Some things are so outrageous that you think they can’t possibly be true. Yet they are. There is no way I could post the following on April 1st because no one would have believed it. Hell, I waited almost a week and yinz still might not believe it. Regardless, here goes…
My former coworker and I are still friends. He doesn’t work more than 10 minutes from our office and we will meet for drinks or sometimes another coworker and I will go to his camp for a night away. B is always full of stories about one of his employees, Tank. Usually when we meet at happy hour Tank joins us and I can assure you, the man is, how shall I say this…well, Tank is not the average bear. He is young, smart, funny, attractive, outgoing, and batshit crazy. His brain just doesn’t quite work the way same as most people. Tank’s stories always result in tears running down my face. Or my jaw hanging open. You never know when I’ll hear about Tank showing up in a limo, drunk, eating pizza at 4 AM on a night when one of the guys has a flat tire or some such insanity. Honestly, he is incredibly similar to the fictitious Twitter account DadBoner, but Tank is 100% real. (And technically homeless as months ago he moved out of his apartment, but not into anywhere new. An email from B: “One of Tank’s quotes written on the dry erase board right now is “Homelessness is the key to personal wealth – I’ve never had so much money.”)
About a week ago B emailed me that he thinks he made a mistake sending Tank and McBane on a work related trip out of town together. I received forwards of texts and emails:
“The two of them are traveling together. RW is spearheading the certification process. This is a listing of the texts I’ve received from Tank since the end of work yesterday:
McBane Packed for a fortnight (in regards to a picture of McBane with about 42 outfits on a hotel cart) (7:13 PM)
Dude, McBane just choked out RW. His tongue was literally sticking out of his mouth (12:38 AM)
Seriously (12:39 AM)
I’m never traveling with McBane again. (12:55 AM)
McBane loves Pepper, but he hates cinnamon (7:13 AM)
Everything I’ve said about him so far is absolute truth (7:15 AM)
He called the front desk last night because he lost track of which of his pillows was the “medium” firmness (7:17 AM)
That afternoon I received an update:
“McBane and I are pretty much the most unprepared people at this thing, but we’re really not sure what we need to do next. I just looked over at him and said, “so do you think we should start hammering this packet out or what?” To which he responded, “McBane has a deuce on deck that would choke a heifer” and he got up and stormed out of the room.
This is the worst.”
Did I mention that McBane is not much better? Oh yeah, that.
I received no more emails regarding their antics, so I kind of forgot about it. Until the next morning, when this popped up in my Inbox:
“Nothing from Tank, but I received these from McBane this morning:
Do you think Tank is going to be mad when he wakes only to find our curtains are decimated and on the ground and the mini fridge is laying next to him in the bed. (6:57 AM)
Our room looks like when they wake up in the hang over. Tank may have a monkey in his bed. (7:06 AM)
I’m pretty sure there’s a small Asian guy in the closet. Tank said he was making to much noise. (7:09 AM)”
Personally, I got nothing more until Friday. Then an email from B…
“Tank never came back to the hotel room last night. They were supposed to check out by 10:00 AM. McBane couldn’t get a hold of Tank and assumed the worst. It turns out, he hooked up with some girl and stayed at her place. The girl went to work and Tank went back to the hotel and he and McBane packed up and returned to this girls place (Tank had plans of staying the weekend there while McBane meets his brother in another part of town). McBane was looking around the place and seen a bunch of pet toys. He inquired upon what type of pet she had and Tank looked around and screamed in terror “Oh my God, we’ve lost the housecat.” They’ve searched everywhere and can’t find it. In an effort to find either the cat or a picture of the cat (Tank couldn’t remember what it looked like), they ransacked her place ripping apart closets, boxes under the bed, dresser drawers and the like. The place is now in complete disarray. They eventually looked outside and have found both a grey cat and a black & white cat. Being as Tank can’t remember what it looks like and never found any photos, he grabbed both cats and threw them in the door and they left. He’s just going to pretend like he doesn’t know what she’s talking about when/if she calls him to see why her place is ransacked and either a) she has an extra cat or b) her cat is missing and two strange cats are now living there. I can’t wait to hear how this turns out!”
