geez! nag, nag, nag! what the hell is wrong with you people? can’t a girl get some much needed R&R without being harangued for not posting for a while?

it’s not like i haven’t been busy, what with not knowing where my next shower was coming from.

or worrying that i’ve picked up cholera because we’re still on a boil order, and in my comatose state at 5 a.m. i forgot to use bottled water to brush my teeth.

or the fact that the back cul-de-sac in our neighborhood continues it’s downward slide into a lord of the flies-like existence as it goes on day 19 of no power.

so yeah, it’s been an interesting few weeks.

i know you are all kinds of concerned, and i am very touched.

some of you were genuinely concerned about my welfare. to you i say, we are all fine, thank you so much for asking.

some of you were concerned about the fact that we had no water, not because of any eminent danger of dehydration, but mostly due to the downwind smell of unwashed texan wafting across the gulf of mexico into florida. to you i say, your momma’s so smelly, she has to sneak up on the bathwater.

and then some of you were just concerned that i wasn’t posting enough to your satisfaction. and to you i say, jackass. happy?

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dear aqua texas,

please stop effing with me.

last night the water came back on and we rejoiced as if it were the rains pounding the great dust bowl at the end of the grapes of wrath. 

we were so excited, we went out to dinner, and not so much in celebration, but because the garbage men were coming the next day and it was finally time to clean out the rotten refrigerator before we can buy groceries.

so we went someplace really fun, really… aromatic. are you familiar with the term “benihana smell”? no? allow me. it’s the way your clothes, your hair, even your skin are permeated with the stench of the theater that is hibachi cooking. you basically smell like a cross between a french fry and ripe unwashed ass.

yo, AT. i do not appreciate being teased. it’s not nice. it’s not enough that you gave us false hopes and promises of showers and clean hair after the water came back on last night. but this morning you mocked us with a mere trickle of water dripping from our pipes. we are not amused.

someone over there better hurry up and figure out how the hell to get our water on and have it STAY on, or it will be foot to ass my friend, foot to ass.

p.s. you suck.

sincerely,

leigh

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i’m not exactly sure WHY the hubs thought it was a good idea to head back home before the city of houston has restored all the utilities to working condition. we’re back in our house and luckily we are one of the 1 in 4 households who have electricity. 

everything’s would seem fine except for one minor detail. my neighborhood is going on 5 days without water. let that sink in for a moment. get the picture? no? well, let me clarify things for you: toilets no flushy. shower no worky.

yeah, it’s gross. plus we’re one of those rare houston families who don’t have a cement pond in their backyard, so there’s no pool water with which to manually flush the toilets.

the yard’s full of debris, i’ve got a refrigerator full of stinky food, a fence that needs repairing, and the schools are closed for the next two days. so what does my employer do? opens the office and tells everyone to come in.  it’s a small consolation, but at least the toilets work here. i think i’ll go take a shatner in the girls restroom…and not flush. thanks for nothing.

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hurricane ike is bearing down on the texas coast this evening. am i in houston hunkered down to ride it out? whatta you think i am, stoopid? i’m sitting in my parents house in austin about 150 miles west. hopefully this is far enough away because this sucker is big.

unlike some others travelers, we are lucky…and we have options. so let see, stay in houston, have no power, no food, no restaurants, nothing open, or head to austin, crash at parents house for free, watch hurricane coverage on the tube, and have dinner at some funky little place on soco (south congress). decisions, decisions.

we were still trying to decide on wednesday what to do, when word starting going around at work that we were probably going to be closed on friday. several of us telecommute every thursday so of course we’re thinking, “sweet! four day weekend!” so guess what my boss suggests? “instead of working from home tomorrow, you can work from home on friday instead.”

really? yeah, nice try.

thursday afternoon as i was “working” from home, they emailed the office closure notice. we were in the car within 5 minutes with only the barest of necessities:

• a couple of changes of clothes
• a 1.75 liter bottle of knob creek (i know i said i was giving up margaritas but i didn’t say anything about bourbon)
• a 12-pack of coke zero
• some turkey bacon
• a bottle of water (hey we might need it)

as ike churns it’s way towards texas, galveston is already under water. apparently some residents have still decided that it’s not serious enough to take some preventative actions. here’s what the beach typically looks like.

 here’s what it looks like now. the seawall has already been breached.

if this doesn’t make you say, “you know, i think i better be getting the f*ck out of here as quickly as i possibly can,” then i don’t know what does.

oh yeah, and you would think if you were surrounded by water, fire would be the least of your worries, but apparently that’s not the case.

still, some are refusing to go. i’m confident theyr’e taking adequate precautions.

best of luck my redneck brothers, best of luck.

