Today, I took what is arguably The World’s Worst Road Trip: New York City to Newark, New Jersey … and back.

In a blizzard. For no reason at all.

Let me preface that I had a mental matinee of how today would go.

(Dawn): Our heroine  awakes after a perfect five hours of sleep, stretches, makes a rather adorable yawning noise and jumps out of bed. Her hair is perfect. Her eyeliner is a slightly smudged, Kate Moss kind of smoky. She makes strong coffee and heads for the airport. Just four short hours later, the plucky heroine pops out from behind an obese tourist to surprise her entire family at the baggage claim of the Denver International Airport. “SURPRISE! You guys didn’t know I was coming for this trip … but here I am!” (Fade out as the family weeps for joy. Because … despite what her brother thinks … she really is the favorite kid.)

Here’s how today went in the real world.

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Give or take an ounce, roughly 2,000 pounds of Mother Nature’s Nose Candy (a.k.a. snow) dumped out of the dirt-colored sky. Some newscaster decided to name it after a Greek God, and we all woke up to “Hercules.” I also woke up from a nightmare where I was sprinting through the airport security to my gate, only to realize I’d lost my purse. I woke up sleepy and angry. My eyeliner was somewhere southwest of my mouth. I gathered my stuff together and ran downstairs. The Negative 4 windchill hit me in the face like a two-by-four and I scrambled over a large snowbank to my cab. At 7:04 a.m., I was already running late. The roads hadn’t been plowed. “NEWARK! HOLY CRAP! HURRY!”

My driver turned in the seat and offered me a complimentary “Are you bat shit nuts??” before angrily agreeing to head to the Newark Airport … at a rate of approximately 5 mph. We narrowly escaped death two times on the freeway. It took one hour. I paid him $70 and got out to a solid wall of pissy travelers in stupid puffy coats.

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None of us got anywhere. Flights were cancelled over load speakers on regular rotation. And several hours after waking up, I got in a cab for the $70 ride back to my neighborhood. I spent $140 before noon, y’all. On the world’s worst road trip. My surprise visit died. Sniff. Sniff sniff …

Once home, I eventually stopped wanting to kill everyone. I decided instead to take the new wide-angle lens I got for Christmas out for a spin. We tromped through the park. We met people in parkas and a tiny girl in a rather exceptional furry panda hat. That rabid old man in that photo earlier tried to bite me, and two Polish ladies yelled at me for snapping their photo. Sorry old people … your yelling is super useless.

First off, it’s in Polish, and I can’t understand you. Secondly, you can’t frustrate a girl who’s done a 2-hour, $140 road trip to Newark, New Jersey in -4 temperatures. I hit my capacity for frustration around 10 a.m. this morning. Now I’ll just laugh at you and walk off. Good day. I said good day.

Click here. This is all I’m capable of after this morning. Well, that and these photos of the snow-packed East Village.

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Jenny Adams is a freelance travel writer, author and photographer. She currently contributes to a number of publications, including National Geographic Traveler, Hemispheres, American Way and Imbibe. She's the former Bar Columnist for the Miami Herald, the current Copy Editor at Robb Vices and is also wrestling a half-written novel, set in New Orleans. Jenny's got an knack for getting lost, an addiction to full-fat cream cheese, and a deep and abiding love for every Water Buffalo she's ever seen. Her bookshelf is mainly Tom Robbins, her favorite word is 'visceral,' and you can find out more about her at www.jennyadamsfreelance.com.

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