Here’s a recap of what’s happened to me in the last two weeks, in chronological order:
• El Jefe came back from NYC from Thanksgiving after four days of hanging around some sick ass coughy kids. First night at home, BLAM! “Dude. I feel like the onset of a sore throat…” OH HELLS NO.
• After quarantining, I felt safe and secure in my health. After all, I take vitamins the size of horse pills that make my pee fluorescent yellow. That was Tuesday.
• Wednesday night was the End of Days, like the Mayan Calendar I guess. Wind storm of epic proportions, like Dorothy being swept up to the land of Oz, except way more violent in Tim Burton-meets-Michael Bay kind of way. This goes on all night. Loud banging which turns out to be shingles from my neighbor’s roof flying off and whacking the windows and the wall but really it sounds like demons pounding on the stucco. I basically spend the night huddled in bed with Herbie wondering if we’re going to die; and then feel somewhat contented that I am at least with my dog. I also spent most of the night worried that the ping pong table in the backyard is going to come crashing into my bedroom. Also, the power goes out with spectacular fireworks display from the transformer hanging precariously in my backyard. Live wires go down, miraculously none in my backyard (unlike two years ago).
• Thursday morning, I wake up perturbed neither Tom Cruise nor Will Smith showed up in their true Xenu forms to save the day, making me even more annoyed with the new Church of Scientology building in Old Town. But whatever, there are things to do around the house, like DEAL WITH NO FUCKING POWER. Oh, and the fallen tree limb from my neighbor’s backyard now resting on my roof and blocking my car in the driveway. Luckily, that is the only damage and my neighbor foots the bill of removing the offending limb ($1300 in case you were wondering how much these tree removal specialists are raking in). I take two sick days off at work because I refuse to throw down in fisticuffs with a much burlier soccer mom for outlet space at Starbucks.
• Friday, the power is still out. Abby and Laure show up to drink wine and eat pizza at Settebello. We heckle our prepubescent waiter and order another bottle of wine because it has been three days without power. Abby brings hooker cookies and talks about blowies. We sleep in the living room in front of the fireplace as it is the only warm place in the house.
• Saturday is spent looking hopefully at every single truck driving down the street. None of importance show up until about 7 pm when I get cranky due to suspicious scratchy throat. MUTHERFUCKER. I drink a gallon of orange juice and seethe at the nice power guy climbing up the transformer.
• Sunday. WAKE UP TO NO POWER. DAY 5. SHIT IS BIBLICAL. AND STAYS BIBLICAL UNTIL POWER TRUCKS SHOW UP IN THE AFTERNOON. I AM SO ENRAGED THAT I RUN OUT TO THE POOR MAN AND ASK HIM IF HE IS HERE TO FIX SHIT. His reply: “Yes ma’am, I am the shit-fixer.” He has traveled from San Pedro and has a nice mustache which I compliment him on.
• Monday. I wake up with power and glorious heat. And goddamn bronchitis.
Good thing tomorrow is Friday. Hoping this weekend will be fucking awesome because I need one good awesome weekend in December before I write this shit off for good.