With Tropical Storm Hermine (Is it "Her-min" or "Her-myne"?) on my doorstep, I am spending my day off from school (W00T!) doing laundry, bathing the guinea pigs, and reminiscing about storms of days past. I've got sixteen tabs open on Safari, all splattered with the obligatory Spin Art radar imagery every Floridian has learned to expect this time of year. Luckily, in the nearly 30 years living in America's wang, I haven't experienced any storms of mass destruction. Yet. *Gulp*
Obviously, the natural reaction to news that a storm the size of an entire state is bearing down on you is to stock up on important supplies. You know, booze. Yesterday, while attending a work meeting, I got the robocall voice message saying school was cancelled, and I immediately texted my friend. "So, Hurricane Party? LOL" Totally natural. It even has a Wikipedia entry.
The worst conditions I've ever endured during Hurricane season was probably endless rain and wind and power outages. A whole weekend is ruined, but we're still expected to go back to work on Monday. Oh, you're taking a kayak to make a Publix run? See you at 7:00 am tomorrow. The only thing between you and Noah's flood are a couple of sandbags? You gotta put in personal time for that.
You know what wholesome activity doesn't require electricity? Playing monopoly and drinking with your family by candlelight. I (vaguely) recall this one time, sitting at my parents' dining room table with the winds howling, rain relentlessly pounding the window, and discovering a sample bottle of grappa I artfully laid in the table's basket of artificial fruit. After that was passed around, I not-so-clearly remember going out on the front lawn with my sister and holding up an old sheet between us to catch the wind. You know, harmless fun.
There was that one year that no less than 3 storms crossed through central Florida within weeks of each other. I was in college in Gainesville at the time, and my dad sent an employee from his paint store to come pick me up and rescue me from the impending danger. We were fine in old Hernando County, but when I returned to my dorm, the giant live oak tree beside the building had relocated itself onto the parking lot. Meh.
I much more clearly remember that one time Mom and Dad tossed the plastic patio chairs into the pool because then they couldn't blow away and smash into things. And if you didn't buy the whole shelf of Dasani at Target, remember to fill your bathtub (with ice for your margaritas) because who needs to bathe during a hurricane anyway? #LifeHacks
And of course the pool always overflows at some point, so when you convince your drunken self that it's safe to venture outside and cannonball into it, an actual tsunami occurs. And you sprain and ankle on the damn patio furniture in the deep end.
That never happened... to me.
Oh, I hear some thunder. Time to make a cocktail. Cheers, y'all!