After way too many consecutive days of storms, we had another biggie tonight. I am so sick and fuckin' tired of picking up the ferns on my front steps. Every time, I say, "I've got to buy some fuckin' pots for these fuckin' ferns", but so far it hasn't happened. Damn, I'm glad FF doesn't mind a few F words sprinkled here and there. Actually, he makes my language look pretty pristine. Gotta love that.
After a really hard day of packing and moving stuff to House Formerly Known as Good House, the torrential downpour started. Tornado sirens went off. It's like the buzzer on the dryer when it's finished - I don't even hear it any more. Even though it's practically next door and makes my windows rattle. I made Sarita stay until it let up. Finally, after the 15th call from her kids, I told her she could go.
Her car was in the shop so I told her to take one from our fleet. Kiddo's 14 year old gramma car. I needed to go back to the old house to get cat food, so we walked out together. I was planning to take my ten year old Subaru, but it was next to the gramma car and they were both in rushing water up to the rims. We ran back under the carport and I said I'd go in Mother's minivan and that I'd drive next to her car so she could get in without wading through the water. As I started to pull in, I realized that the driveway wasn't wide enough so I'd have to go in the grass. And that my yard was a lake. I was afraid I'd get stuck in the mud. At that point, I didn't care about the yard getting all mucked up (although I'm sure The Daddler will have plenty to say about it). After about 15 times of going forward and backward with Sarita leaning out the side door shouting directions about which way to cut the wheel (which always confuses me since I'm dyslexic), I finally got close enough for her to jump from the van into the passenger's side of the gramma car. It only took four more times to get the doors lined up. I felt like one of those rescue helicopter pilots who saves people from the rushing water. I was shouting, "You can do it!", "Don't be afraid!", "You'll be all right!". You get the idea. I had my head stuck out my window so I was getting soaked, and in between each inspirational platitude I muttered one or two four letter words, and one choice four syllable compound word. Not at her, just at the sitch.
Finally, she safely made the tranfer. Never mind that we were both wet from head to toe instead of just up to our ankles. I started screaming at her to roll down her window. I shouted that the fuel gauge didn't work. Keep in mind that the tornado sirens were going off and the rain and wind were loud so it was hard to hear. Plus, she and The D had put some stupid-ass country a.m. radio station on in the van and I couldn't figure out how to turn it off. I told her if the trip odometer was under 200, she wouldn't run out of gas. I love the girl to death, but she didn't know what the trip odometer was. She started reading off some string of numbers. I told her it should be three numbers. She didn't see it. Then I realized it's probably four numbers because it shows tenths of a mile, too. She was hollering numbers and I was hollering "What?" This went on for about five minutes until she said 1132. That sounded right. I asked her if there was a period after the three. There was. So I shouted the number back, just to be sure. I gave her the ok sign and rolled up my window.
I noticed her waving at me and rolled it back down. She asked me what I called that, and I told her it was the trip odometer. Bless her heart. So I start to try to back out of the mud pit, and I see her waving again. Down goes the window. She said she is going to have to back out first - the minivan is too close. Ok. So she tries to back out, but it's too close for that. So she tells me to try and she pulls up as far as she can. Thank god she didn't go over the edge into Daddy's newly tilled vegetable garden.
After narrowly missing the corner of the house while avoiding the side of the gramma car, I finally made it to the driveway. I was backing out and couldn't see shit - there was a big box in the passenger's seat and the windows were fogged up and it was raining hard and I couldn't figure out how to turn on the windshield wipers. So I couldn't tell where the driveway ended and the mudpit formerly known as a yard began. At that point, I didn't care. I got the radio off and the wipers on before I got to the end of the driveway. Now, it turns out that the storm drain is clogged with leaves from my five humongous oak trees. The other day, my recycle bin floated out into the street. Luckily, neither of us got swept away in the flood. Even though we didn't follow Dave Brown's sage advice: Don't Drown, Turn Around.
Soooo, I headed to the old house. The D was waiting for me at the back door. I told him I needed to get food for the bulimic cat. I asked him if he had a flashlight. He proceeded to demonstrate that he did by shining it in my eyes. I told him to call me if he needed me, but I realized he didn't have a phone there. I said since he didn't have a phone, he could go to our neighbors house if he needed anything. He said, and this is a quote, "Yea. I already figured that out." No aphasia this time. Clear as a bell. Complete with sarcasm. Wait until he sees the mud.
Next, I realized that I only had the minivan key and not my car keys with the key to the House Boat. So I told The D I needed his key. He started taking it off his key ring and I felt the house key in my pocket. I told him never mind. Then I bade him farewell and he locked the door behind me. I got in the minivan and realized I didn't have my purse. So had to go back, ring the doorbell, and get it.
Back at the Boat, the poor, frightened cat was still under the sofa three hours after having arrived. I started thinking about it and realized that the only two places she'd ever been in her whole life were the old house and the vet. So I could see why she'd be a little leary of a new place. I got on the floor to coax her out, and then I thought I should get a picture of her for the blog. It took me twelve times to get a picture that even resembled a cat under a sofa. Then I realized that the flashing light probably wasn't very soothing for her. All for naught, though, because my Stupid Sprint smart phone doesn't work in this Boat, so I can't email the pic to my computer.
Oh, my. I left out the whole part about the leaking PVC pipe in the attic and the mysterious wet puddle on the downstairs bathroom carpet. Or my seven phone calls to the stupid home repair warranty douches and their shitty contractors. For now my back is hurting and I'm tired and hungry and wet, so I'll have to tell about that another time.
For now, though, I can laugh about all this. I'm so tired, that I think I'll sleep through the 13th stormy night in a row and wake up hoping the scene outside my Enchanted Airie doesn't resemble Iguacu Falls...
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