Followed up with one more from B…
“Update: I just spoke with McBane. Apparently she had no idea McBane was going to be hanging out there (he was going to hang there with Tank until 3:00, then go meet his brother), so while they were searching for the cat/cat photos, McBane thought it would be real funny to mush all of her underwear into his pocket so that she would think Tank was a total perv and stole them. So now, she’s going to show up at a ransacked place, with either one extra cat, or two extra cats less her actual pet, and all of her underwear gone. I kept telling him to get out of DC and come back here so they don’t get arrested. McBane just kept laughing screaming “it’s all on Tank, she doesn’t even know I exist” while throwing underlings out of the passenger side window and Tank is driving in the background yelling “shut up dude, get rid of those f’n things. We both made a pact to never speak of it again. This isn’t even funny. Not remotely.” I can’t wait for more phone calls!”
I don’t doubt a word of any of this. And I find it all hilarious. Sadly, I’ve heard nothing else. Maybe B will leave a comment here with an update.
I don’t cook. At all. Since I haven’t been feeling well I figured I would make some chicken noodle soup. In the microwave. Sounds easy enough, right?
I used a large glass bowl, added three cups of water, put a glass plate on top of it and shoved it in the microwave for six plus minutes in an effort to get the water to boil. When the timer went off I grabbed a potholder and pulled the glass plate from the bowl so that I could add the noodles to the water.
I REMEMBERED THE POTHOLDER.
But I forgot about the fucking steam. Ouch.
That was Sunday. My pointer finger is still red and tender. Totally burnt. Still ouch.
I should know better than to try to cook. Or, ya know, boil water.
Remember back in February when I was sick and at the grocery store when a guy asked me out and I was questioning his sanity / taste in women? Remember how yinz all lost your shit on me? Well, something similar happened yesterday.
I had major bed hair and didn’t even shower, just woke up late, called Aunt Tinkle Twat to see if she wanted to do breakfast somewhere because I didn’t want to be alone, threw on a black spaghetti strap tank top along with my jean crappie pants and flip flops, then headed out to pick up Tinkle.
Her boyfriend wanted us to run to Lowe’s or Home Depot for some stuff so instead of going to Pamela’s down in the Strip we decided on Cracker Barrel out in Robinson. As we started up 60 I changed my mind and decided I wanted more of a diner so we jumped on 79 and BOOM, there we were at the best place in Pittsburgh (next to Pamela’s) for breakfast. There were even two seats at the counter open! I was all about happy.
Tink and I were talking and loudly laughing, even though outwardly we were both pretty much disasters…her with half of her hair plastered to her face and the other half standing straight out, me with my hair all Medusa like. (And I do mean laughing. The deep, belly laugh that almost causes me to bend over to grasp my sides, but then my face would have been in my S’mores pancakes.).
Then this guy came in with his young son, waiting for a table. Tink thought he kept staring at me, I said who wouldn’t with jacked up hair like mine. I exchanged smiles and glances and all with the attractive older man, then when it came time to pay we were both at the register at the same time. He introduced himself and we had a little chit chat. I blushed when he called me pretty, secretly thinking he must be crazy because HELLO, HAVE YOU SEEN MY HAIR THAT SCREAMED FRESHLY FUCKED OR SLEPT ON??!?! (The higher the hair, the closer to God!) When he said he would like to buy me lunch or dinner sometime, I heard all of you yelling at me about dismissing the guy back in February so I found myself agreeing to go out with him. We exchanged numbers and I practically ran back to Tinkle, all the while thinking this seemingly normal guy must be a freak.
So here is my dilemma. Is he crazy / needy / lonely on Father’s Day / an axe murderer who stares at women until they are intrigued or is he a nice guy who just was out with his son on Father’s Day and saw someone he was attracted to?
And if it is the latter? Well, I don’t trust anyone who is attracted to an un-showered Medusa me. I mean obviously he ain’t right in the head, right?
Ok, I am done rambling. Point is I listened to you fuckers and didn’t tell this dude that he is obviously fucked up if he hit on me Sunday morning. So if I do actually go out with him and I find myself chopped up in little pieces, in his freezer while he wears my hair as a wig? IT WILL BE YOUR FAULT, INTERNET.
