#like as a fat person too it’s just extra weird and lame cause you really see the parts of us people wish they could just smooth out yknow

[murdergirlfriend]

a pet peeve i have with people drawing guillermo is a pet peeve i have when artists draw fat people in general but when people draw him with a chiseled jaw. he is fat. fat people have fat all over their body that doesn’t magically stop at their neck and if you’re gonna draw him draw his chubby cheeks & double chin. im begging now but the next time i see this happen i’m just reporting the post for terrorism

[aclosetfan]

This is a really incomplete idea BUT it’s about Brick’s hat(s). And hopefully someone else finds this and enjoys it! More under the cut, it’s a long post :)

I think it’d be funny if boomer and butch get him a shitty novelty hat for birthday/holidays/etc because 1) they don’t know what to get him 2) they’re like 12 with four buck to their names. so they just go from charity shop to charity shop looking for ideas. Brick probably doesn’t ask for much (I don’t think any of them do. poor kid syndrome amiright? I personally never think they’d be well off in childhood).

So anyway butch and boomer are bumming through the charity shops and boomers like:

“Holy shit, Butch!”

“Wut?” Butch looked over pulling the charred and ruined Halloween mask that someone had donated for god knows what reason off his head.

“Dude it’s perfect!” Boomer came running from three aisle over, waving a garment around in the air.

“It’s a hat.” Butch pointed out bluntly, unimpressed, and pointed to the mask atop his head, “I think we should get this.”

“But it’s red!”

“He’s got one of those. Wears it frequently.”

“But not like this!” Boomer boosted, “See.”

Boomer turned the hat around, so Butch could see the bill of it. It was one of those novelty snapbacks, inscribed on the front was the playboy bunny logo.

“Dude.” Butch smiled, giggling with Boomer, albeit a little nervously.

He was familiar with the playboy bunnies work, it wasn’t like he was a virgin or anything (except he secretly was), but he had never actually seen a genuine centerfold spread like some of the older boys at the detention hall had talked about. When he thought of playboy, he thought of the Victoria Secret models he saw plastered to the side of the store at the mall. They made him feel weird and his hands would get all sweaty, so he tried his best not to look too closely.

“Dude we should get him this!” Boomer continued to smile, “It’d be, like, so funny.”

“Yeah.” Butch nodded, as his smile grew. He didn’t 100% get why it was so funny, but the idea of having something with the playboy bunny logo on it seemed cool to him. It made him feel kind of like one of the older boys.

Him and Boomer snickered all the way to the cash register, and when it was their turn to pay, Boomer nudged him ahead, ducking behind him with a giggle. He glared at his brother over his shoulder, but allowed Boomer to twist a nervous hand into the fabric of his oversized sweater (the one his brothers had bought him last year. They bought it 3 sizes too big cause he kept growing out of everything too fast. It was 1 size too big now). Boomer liked latching onto their sleeves when he got nervous.

He didn’t get what the big baby was so nervous about though. They were just buying a stupid hat. The lady cashier watched them with thinly veiled boredom and Butch threw the hat down on the counter.

Raising a penciled on eyebrow, the older women examined the hat, “Playboy, huh? You even know what Playboy is kid?”

The question made the back of his neck burn. He had never heard a lady say playboy before, it was weird. From behind him, Boomer pressed his face into the back of his sweater to muffle another giggle.

“Uh, duh.” He sniffed, “We know, lady.”

“Have you actually seen a playboy before?” The cashier snorted, ringing them up, “Not just the logo?”

“Yes!” Butch huffed, defending himself, “The Internet!”

(It was a semi-lie—they had tried looking it up on the internet, but Fuzzy didn’t have a computer at his cabin, HIM wouldn’t let them use any of his flashy spy monitors, Mojo was lame, and the library had parent controls)

“Surreee.” The lady drawled out and rang them up, “Dollar fifty.”

