I'm Deraming of a White Tax Season

Ok, so I was wrong...
It snowed today. Quite a lot; and will in all likelihood continue to do so well into the afternoon tomorrow. To anyone who happens to be reading in whose face I laughed yesterday at the notion of frozen precipitation--not that I expect there are any of you--I would hereby like to express my deep and sincere desire that you sod off immediately. I mean seriously, the meteorologists get the forecast right once every two weeks and they feel generally good about themselves, so surely I, a relatively climatologically uninformed civilian can be excused of being on this one isolated occasion somewhat less than precognitive.
That being established, I come back to the point on which I entered. I awoke at approximately 0800 this morning and new instantly that something was amiss. Some intangible something nibbled inquisitively at the back of my mind like a small mouse on a bag of non-soy-based imitation cheese-flavored snack food product. Then it hit me. My alarm clock, that is. At some point during the night, I must have dislodged it from its resting place on the corner of my combination desk/worktable. The impact of cheap Taiwanese plastic on scalp was surprisingly loud in the tomb-like early morning stillness. I knew immediately the source of the nagging disquiet in my mind. It is NEVER quiet here, morning or otherwise. The best I can normally hope for is a sort of subdued cacophony. This inexplicable silence could only mean that some terrible, unthinkable catastrophe--something on a par with a major glacial impact at least--must be upon us, I thought. Being ever the impulsive one, I elected on the spur of the moment to turn over and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, now that I had been awake for some moments, it was no longer just my mind that was being nagged at. I stumbled blearily to the bathroom and made my daily obeisance to the porcelain god. A few moments of functional consciousness served to convince me that I was, for the time being, at least, not going to be able to go back to sleep. So I decided to go and investigate the overwhelming dearth of intolerable noise with which I found myself presented. I stuck my head out the front door to reconnoiter, and...
I should note at this point that, after having lived in this particular location for as long as I have, I was fully prepared to behold anything up to and including minor human sacrifice (campus life is indeed an interesting one). What I was not at all ready to cope with was snow. The reader must remember, before he scoffs at my naivete, that, in the region of the Southeastern U.S. in which I live generates a decent snowfall only slightly less frequently than it generates conjoined sets of tap-dancing transvestite leprechauns.
I suppose I don't need to tell you that the excitement of witnessing the first legitimate snow of a long winter was more than enough to convince me to return at once to bed, whereupon I slept until nearly midday (it had been a long night).
So it was that I came to exchange the rigors of academia for the only slightly more potentially life-threatening rigors of an early-afternoon snowball fight.
All, I thought, must assuredly be well on such a fine, crisp, snowy winter's morn. The giddy laughter, the ominous whisk-smunch of compacted snow colliding with ice-cold skin, the dismayed shriek of those who apparently occasionally forget that ice crystals provide little in the way of friction...
Add to that the simple joys of bonding with friends, a somewhat less than quiet late afternoon spirited away in the solitude of my room with my very significant other (ahem), and the--much appreciated--occasional attractive young coed braving winter's maelstrom in an extremely insubstantial bathing suit and I have myself a recipe for a fine day, right?
Snowballs to the head suck, most of my friends are bastards who are not at all above aiming snowballs at my head, said significant other couldn?t stay nearly long enough, and, pleasing as they are to watch, those uninhibited--or simply masochistic--young ladies are only just that: something pleasing to watch (and being that it was actually snowing, said eye-candy was understandably very fleeting indeed).
So now, as my wonderful snowbound Saturnalia comes to a graceful close, I find myself cold, wet, and still relatively...er...frustrated. I've spent the latter half of the evening flipping between The History Channel and the Democratic Debate on the television and trying to work some feeling back into my fingertips.
This is depressing; I used to love snow days...

UPDATE:
Apparently I can look forward to yet another weather-related sabbatical today, too.