So I know that I have practically dried up and disappeared from the world wide internets. Hell, even the wonderful guy who cuts my hair gave me shit about not posting (hi, Hedge!!). I miss writing and posting photos, but more than that I miss reading all that is happening in all of your lives.
Problem is, I don’t see anything changing in the next few weeks. CRAY-zee busy. Christina’s last day was officially Friday. That means until the new Christina (I call her Earl. Because I can.) starts on the 17th I am fucked. Did I mention that we are training a few new people during this time? And that one of our best customers is coming to town on the 9th? (Although the fun part of that is if the Penguins are in need of a game six I get to attend with my favorite customer. Yay!)
My favorite city event, the Three Rivers Arts Festival, is June 5-14. And there are four Greek Food festivals the month of June. LOVE Greek food.
And I can’t forget ConFab, Baby. If Dutchbitch can fly all that way for a weekend, the least I can do is keep my word and drive my ass to Kentucky. Honestly, I’ll need the escape. It will prevent me from hurting coworkers or myself.
The week after that, the week that Earl starts, will be a great week. I’m looking forward to seeing one of my favorite faces for a few days.
After that things will settle down and get back into routine. Don’t get me wrong, I hope to post between now and month’s end, but I just won’t be around quite as much. Fuck, I can’t believe I still haven’t posted photos from a few weeks ago when Jester, UMB and I pulled an all nighter in Reno. Bad, bad Becky!
P.S. LET’S GO PENS!!!
As most of you already know, I am always running late. Hell, I was even born three days later than my due date. Being on time is just not something that is terribly important to me. Even on the days when it is important, something inevitably comes up to fuck up my good intentions so I am late anyhow. Usually it isn’t a problem.
Friday I had a flight to catch at 8:05 AM. The dogs needed to go to the kennel before I could get to the airport. And, not surprisingly, I was running about 20 minutes late. Hoping the weather would delay the flight, I pushed on even though the rain made it difficult to see (and therefore driving at 90 miles an hour became a little dangerous).
When I pulled up at the curbside baggage check at 7:16 I was thankful to see Delta had a few guys outside checking bags and no line. Considering that the airlines usually cut off checked baggage 45 minutes before a flight, I practically hugged the guy who rushed to help me with my bag. We were talking and laughing when I glanced over to see a state trooper coming my way.
Fuck. No stopping, parking or anything meant I told the baggage dude to keep checking me in while I drove around the block…I’d be back for my driver’s license. Unfortunately it was too late, the cop was at my SUV before I was.
He asked if it was mine and if it was registered in the state of Pennsylvania. I smiled and happily told him of course it was. Even added a “sir.” I about threw up when he asked if I realized my registration was expired. Almost a year ago.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. The incredibly attractive officer asked to see my registration and license. I dug out my registration paperwork, giggling as I told him, “You are going to love this one. My license is with the baggage guy and my registration papers aren’t signed.”
He was nice and handed me a pen saying something about me agreeing to not litter. It was right about then, right there in the rain, that I lost my shit. I do NOT litter, thankyouverymuch. HATE litter and how dare he accuse me of littering, dammit. Even went so far as to share the story about drunk Tour Guide Me grabbing some guy by the throat because he littered in front of my guests from Cleveland. Cutie patootie cop apologized and showed me the language on the registration which mentions by signing that the vehicle owner agrees to fines of $300 for fining. I blushed a bit and apologized for screaming at him.
We walked over to the curbside baggage to get out of the rain and to get my license. And apparently my 45 pound bag because it was some double top secret flagged for no curb checking. Are you fucking kidding me? I started to laugh and said, “Well, as if there might have been a doubt, I am so missing this flight.”
Giggles and curses flowed. I mean, I couldn’t stop cracking up. Right about then the baggage guy told me that my flight was delayed a few moments and Delta will check bags up to 30 minutes before departure time. More laughter (and “HOT DAMN, BUBBA, I JUST MIGHT MAKE IT!” might have possibly escaped from my mouth). Then, still with a massive smile, I turned to the trooper.