He didn’t make eye contact with her as he handed over a crumpled dollar bill and took two quarters from the take-a-penny-leave-a-penny. When she gave them back the hat, they ran out of the store like they had committed a bank robbery.

When Brick opened the present two days later, he threw the plastic bag it had come in to the side and frowned.

“A new hat?”

“Yeah,” Boomer nodded, putting down the cheap Polaroid camera Butch and Brick had shoplifted from a secondhand shop downtown (still too expensive to actually buy), and reached for the hat, turning it around in Brick’s hand, “but look!”

Brick’s smile grew, as the logo registered in his head. “Oh, shit,” their brother laughed, “is this playboy?”

“Betcha you won’t wear it.” He goaded his brother on as he tossed the new (used—looked like it was taken from Pokay High’s sports department) rugby ball from hand to hand.

“Betcha I will.” Brick shot back, carefully removing the ratty cap he had had since forever and replacing it with the new one.

“Sorta big.” Their brother murmured, adjusting the strap.

“Your fat head will grow into it!” Butch joked and Brick punched his arm.

“Shut up, dipshit.”

“Do you like it?” Boomer beamed, ignoring the bickering.

Brick looked at their brother with a smile, precious anger dissipating, “Yeah, dude, it’s funny.”

———————————————————

Then it becomes a thing//like Brick really loves his hat collection:

“Truckin’ ain’t easy.” Brick read out loud with a snort, and replaced the hat he was wearing with the new one.

He thought for a moment then shook his head no, “nah. Not today.”

He had so many hats to chose from, it was almost overwhelming. They were all basically offensive on every level and he tried to wear them all as often as possible. The highlight reel included:

Kitty gang

Swag.

Yolo.

Lmao.

Weed jokes. Lotta weed jokes.

Thrasher.

Fish love me. Woman fear me.

Met god. She’s hot.

Blow me for luck.

Beer drinkers get more head.

The carpets do match the drapes

FuCk

Birthday Bitch

Deadass fuck thots on god

Hello I am Mr. Cunt

Master Baiter

Drive fast. Eat ass.

At 17, he had a vibrant hat collection. Anytime his brother’s saw a red hat with a shitty gag, they snagged it for him. Recent political events had bestowed upon his brothers a plethora of new material:

Make racists afraid again.

My other hat’s tin foil

Made you look

The list went on. His fuck cops wasn’t popular with local authorities. And how could he forget his most favorite powderpuff girl cap. That pissed them off to no end.

“Brick!” Butch yelled down the corridor. They were at Mojo’s this week, “Hurry up!”

“Uuhhhhh,” he mumbled to himself, as he stared at his wall, ignoring his brother. He hung them all up to make it easier to chose. His collection covered the wall.

His hand floated left to the one that said FuCk, but the one that said bad hair day caught his eye and his hand twitched to the right, “uuuuuhh, hmmmm.”

He floated toward the ceiling to look at the top of the wall, “welllllll...”

They’d be fighting with the girls today and because he liked making Blossom mad, he figured he needed to chose something more crude.

“Oh my god!” Butch cried outside his bedroom door, “Just fucking pick one!”

“Mmmmm.”

“Brick!” Butch pounded on his door, “I swear to god, I’ll burn them all if you just don’t pick one!”

“HMMmmmmmm!”

“Brick, it’s been thirty minutes!” Boomer whined, joining Butch, “The girls are waiting, we can’t cancel on them again! We’re bad guys, but we aren’t bad guys.”

“Ahhhhh—“ he sucked on his teeth in thought, “five more minutes!”

His brothers groaned in unison from the other side of the door.

“This is your fault, Boomer.” Butch whined.

“How?!” Boomer protested.

“Cause I wanted to get him that mask.���

————————————————————

His hat—his first hat—is lovingly preserved. He can’t risk losing it or damaging it any further. Before they started buying him new hats, most of the boys misadventures (the chaos they did NOT plan) were dedicated to saving Brick’s hat from the clutches of (insert one-shot villain here). It’s his security blanket. He breaks it out on the lazy days in.