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amy winehouse, we need to talk.

i’ve been quietly sitting on the sidelines watching you self destruct. yeah, yeah, i know you’re a *creative* genius, and people like you have to suffer for your art, because that’s how you infuse so much “meaning” into your work. so i was willing to overlook some stuff.

i let you into my life, i played your music in my house, and generally welcomed you into the family, and this is how your repay me?

look, amy, here’s the deal, i know you have single-handedly brought back big hair, which i can totally appreciate, growing up in the 80s and all. and i’ve been willing to excuse a lot of your shenanigans because well, you’re across the pond and there is zero chance of you popping over for margaritas with blake. and i’ve been slightly amused by your drunken antics, like biting a reporter, and beating up your husband. i even forgave you when i saw that gruesome picture of you kissing pete dougherty *shudder*, which looks not so much like kissing, as much as you trying to suck the last bit of coke out of his nose.

but this….this is too much.

when my recently promoted-to-middle-school daughter suddenly starts looking to you as a style icon, it’s time for you to go, go, go.

buh-bye.

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some of you have expressed concern about my hubs recent *excavation* and i’m touched. so i wanted to give you a little update. everything’s fine. no cancer, although he does have a little bit of proctitis, which is basically itis of your proc, and i’m fairly sure most it was caused by the procedure itself.

anyway, the entire thing took about 30 minutes. when they wheeled him into recovery he was sleeping like a baby.

nurse: we just need to wake him up. (screaming) MR. X! TIME TO WAKE UP! (shakes his shoulders a bit)

me:uhhh. should you be doing that? he looks kind of out of it.

nurse: oh he’s fine! there’s just a few things i need to check before he can go – his blood pressure and one other…

hubs:(lying wordlessly on gurney) paaarrrp!

nurse:ok. he’s good to go.

hubs:(waking up) mungle pifgriff borogroves somforbe outgrabe margarita.

me: yep. seems normal to me.

***

in other news, it’s day 6 of no alcohol. making it through the weekend is going to be the hardest, but friday night is already in the can.

also, because i was complaining about the pre-procedure, stink-out funk that permeated our house this week, one of sister’s friends, robyn, was nice enough to tell me about poopouri. you spray it into the toilet and it’s supposed to trap the odor. there’s also a manly scent version and one for teenage girls.

the only catch is remembering to use it BEFORE you launch one into the toilet, which could be an issue if you’re in butt blowhole mode and time is of the essence.

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good lord. puh-leez, make it stop. tonight the king is on the throne…but unfortunately, so is the queen.

tomorrow morning my husband goes in for his colonoscopy. he’s spent the afternoon prepping himself for his procedure. and by prepping himself i mean he’s barricaded himself in the master bathroom.

apparently, if you can call it that, he got lucky. his doctor skipped the poo punch and let him take poo pills instead. he’s consumed a grand total of 32 pills, 2 cans of sprite, and 48 ounces of water. he’s now officially peeing poop.

unfortunately, i seem to have either picked up the stomach flu sometime after lunch, or i have the worst case of sympathy shits known to man.

me: uuuuuughhhhh. i feel horrible!

hubs: excuse me if i’m having trouble feeling any sympathy for you.

me: if i didn’t know better, i’d think you slipped me one of those pills.

hubs: ordinarily i would have, but i needed them all.

between the two of us, we’ve managed to stink up two, count ’em, two downstairs bathrooms worse than the greyhound bus station shitters. my bedroom smells like a port-a-potty at wurstfest. this is beyond match-lighting stank. even the kids are disgusted for chrissakes and nobody loves poopy humor more than my boy.

the bad news? i hope one of us is in decent condition to take him to the doctor in the morning.

the good news? i’ve lost 5 pounds already!!!

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normally, i don’t get too stressed out about my weight. hell, i may be the only woman on the planet who doesn’t even own a scale. but after the last few weeks, i’ve decided it’s time to dial back.

recently the family spent a week in mexico throwing back margaritas and chowing down on mexican food. then we just spent the labor day weekend in san antonio, taking my inlaws out to dinner for their golden (otherwise know as, i can’t believe i haven’t effing killed you after 50 years) anniversary. we ate our way up and down the riverwalk.

anyway, if i don’t do something soon, ice t’s gonna be asking me to marry him.

food i can do with or without, but margaritas…now that’s a sacrifice. here’s a typical weekend conversation between me and hubs:

me: (looking at my watch) is it too early for a cocktail?

him: (not even glancing at his watch) at the (insert our last name here) house? you must be joking.

so i asked the hubs to cut back with me for the next few weeks until i reign it in, cos it’s no fun NOT to drink alone. he was none too excited.

luckily, fate as intervened. the hubs is having a colonoscopy this week (no, he’s not 50 -he’s just very in touch with his asshole) and he’s not allowed to have any alcohol until after the procedure.

he also can’t eat anything either… and he has take some little pills that are some kind of nuclear laxative… and i will have to take care of him after he comes out of anesthesia…

come to think about it, i may be needing a drink after all.

i’ll keep you posted on both fronts (so to speak).

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