“Would you be kind enough to write my expired inspection ticket quickly so that I don’t miss my flight? I’m clearly having one hell of a rainy Friday and would love to not miss this flight.”
And more silence.
Then he cracked a smile. “I’ve never done this before, but I am only going to write you a warning. Just do me a favor and get that thing inspected before the 18th. Mail me a copy that you did. Never before have I seen someone so happy about a rainy bad day. I want you safe. Get it inspected.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Just a written warning? You might want to step back because I am seriously gonna hug you.”
Don’t know why, but I am really, really blessed. And also rather stupid because I didn’t hug the hot cop.
Oh! I made the flight and so did all of my luggage!
Sunday I typed a post and set it to go at midnight Monday. In that post I promised to post photos from the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Monday I got NO comments. Monday night I went to write the post with the photos and I couldn’t get into my blog. MAJOR error. Jester came to my rescue, but by then it was all kinds of late so whaaa-la, you are only getting my pictures now.
Good news is, Jester rocks! And because he fixed this place I can now show you photos from Saturday. Yaaaay, Jester! Thank you, thank you.
Every year Pittsburgh throws a St. Patrick’s Day celebration the Saturday before the High Holy Day itself. The parade lasts from 10 AM until 2 PM and is damn fun. This year cousin Twinkle Twat brought her son who is three years old. Aunt Tinkle Tom Tom Twat and I left our dogs at home even though it broke our heart, but there was drinking to do and we didn’t want to be responsible.
I had a bottle of Bailey’s in my purse, Aunt Tinkle had a travel mug of pure Jameson (The word whiskey is an Anglicisation of the ancient Gaelic term “uisce beatha” which translates as “water of life”), a flask of peppermint schnapps and a flask of peach schnapps.
We started towards the beginning of the parade route, but there were so many people that they were spilling into the street so we couldn’t really enjoy the parade. Easy solution? Become a part of the parade and walk further down the route until you find where you are comfy. ANYhow, here’s the pics!
Don’t know why, but I love wolfhounds.
At one point I needed to run into the bagel place to buy a few green bagels and half cups of coffee (needed room for the Bailey’s) before heading down to where we would watch the bulk of the four hours worth of parade. On the way I ran into one of my favorite former coworkers. And his cheek full of chaw. (Blech!)
We got to the perfect spot, drank a bunch of booze and watched a bunch of parade…
How can folks be afraid of clowns?
This dude was sooo happy.
Great Pyrenees dogs were adorable in green.
Thankfully the llamas didn’t spit.
Loved the Ren Fest folks.
10Q, 10Q, 10Q!
Oh yes, Mr. McFeely from Mr. Rogers!
Lawn Order cracked me up.
As did their Terrible Trailer.
Roller Derby girls!
Steel City Fins
Gotta love Phil.
Howling at the fireboys in their trucks. hehe
Ok, enough of that. Here is my favorite photo from the parade…
Tomorrow I will share the after parade photos. Hope I didn’t scare you off with all of these. Wheeeeeeee!
(Note: No HNT here this morning. Maybe later.)
Recently I have made a few really, really stupid decisions in an effort to spare my heart. For me, Denial is not just another river in Egypt. Problem is, as much as I try to hide or ignore people or things in an effort to “stay strong” I will never actually find the strength to just fucking deal in the first place if I don’t admit that there is a fucking problem. Dealing and acceptance are the only things that will make it all better, not hiding.
Huge, heavy sigh.
To anyone who listened to “Clearly You’re Retarded” last night, thanks for letting me say something that I have never said before. While I certainly didn’t expect that show to play shrink for me, I am glad I was apart of it. And I appreciated the gentle mirror, held up for me to look into.
I will do my best to make my wrongs right. If I can’t, I have no one to blame. If I can, it is because the others are much better friends than I deserve.
Speaking of friends, I really am grateful for all of you. Very thankful that you are in my life.
All I wanted to post today was photos of my shorter hair. Instead you get an ordeal.
Monday at work was busy. All around good day where I actually accomplished plenty that needed to get done. I really only cried in the shower (I do all of my best thinking in the shower) and having plenty to do during the day was awesome. Because Aunt Kate had invited me over for dinner I didn’t stay too late at the office. Came home to take care of the dogs, then had to pick up Cousin Sarah a little before 6:30 so that we wouldn’t be late for dinner. That pregnant girl was hungry!