He does though often lose his novelty hats. A violent gust of wind will rip one from his hat or a fight will cause it to disintegrate. But because Brick considers being the hat guy a personality trait, I think he’d have a spare one on hand at all times:

“My hat!” He cried, as the tornado-like monster blew through Townsville, ripping his hat from his head, and then disappeared into thin air, “the fucker took my hat!”

“Brick!” Blossom cried over the wind, “calm down! It’s a hat!”

“Yeah my hat!” He argued back. He wasn’t fond of the idea that him and his brothers and the girls now had to cooperate with each other, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Butch! Boomer! I want my hat!” He hissed and his brothers nodded, understanding immediately what he meant.

“Right!” Butch dropped Buttercup, forgetting whatever fight the two had found themselves in.

“Got it!” Boomer jumped up from where he had been sitting on Bubbles, squashing her to the ground.

“What was that thing!” Brick barked at Blossom and she wiped the blood from her nose.

“I only know as much as you do, considering it literally just happened. Maybe it has to do with air—“

She cut off and looked at him, as he adjusted his emergency back up hat onto his head.

“What!” He hissed when he realized all three of the girls were giving him odd looks.

“Dude,” Buttercup asked from the ground, “do...do you just carry extra hats around?”

“Of course I do!” He spat, disgusted that they’d think so low of him not to, “Extra hat,” he pointed to his head, “emergency beanie,” he pulled one out of his pocket, “and extra hair ties,” him and his brother lifted up theirs wrists. “We live by the aesthetic, we die by the aesthetic, anymore questions?”

“Yeah!” Boomer huffed in his defense, “what’s it fucking matter to you anyway!”

“Don’t you three have bigger issues to worry about then our business?” Butch hissed, kicking at Buttercup.

Buttercup rolled away from the kick, dodging it with a laugh.

“What’s so funny!” Butch demanded and Buttercup shook her head, ignoring Butch and pointing up at her sister.

“Holy crap! He really is your counterpart, huh? You guys are perfect for each other!” She laughed wheezing. 

“Hey!!” Him and Blossom bristled together, “Shut up!”

————————————————————

When he learns that over excessive hat use can lead to hair breakage and premature balding his heart breaks, so he starts buckling them to his belt loops instead when he remembers to give his hair a break.

[nyancheetosmusical]

Be More Chill Legend of Zelda (MM) AU

Something I kind of put together, making a Majora’s Mask AU of BMC. I might write more, but i might not, we’ll see.

Writing under the cut (also bear with me getting the ideas going slowly in the beginning and the text type cause this was in a skype chat)

Jeremy is a skull kid

And Michael is Link

Jeremy and Mike are friends

i mean Jer doesn’t really have any friends beside Michael

And Michael is Hylian, not a skull kid

and also Mike is sort of the hero of time

So, you know

There’s some extra responsibility there

So Jer is looking for friends

and he finds this fairy

It promises to make his life better

He just has to do what they say

So Jer listens to him

At first the fairy has him get up to like just like general mischeif

but Jer likes having a friend at his side always

And they do goofy stuff together

but the fairy has other motives

He’s looking to get his hands on a certain mask

this ancient mask full of immense power

Bc maybe it was powerful enough to give him a body

so he gets Jeremy up to more and more mischeif

So that Jeremy would be comfortable doing anything to get this mask

eventually they score

There’s the Happy Mask Saleswoman in the woods

she’s been traveling around and decided to stop in Termina

the fairy eggs Jeremy into stealing this cool looking mask from her

And he does

but when Jeremy grabs it

He’s overwhelmed by the power

he puts it on before the fairy can say anything

And the spirit of the mask takes over his mind and body

Not the fairy’s intent

but maybe, if he sticks with Majora (for that’s who is in control of Jeremy now), he can get a body made for himself

