A: Like a popsicle.
Q: Why do you live there?
A: We love the football team.
"Where are you from?"
"Buffalo," I'll say.
There are usually two responses to that.
"What the hell happened to your football team?"
Or
"Seriously? Don't you freeze there? Why do you live there?"
Since I don't truly have an answer to the first response I did my best to go on the defensive about the weather this past weekend.
"We haven't gotten much snow over the last three winters," I said.
The guy from the Oakland-San Francisco area just laughed.
Out loud.
Real loud.
"Seriously," I said. "And besides, what're you laughing at? I lived in the San Francisco area for awhile, you don't have a lot to brag about when it comes to weather. It's 40 degrees there in the summer."
"We don't get 150 inches of snow a year," he answered.
As our plane made its descent the pilot said the following:
"It's 18 degrees in Buffalo and there are slight snow flurries. Go figure."
Again, I wanted to scream that we don't get a ton of snow, but I was wedged in my seat because the guy next to me was about 800 pounds, smelled like cheese and had these big sores all over his hands that I didn't want to touch.
(But that's a whole 'nother story).
"People always make fun of Buffalo's weather," hefty, cheese-eating, Edward Sore Hands said.
"I know," I answered, "And it's really not so bad."
Cut to Tuesday afternoon.
I was walking about three hundred yards from my car to a huge job site in the downtown area. The wind was howling, the snow flurries were blowing directly into my face. My lips were chapped by the cold. My face was burnt by the wind and my forehead was throbbing as if I'd just eaten a half-gallon of ice cream in under thirty seconds.
"This sucks!" I screamed out.
In answer to the three questions posted above:
Q: Seriously?
A: Shut-up.
Q: Don't you freeze there?
A: Like a popsicle.
Q: Why do you live there?
A: We love the football team.
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