I pulled up in front of the house and threw the vehicle in park because I knew Sarah had to get pants on and all. Flipping through the radio stations I found a decent song and cranked up the volume, rocking out while I settled in to check out the 100 Twitter messages that had backed up. The internal light was on so that I could find the damn phone, plus it makes reading the screen easier to have a bit of light. It was difficult to see the man walking out towards Sarah’s house, but I caught a glimpse of his movement out of the corner of my eye. He seemed to slow and look at me, come towards me, step towards the house, step towards me again. Thinking it was Aunt Chris’ boyfriend, I rolled the window down. Without the reflection on the window it was easy to see the older man wasn’t Rick. My brain was racing and then his words registered. “She’s fallen.”
It only took a half a second for my eyes to focus on Sarah, laying on the ground in the cold rain. Pray, pray, pray. Pray to Jesus, pray that Mom puts in a good word to keep the baby healthy and not arriving on Mom’s birthday. As soon as I got to Sarah it was obvious the pain she was in. It seemed as though she was trying to keep her head up off the bottom step so I ran back to my vehicle and grabbed a soft blanket to place under her head. It quickly became obvious that there was no way Sarah could move. Her back pain was excruciating, but the baby seemed to be fine and she was breathing rather normally. The neighbor grabbed a huge golf umbrella. Aunt Chris came out with a few heavy blankets while I called 911 for the ambulance. Those three brand new wooden steps were incredibly slick in the rain so I probably shouldn’t have been surprised to see Aunt Chris flying off the porch, twisting in the air and landing in the grass away from Sarah. Lemme tell you, my jaw dropped when Chris connected with the ground.
It is now that I should point out that I am officially an adult because I was able to keep my cool and talk to the 911 operator without peeing my pants laughing. A pregnant woman falling down is nowhere near funny, but her mom stair diving? Hysterically funny.
Yet I kept my cool and told the 911 the address, my name, Sarah’s name, that she was pregnant (due December 25th, you do the math as to how far along she is), her birthday (August 17th and she is 21, you do the math), what happened, her position, etc. I held the umbrella and talked to Sarah and tried to do the right things like making sure we had dry clothing and her insurance card to take with us to the hospital.
Once Sarah was safe in the ambulance I threw all of the necessities into my vehicle and took off racing for the hospital. Called Aunt Kate to tell her we wouldn’t be over for dinner. And that is exactly where my brain stopped. I had to ask for directions to the hospital. The hospital where I was born. Where everyone I know was born and where they have their babies. My brain was done being an adult and I needed directions. Kate calmly said, “Just jump on the parkway and take the” when I interrupted her.
“But how do I get to the parkway?”
Yeah, brain dead. I was like maybe four minutes from the parkway. Insanely easy to get there. And yet I couldn’t think of the fastest way.
Somehow I managed to find the fastest way because I beat the ambulance to the hospital. Gave them all her information before she even arrived.
X-ray showed her back was in the correct position and shape and all. The contractions that started took us upstairs to the labor people. Hours and hours of monitoring & a few not fun exams before they finally let her go. At almost midnight. Healthy, albeit in a bunch of pain, we got sprung from the joint. Yay!
So, as I was saying, all I wanted to post about today was the fact that Sunday my Cousin Kathie gave me whatever haircut she wanted. Turns out she just wanted to whack about five inches off of my hair. Here’s me.
Now I am going to bed. Coz as you can tell from these photos, I am exhausted!
A day short of four years ago was one hell of a rainy Friday. I was downtown at work, so what did I care if Hurricane Ivan’s remnants poured down buckets all day while I was being paid to be inside? Late in the day my best friend called to tell me she just saw my apartment on the news, that there was water up to my front porch’s top step. “Get the hell outta here!” or something similar flew out of my mouth. She replied, “No one else has that dumbass flag like you do, I know where you live!” (For the record, it was SO not a dumbass flag. And I still have one just like it. Black and gold stripes instead of red and white. Then instead of stars there is the City of Pittsburgh skyline in silver on a black background.)