But Jeremy is different now that he’s got the vengeful spirit of Majora inside him

he’s colder

meaner

Starts hurting people

without the fairy telling him to

And sure the fairy is like um this isn’t what I wanted

but his greed and want for a body overcomes his will to stop Majora

Michael, having finished a quest (aka all of OOT), comes to the forests of Termina on Epona to “search for an old friend” as the in game text says

And he sees Jeremy

and is real excited

But then he sees Jer has changed his mask

“Woah dude, that’s cool looking! Sorry I was gone so long, I-"

Before he can keep going, the fairy (as per Majora’s request) sneaks up and spooks Epona, Mike’s horse, bucking him off

Majora searches Michael’s stuff, looking for something specific, something he saw in this skull kid’s memories

and this “hero of time” has it

there

The Ocarina of Time

Majora takes it, hops on Epona, and rides off, taunting Mike

Mike of course gives chase

“Jeremy? Uh that actually kind of hurt! This isn’t funny any more!”

but its not really Jeremy anymore

Majora leads Michael to fall down this pit

And when he wakes up

Jeremy is there

“Ow….dude, what’s going on? You’re acting weird…."

he looks closer

And he sees these tendrils spreading from the mask, like tentacles, all around the edges

They’re woven into his friend’s very skin

The mask is embedded in his face

And Jeremy looks worse for wear, like maybe he hasn’t eaten for a while and hasn’t bothered to sleep

“…Jer? Maybe….maybe take off that mask? So I can see your face?”

“NO!”

“C’mon Jeremy, I haven’t seen you in so long-“

“I am never taking off this mask"

Woah, when did Jeremy’s voice change like that?

“Jeremy, what happened?"

“Nothing happened. I’m better than I ever could be. I’m amazing. I’m ecstatic.”

Oh Mike knows something is up

he draws his sword

But Jeremy just laughs in a voice that doesn’t really sound like his own

“You think you can even touch me? Hehehe, fat chance. You know….being the “hero of time”…you could cause some problems…..hehehe, ever think about changing your look? Something more fitting for you?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Mm, yes, your look could use some updating…Ah! Hehehe, I know~”

Mike watches in horror as Jeremy’s body is lifted up by the mask

the mask floating and his body hanging limply underneath it

A few feet in the air

a strange purple aura begins to pour off the mask

And Mike’s head begins to hurt like nobody’s business

it’s pounding and aching and there’s so much pressure-

He hears Jeremy laughing and laughing as he falls to his knees

everything goes dark

And he wakes up and everything feels different

he tries to say something but the words don’t come out in his voice

there’s a pool of water in front of him

He checks his reflection

And It’s not his face anymore, but that of a deku scrub

He’s smaller and weaker and has none of his things and this body doesn’t feel right at all

but Jeremy just laughs and laughs

“Fitting for a loser like you!"

The fairy with Jeremy is laughing too

he’s gotta get in Majora’s good graces

He approaches the kid-turned-deku scrub

taunting him, calling him a loser, saying this looked so much better for someone like him, etc and etc

But Michael isn’t listening to the fairy

he’s frantically trying to get across the pool of water to get over to Jeremy as Majora drags her host’s body away, laughing

The way Majora exists slams shut behind Jeremy

The fairy looks to see the closed door

...shoot

“Hey! Hey uh Jeremy, open up, would you? Haha you kind of left me in here, with this lame coconut head!"

he waits at the door

“…Jeremy?"

“Heh, good joke Jeremy, but uh I kind of need to come with you now!”

“J-Jeremy, you need me, remember? I was going to make you popular and powerful and have lots of friends!”

...

oh

Majora probably didn’t need the SQUIP

When you have that much power, what do you need a fairy like the SQUIP for?

