So… Hurricane Ike? Is really starting to piss me off.
As luck would have it, this storm is not just the only hurricane of the 2008 with a butch sounding name, but it has targeted Texas for landfall sometime this weekend.
I know it’s a bit early to pack up and evacuate., I’m not doing anything that drastic, but being a coastal rat my entire life I have a finely developed sense for which storms to fear (Katrina) and which to say puhshaw to (Edourdo). Also, I HATE people who are all like: I AM 45 MILES FROM THE OCEAN, WE ARE GOING TO DIE.
I will admit, though, there’s something about Ike that kind of scares me. Perhaps it’s because its name makes me think of Pres. Eisenhower – as in the badass World War II general. I mean, the dude that led the free world’s military defense against the original Axis of Evil has to be one bad mamba jamba. I would seriously not screw with him, as no one wants to be steamrolled by the prevailing force of the greatest war of the last 100 years. Am I right?
And it’s not just a direct hit that concerns me. If Ike were to strengthen and hit a touch south of Houston, then this would put us on the dirty side of his fury. And since Houston LOVES to flood and I LOVE the creature comforts electricity offers, I suspect that if the cone of uncertainly continues to center on the Houston area then Sonny the Pug and I will pack our shit and get the hell out. NOT because it’s a hurricane and we think we are going to die, but because we are fat and do not like to sweat.
Frankly, all this planning ahead for a hurricane that may or may not blow through is a bit exhausting. The husband and father-in-law went to Home Depot to procure a couple of plywood boards tonight. Apparently, the better be prepared would-be hurricane victims had already scooped up all the cheap plywood. Thus the Momma Pug North American Head Quarters will be protected by boards that cost so much that the husband swears they are gold plated. They also will be hooked up to a generator supplying them with 10,000 volts, so looters beware.
The more we sit and talk about it, the less appealing the prospect of driving to Round Rock (hi in-laws!) with three dogs and one disenfranchised cat becomes. If it were up to Gert, we’d tie ourselves to the pillars on the front porch and face that bitch head on. Because THAT would better than her having to ride in a Honda Civic with Sonny the Pug for three hours. Part of me tends to agree.
So as I write – and feverishly stalk the Weather Channel – I am hopeful that Ike will suddenly long for a trip to Cancun. But until we get the all clear the husband will prepare the best way he knows – by nailing up plywood and filling the cars with gas. And I will react the only way I know how – by stacking all our personal treasures up to the ceiling of the back of the car and giving the dogs each half an Ambien for the road trip. Trust me, my disaster planning is important too.
As luck would have it, this storm is not just the only hurricane of the 2008 with a butch sounding name, but it has targeted Texas for landfall sometime this weekend.
I know it’s a bit early to pack up and evacuate., I’m not doing anything that drastic, but being a coastal rat my entire life I have a finely developed sense for which storms to fear (Katrina) and which to say puhshaw to (Edourdo). Also, I HATE people who are all like: I AM 45 MILES FROM THE OCEAN, WE ARE GOING TO DIE.
I will admit, though, there’s something about Ike that kind of scares me. Perhaps it’s because its name makes me think of Pres. Eisenhower – as in the badass World War II general. I mean, the dude that led the free world’s military defense against the original Axis of Evil has to be one bad mamba jamba. I would seriously not screw with him, as no one wants to be steamrolled by the prevailing force of the greatest war of the last 100 years. Am I right?
And it’s not just a direct hit that concerns me. If Ike were to strengthen and hit a touch south of Houston, then this would put us on the dirty side of his fury. And since Houston LOVES to flood and I LOVE the creature comforts electricity offers, I suspect that if the cone of uncertainly continues to center on the Houston area then Sonny the Pug and I will pack our shit and get the hell out. NOT because it’s a hurricane and we think we are going to die, but because we are fat and do not like to sweat.
Frankly, all this planning ahead for a hurricane that may or may not blow through is a bit exhausting. The husband and father-in-law went to Home Depot to procure a couple of plywood boards tonight. Apparently, the better be prepared would-be hurricane victims had already scooped up all the cheap plywood. Thus the Momma Pug North American Head Quarters will be protected by boards that cost so much that the husband swears they are gold plated. They also will be hooked up to a generator supplying them with 10,000 volts, so looters beware.
The more we sit and talk about it, the less appealing the prospect of driving to Round Rock (hi in-laws!) with three dogs and one disenfranchised cat becomes. If it were up to Gert, we’d tie ourselves to the pillars on the front porch and face that bitch head on. Because THAT would better than her having to ride in a Honda Civic with Sonny the Pug for three hours. Part of me tends to agree.
So as I write – and feverishly stalk the Weather Channel – I am hopeful that Ike will suddenly long for a trip to Cancun. But until we get the all clear the husband will prepare the best way he knows – by nailing up plywood and filling the cars with gas. And I will react the only way I know how – by stacking all our personal treasures up to the ceiling of the back of the car and giving the dogs each half an Ambien for the road trip. Trust me, my disaster planning is important too.
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