Hmmmm. Water up to my front porch, eh? Not good. Better call the senior citizen who lived across the street. She said she was fine, but that the water was pretty deep outside and that I probably wouldn’t be able to get home. I hung up, assuring her that I would get home to take care of my dogs, come hell or high water. Didn’t expect BOTH hell AND high water, though.
Told the boss that I had to leave early, jumped into my little lightweight, rear wheel drive 1986 Volvo. (Shall I stop now for you fuckers to make fun of my ancient car?) The drive towards home was brutal due to other drivers traveling at a snail’s pace and the rain coming down so hard that I could barely see, regardless of how fast or slow the wipers were moving. My mom called and asked me to come up to stay with her, but she didn’t have a fenced in yard for the boys, plus rumor had it that many roads leading to her place were flooded out. I called Aunt Mary, knowing that her home is dog friendly and has a fence. She picked up quickly, telling me she was at the grocery store, but they had just lost power so she would leave to get my dogs for me.
Aunt Mare would have been coming from a direction that wouldn’t have permitted her to get down my flooded street, but I was coming from another direction that put me at the other side of the flood. I had no trouble with me wading (swimming?) in the water, but would never dare to ask my aunt to do that kind of stupid behavior. Problem was, I couldn’t even get remotely close to home. I had to take a different exit due to a massive lake that accumulated at the end of the Carnegie exit. Coming down Mansfield through Greentree was painfully slow, partially due to the water shooting out of the manhole covers like fountains. I prayed, asking God to please be with my dogs because I had no idea if I would be able to get home and what I would find if I did.
Eventually I got into Carnegie, but every time I tried to turn right to get home the street was halfway full of brown water. I had always heard that you shouldn’t drive into flood water, so I kept going straight until I found a left turn that afforded a parking spot on a hill. Walking to find the best place to cross I came upon a firetruck. As calmly as possible I asked the driver where the shallowest place to cross might be and I was told that I can’t cross, no one can. It was then that I lost it. Somehow I managed to utter, “Fuck can’t! You tell me how! I have to get home to my dogs. They are all alone and I need to get there to get them out. You tell me how and don’t you dare fucking say “can’t” again. I don’t mind swimming.” Poor guy. He tried to tell me that the flood waters were too swift, but I was unbuttoning my Levi’s and walking away. (Anyone else out there hear that jeans are too heavy when wet and that you should never swim in them?) I prayed some more, telling God that I didn’t care about the material possessions, but that He knew how much those dogs meant to me and that I needed Him to help Reilly & Ludo be safe.
Keep in mind that the captain of police got stuck exactly where I wanted to swim across. Seems he was trying to rescue about 20 people when he also got trapped. They were all rescued by boat. While on top of a bridge. Yeah. Stupid, stupid flood. More praying, telling God in no uncertain terms that He could have everything, that it was all His anyhow, but that I absolutely needed His help with keeping my dogs healthy and safe.
ANYhow, here I am taking off my jeans when my phone rang. On a day when no one had regular phone service let alone cellular service, mine rings. Seems my aunt is on my front porch, opening my door. Something about waters receding (receding!!) and getting the key from my neighbor. It was difficult to tell exactly what she was saying because when I heard Reilly & Ludo bark I could concentrate on nothing but the happiest sound I had ever heard in my life. Sure, that sounds melodramatic, but you have to understand how stressed I was until this point. Aunt Mary said to get out of Carnegie and to get to her house, that she would make sure the dogs got there safely.
I found my car and slowly made my way through the traffic to Aunt Mary’s house, thanking God for Reilly & Ludo the entire drive. Aunt Mare saw me parking in front and hurrying to her gate so she opened the door to let my dogs out. They tore across the driveway to me and I collapsed right there in the pouring rain and whipping wind, fell to my knees in the driveway sobbing and sobbing with relief that the dogs were safe. I was safe.