His wings drooped

He was never going to get a body now...

he turned around to find Michael across the pond, drowning

\ Without thinking the SQUIP swooped on over and dove under the water and gave the deku scrub a boost up and out of the water

Michael pulled himself up, dripping wet and spitting out water

he sat on the shore And looked at his arms, now much shorter and made of wood

...nothing about him was the same

And there was something wrong with Jeremy and he was gone and Michael couldn’t get to him-

Michael didn’t like to cry

But he cried a little

the SQUIP watched

…okay maybe he shouldn’t have let Jeremy do that...

or let Jeremy do like half the things he had done

He was getting tired of that feeling pulling inside him whenever he watched someone cry as Jeremy hurt them

probably guilt

An annoying emotion

but he couldn’t deny that he felt it

Before they had found the mask, Jeremy had told him a lot about Michael

SQUIP had tried to discourage Jeremy from being friends with you, he’d only drag you down

But mostly it was because he knew if Michael came back Jeremy wouldn’t need him and as the Hero of Time probably would talk Jeremy out of stealing the mask and the SQUIP needed to have that mask

but he felt like he knew this Michael guy personally

And watching him cry...

Ugh

It was annoying

but SQUIP would probably need Michael to help him find Jeremy

Maybe get him to take off that mask

“Hey….Michael, right?”

the deku scrub looked up

The trademark thick saliva of dekus dripping out of his mouth

ugh

SQUIP shuddered

“You….ugh, you need to get to Jeremy. You need to help me find him, I gotta get that mask off of him so I can have it!”

Michael looked up at him and jabbered in the language of the forest people

SQUIP sneered without a face

“Yeah sorry I don’t know what you’re saying, bush boy”

Michael looked at him

And then turned away

and began to walk away

“W-wait! Come back! Please!"

SQUIP dashed in front of MIchael

“Wait please I need your help! I can’t get out of here on my own! I need you! Please?”

The deku stared blankly

“And….I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry I treated you like garbage, you’re….you’re not bad, okay?…..what are you staring at me for, do I got something on my wings? No? Then stop staring! Let’s get moving!”

SQUIP flew off, waiting eagerly by the door

...well

Michael didn’t have much of an option

He dipped his toe in the water and looked across

This body couldn’t float so he couldn’t swim...

“Hey, dumbass, Dekus can skip on water, just like, I don’t know, run cross it or something."

Michael narrowed his eyes

The SQUIP stared back

....

Rolled his nonexistent eyes

“….yeah, yeah, sorry I called you dumbass, just get moving would you?”

the deku just nodded approvingly and began to try to get across

He took a step back

then began to run across the surface of the water, feeling silly

But as soon as he started, it was like muscle memory took over and he began to skip in lofty hops on the top of the water

he could feel the strange fluid on his feet that reacted with the surface tension of the water begin to wash off with each step he took

But he reached the other side before it wore off completely

he stood on the other shore, looking down at his new body with a newfound respect

Maybe it wasn’t so dinky

he turned to face the door

….shoot, it was puzzle locked

He looked around for the solution

“What are you waiting for? Just open the door!”

Michael chattered at him, saying some things he was glad the fairy couldn’t understand

“What was that, snot mouth?”

Michael tried to stick his tongue out and blow a raspberry at the annoyed fairy

Instead of a tongue, out shot a bubble of spit

with the same speed and force as a deku shooting deku nuts, it smacked into the SQUIP and knocked him off balance, causing him to flutter out of the pattern he had been flying in

“HEY WHAT THE F-“

but Michael wasn’t paying attention

What had....

what had just happened?

Careful not to aim for the swearing fairy, Michael tried again

Spitting a massive bubble that had far more speed and velocity than you’d think

Huh, useful

Jeremy would find this so cool-

Oh right

Jeremy had left him

...well, not Jeremy, per say

Whatever that mask was that was controlling him

It had to be that

...right?

Well, Michael had figure that out later

Right now he didn’t even know how to become human again

That would be a good place to start

He found the hidden button up on the wall that triggered the door

He went for his arrows-

...right, he didn’t have those anymore

But he did have super spit!

