I've been punk'd

There was all this hype about a huge snowstorm that was supposed to hit last night.  My bff, in her usual fashion, stocked up on milk and beer.  Me, in my atypical but becoming all too familiar fashion, stocked up on beef barley soup and pastry hearts.  Oh, the joys to be hormonal and weight gain expected.  Anyway, this "snowstorm" maybe maybe would've thrown San Diego for a loop.  But not us Buffalonians.  The pending anxiety of it, however, threw everyone (University at Buffalo included) into a tizzy, schools and businesses closing.  (I'm warming up at the mere idea of this)  My next door neighbor's plow came at least twice during the night.  Naturally, I expected to wake up and see nothing but a winter wonderland.  Instead I woke up to see no more snow than there was on the branches and the steps to the play set in the backyard.  (La Jolla I'm coming for the rest of the winter).

me!??!?!?!!?

I've recently begun to think that I'm constantly being Punk'd.  Like there are all sorts of conspiracies around me and hidden cameras are just waiting to get a ridiculous reaction out of me.  My reaction always ends up being, "am I being punk'd?" which always ends up twice as ridiculous because a) I'm not on camera, b) I give myself away by thinking the world revolves around me.  So by the light of the moon this morning, only half-way in my pajamas, I squintedly asked aloud, "am I being punk'd?"  There was no snow, but next door neighbor's driveway had been repeatedly plowed, and the ice trucks were up and down my street all night long.  Whaat?  But apparently, here we are, in the middle of a storm.  I'm dutifully eating my beef barley soup and pastry hearts, and I turned up the heat, just for effect.