Mare had grabbed the plastic wheeled container which held 40 pounds of dog food and a pair of sweatpants for me so it was great that the boys ate, plus I was finally both warm and dry. Her electricity had been out so we talked by candlelight before going to sleep, no radio, no television and no internet to give us updates. Saturday morning an aunt and uncle who lived around the corner invited us up for breakfast since they had enough food for a small army (the mountain house getaway was canceled due to flooding that prevented anyone from traveling to Somerset). We laughed and talked and ate, having a marvelous (and oblivious) morning until my landlord called.
“Oh Becky, I am so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it, Joe. My aunt got my dogs and said she saw some water in the basement, but that shouldn’t be a big cleanup deal. I’m not worried about it.”
“I don’t think you understand. Oh Becky, I’m just so sorry. It is gone. All ruined. I’m so sorry.”
“Huh? Ruined? What?”
Several of us piled into my uncle’s van, a bunch of folks went in Aunt Mary’s SUV, hell I don’t even know how many of us pulled up in front of my adorable two bedroom apartment. Former adorable apartment. The stench in the neighborhood was stomach churning, the mud was caked inches thick on the streets…and the inside of my apartment was not much better. Joe had gotten there earlier and had a sump pump started which was getting the water pumped out (thank God for the guy who had the generator across the street because there was no gas, no electricity). I was numb as I walked across the muddy tiled floor to the basement door. Instead of seeing rickety stairs I saw dark water. To the very top of what should have been stairs was nothing but dark water. I reeled backwards, thinking of everything I had stored in the basement that was now worthless and totally ruined by the sewage flood water. Smells are something that I have always been sensitive to and the stench had me on the verge of vomiting. Walking though the living room and hearing the squish of my shoes wasn’t helping, nor was literally seeing the water splash when I walked through the dining room.
It was starting to get overwhelming and I wanted to go. Reminding myself that I told God all I wanted was Reilly & Louie was pretty damn close to not helping anymore and I needed to get out of there, to not see my ruined cowboy boots laying in the muddy hall, to not look at the couch that was now wet garbage, to not see the hundred plus dollars of dog toys soaking wet, to not see that terrible dark water, to not smell that Bog of Eternal Stench odor that had enveloped the neighborhood, to not deal with anything anymore. It was right about then when one of my aunts picked up my “Miracle Mop” that we had purchased together at the home show. It had been standing in the kitchen closet, mop head side up, so she unwrapped the plastic from the mop head, ran it under some fresh water, and drew a white line in the mud of the tiled kitchen floor. I froze, starting to think that maybe this disaster wasn’t as overwhelming as I had originally thought. She smiled and said, “Just like eating an elephant. One bite at a time.”
I’ll save the rest of the good news for tomorrow, the actual anniversary of my life changing event.
Until then here are some photos of that crazy flood.
10th Street Bypass, facing downstream
10th Street Bypass, facing upsteam:
A marina broke loose and floated downstream.
Obviously these photos were taken the day after the rain stopped. Water level had actually gone drastically down. For example, in this final photo, the water is under the bridge! September 17, 2004 the Carnegie police chief and about 20 others had to be rescued from on top of the bridge by boat. By boat! There was so much water that the top of that semi would have barely been visible. (And my dumb ass was thinking of swimming??)
The flood of phone calls, text messages, posts, emails and comments generated by my last post was something I will never forget. Thank you dear kind internet readers for the encouragement and support. I was not mad that anyone would call me a whore (in fact if any techie type out there can design me a WHORE badge for my sidebar, it would be greatly appreciated), but my problem was the pain I felt for a friend. Sure, I still ache for her, however you are all correct, negativity from others should not stop me from doing something I enjoy.
And I do so enjoy blogging. The biggest of thank yous to all who took time from your day to remind me of that. Your kindness and thoughtfulness astounded me.
Speaking of reasons to return to blogging, since me and several friends are whores and all, a certain someone promised more skin if I came back to blogging and I think he needs to pay up. I cannot wait to see what this week has in store!
Now, on to other things. This has always one of my favorite Pinky and the Brain songs. Watching this clip makes it near impossible for me to be sad, mad or think of anything else except: Brainstem, brainstem! hehe
Wonder if I get Britt drunk enough this week while I am down here in FL if she will attempt to sing along for me. Coz THAT would be entertainment my friends. Hmmmmmm, wonder if Adam will take video…