Still ignoring the fairy, he tossed his head back and shot a bubble out, directly onto the button

The door sprung open

Michael smiled internally

Hah

Still got it

The fairy looked at the door

...oh. Huh.

“That will do, I guess. But I do not need your help anymore, I-”

Michael walked on past the SQUIP and through the door

“Wha-hey! Wait for me!”

The SQUIP chased after Michael through the door

[blacklodgemusictx]

Snowing in My Mind  by Liz Berry

A frosty tale from the Nourallah-Miller Feb 2020 Northeast Mini Tour

The thing about a blizzard is it sneaks up on you.  At least my blizzard did.

I found myself watching one play out beyond the ticking wiper blades of our rental car as I sat dumbly in the passenger seat.  

When we left Buffalo, it was just snow.  Granted snow was a sight unfamiliar to my southerner’s eyes, but at first it was sort of pleasant.  Watching it swirl down around the car as we cut through it was like seeing it on TV.  Snow on TV means Christmas.  Though Christmas was weeks in the past at this point in February, it was still sort of nice to imagine.

What did you really expect to happen?  It’s February in upstate New York.  Just the idea of February in any place so far from home where real weather is experienced should have been enough to veto this proposed trip completely.  But this was a once in a life time opportunity.  An… adventure.

Somewhere in the swirling whiteness miles and miles behind us is another car.  This one contains Rhett Miller, described somewhere in my research of him as the “founding member of the venerable Old 97's.”  Singer, songwriter, calm, capable if slightly white knuckled driver in these unfamiliar conditions.  Sitting in Rhett’s passenger seat is Salim Nourallah.  Salim has a similarly artistic resume: singer, songwriter, respected Dallas music producer.

Right now the snow doesn’t care who we are.  Right now, we’re just four Texans in varying states of bewilderment trying to get to Massachusetts.  

Shirley, Massachusetts contains the Bull Run restaurant and what - at least on paper - should be show four of the six show run Rhett and Salim are doing on this mini tour.  Of the northeast.  In February.

Up until this moment, the tour proceeded beautifully.  We started in Rochester, NY, then up to Toronto, back down to Buffalo.  Buffalo seemed to be the best show yet: the venue was a converted church owned by Ani DiFranco.  The sound was fantastic, the audience enthusiastic.  There seemed to be no place to go, but up.  We all left Buffalo, elated, wondering what exciting things the next show might hold.

The answer?  Snow.  The entire state of New York appeared to be made of it. The wind no longer swirled the fat flakes gaily around, but seemed to blow them with gale force past the windows.  The orderly ranks of passing snow plows we watched doing their work in Toronto two days before, dwindled to just a plow or two trundling intermittently in front of us.

My husband Doug is at our helm.  He’s doing a beautiful job staying calm.  He knows I’m watching him.  If his resolve starts to fray, mine goes straight out the window.

We start to watch the wrecks.  First it appears to just be the fool hardy ones:  the ones going too fast, the ones who speed up to overtake others going at more cautious, sensible speeds.  We watch the ballet as one car after another spins in an almost graceful loss of traction.  We pass the stranded semi trucks who seemed to breeze by us earlier when the snow began to quicken and thicken.  I fear the semis most.  They seemed to speed by fastest with no regard for tiny, helpless things like rented Corollas.

The funny thing about this weird, new age we all inhabit: disasters can be live streamed.  I kept updates on our new precarious position posted to my Facebook.  Oddly enough my mother watched the whole thing unfold and seemed to sense what Doug already knew:  stay cool or Liz is going to start freaking out.  She kept her comments calm and supportive.  

I stayed in touch with the car behind us.  Check in, guys.  How are you doing? Where are you at?   Salim and I have known each other for over a year.  I would call us pen pals of a sort.  Salim knows I’m afraid.  Fear is just a characteristic. One of many:  I’m tall.  I have hazel eyes.  I’m scared of everything.

Salim says if we can make it to the show in Shirley, he will try to play one of my favorite songs of his, “Don’t Be Afraid” - a song I’ve adopted as a personal happy thought since I heard it.  I’ve carried that song with me through many genuinely scary moments in the last several months and I mentally add today to the list of those moments. In fact, it’s quickly heading for number one.  With a bullet.  The only thing between us and certain disaster is this nice, warm car. This car that I didn’t get any add-ons with.  No extra crash coverage, no road side assistance.  Nothing.

Just like that it happens.  I feel the car lose traction.  We start to skid.  Doug, still perfectly calm, tells me to hold on.  All I can think is we’re about to crash a rental car 1800 miles from home and I didn’t buy the crash coverage.  What do you even do when you crash a car that’s not yours?  

We don’t whip around 180 or 360 degrees the way we watched the other floundering cars.  Doug regains control and maneuvers us to a stop deep in the left shoulder of the road.  He goes outside to inspect, the wool overcoat we found for him at a thrift store back in Rochester snaps in the wind as his cheeks quickly turn red.  He reports back, “We’re stuck.”  The snow is too deep on the shoulders.  We were mired the minute we drifted over.

I text Salim, “We slid off.  We’re stuck.”  I can’t think of anything else to do… so I live stream it.  I put our predicament live on Facebook for my friends and family to watch.  My naturally dramatic side takes over.  I’m thinking about cold, certain death… not about tow trucks and the inconvenience of perhaps missing the show tonight.  Even missing the show was a thought I wasn’t prepared to deal with as we had all of Salim’s tour merchandise - t-shirts, cds and records - in our trunk.  The second we were trusted with the merchandise, I immediately assigned myself indispensable status.  Hand to the forehead in fine, southern belle fashion, How could the show possibly go on without ALL THE TSHIRTS?!

Suddenly, a car pulls over on the shoulder of the oncoming side of traffic.  A tiny figure clad head to toe in a snowsuit, snow shovel in hand, springs out of the vehicle and makes a run for us.  I like to imagine she is some sort of snow flurry superhero who lives for days like these where she can shoot valiantly out of her car, This is it!  This is what I’ve trained for!  No thanks necessary, citizen.  I must go.  I’m needed elsewhere.

The figure immediately starts shoveling snow away from the tires.  One tire, two, three, four.  Doug reaches out a hand like he wants to help.  The figure swats him away.  

A second person pulls over to assist.  This is insanity.  We watched countless people spin out and sit by the side of the road.  No one stopped to help.  No one helped any of the other stranded drivers - at least that I saw.  Two people stopped for us?  Two people are helping us?  

I roll down the window to hear what they are doing.  The person behind is going to push us, rock us and hopefully with the added momentum we can get free and speed away back in to the flow of traffic.  The woman is watching traffic. She will scream through the window when it’s time to go, go GO!!!!  This is attempted once, twice, three times.  The wheels aren’t even spinning (we figure out later it was probably the car’s automatic traction control trying to keep us safe).  Show Shovel Lady is screaming at us.  Why aren’t we going?  As she’s scooped away the snow, she sees we don’t even have snow tires.  WE’RE JUST DUMB TOURISTS, I wail helplessly, WE DON’T KNOW ANY BETTER.  She tells us the area is expecting 20” and to just find a motel.  Give up.

Give up?  Us?  Mwahahahahaha, a tiny voice in my frantic mind laughs.  My guys need me!  I marvel briefly at the thought.  Three days ago, Rhett Miller was just a nice man, a friend of Salim we didn’t really know.  Today he and Salim are “my guys.”  What a difference a blizzard makes.  Trauma bonding, I text to Salim.  Some day back in Texas where there are no blizzards, we’ll all reminisce about that time in New York when tried not to die.  He agrees with me.

Somehow, the plan finally works and we squirt haphazardly back in to traffic. We are shaken.  How is this even happening?  What if we really crashed?  What if that happens again?  What if we aren’t so lucky next time?  Doug says he had a plan.  He would have gotten us out.  He then admits he was the cause.  He sped up to pass someone.  Just like most of the other people sitting lamely by the side of the road now. Oh, good, so we deserved that.  Awesome.

“People are inherently good,” I text Salim with a string of sob faced emojiis.  Good Samaritans helped us!  Even though Snow Shovel Samaritan peppered that assistance with more than a little invective, I could not have been more grateful.      

Back on the road, driving becomes a purgatory of grey and white.  Endless.  Morale is low.  Gas is about to be an issue.  Dammit, it would be really nice to find a bathroom too.

We are scared to stop.  Worried to become icebound again, but we try.  The first attempt is thwarted when we turn in to the Trucks side instead of the Cars area at the next available truck stop.  There was no way for us to back up or get back over.  So we sigh and pull back out.

Next gas station, Doug manages to pull us over and get the gas pumping.  I would really really love a restroom break right about now, but I can’t even see the gas station entrance through the blowing snow.  He asks me if I want to try to make a break for it.  No, just go on.  We again rejoin the crawling flow of traffic.

Albany was the goal through this ordeal.  Albany was clear. I figured if we can just make it there, we could finally see a break in the misery.  Ultimately, though as we trekked the snow continued on its path and covered Albany as well.  No other choice, we just kept going.

Then just as quickly as it began, the worst is over.  We shook the snow off our tail and somewhere near New Canaan, New York, I got my bathroom break, a packet of banana chips and a souvenir New York fridge magnet.  Back on the road once more, I saw the sky for the first time in 8 hours.

So long, blizzard, don’t talk to me, or Doug or our rented Corolla ever again.

Crossing in to Massachusetts, I was suddenly afraid it was just a respite, just a calm pocket in between storms and we were headed back in to it again, but the road never whited out again.  It was just wet and cold.

Last communique had Rhett and Salim still quite a way behind us, so we checked in to our hotel, dropped our stuff and headed for the venue.  There was parking behind the restaurant, beyond a picturesque covered bridge.  We gathered the merch suitcases and headed over the bridge.  When we walked in the back door, Salim greeted us.  I was astonished.  Somehow they made really good time after leaving the majority of the storm behind and managed to catch up with and overtake us.  He hugged me.  Today was 100 years long.  Buffalo was another century.  I was so happy to see him.  Exhausted and dazed, I almost expected to blink my eyes and suddenly be back in the car, lost in the hazy grey white again.

Salim shepherded us up some stairs, instructed us to drop our cases and go find our table.  Eat something.  We’ll worry about everything later.  

We did.  I was suddenly so thirsty.  I couldn’t stop drinking.  The waitress asked me if we needed anything else, I said water.  She pointed at a carafe already on the table.  I gulped it eagerly.  Finally, a tiny bit calm, I enjoyed some food.  Doug ate quickly and excused himself to his station where he started opening cases, removing t-shirts and arranging them to their best advantage.  I watched him across the room.  Four days in and he was already a deft hand at this.  Set up the items, put the cases out of sight, talk to any early birds who happened to wander by before the show started.  Doug hates to admit it, but he’s a natural salesman.

Calmer by the minute, dinner consumed, the lights start to dim.  There he is.  My friend Salim takes the stage.  The show begins and I know we are ok.  A moment I only hoped for hours ago, is finally at hand.  

Salim sings “Don’t Be Afraid” for his friends Liz and Doug.  He tells the audience what we went through together today.  I am grateful for the darkness because the corners of my eyes start to prick and I try not to cry.  That was a sweet thing for him to do.  I love that song.

Later, some sweet ladies, friends of Salim we met at the merch table offer to take a picture of the four of us together:  Rhett, me, Doug and Salim.  A fitting memento:  Me.  My guys.  We are blizzard proof.  I wouldn’t change a minute of that scary, amazing day for anything.