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Monday, September 20

Bitchin'

by pissed off patricia


Our house is sporting the oh so fashionable, fall hurricane season, blue tarps on it's roof. Our privacy fence in the back yard is now a pile of wooden rubble. Our screening over our pool was in pieces, but now that's been replaced. Our insurance adjustor was here on Saturday and checked out the remains that used to be our sweet home. Thanks hurricane Frances for all the damage you bestowed upon us.

Then there was yesterday. From the moment we could go outside after the hurricane, we smelled a funky smell. We attributed the smell to standing water, decaying foliage, or who knows what animal might have been killed in the storm. Each day the smell seemed more prevalent. Yesterday, Sunday morning, the smell was much worse and we knew what it was. It was natural gas. We called out the emergency gas representative. He came to the house and discovered that the gas line going into our house had been broken. Similar to Hester, we have been "Red Flagged". The gas has been shut off and with it went our hot water and our gas stove. Mr. Gas Company man told us he may well have to demolish the side of our kitchen in order to reach the inside gas lines. It was at this time that I knew I would break my rule of only two martinis before bedtime. Call it escapism, call it medication, call it whatever the hell you want, I was going to drown my troubles, and Bombay Sapphire gin was going to abet that effort. Inside my head I was saying, okay how many freakin’ wrongs did I commit in my past life and how much more paybacks can I stand. Yes indeed, I was internally whining and I had no cheese to accompany my mental beverage.

Fortunately, I was able to locate the gentleman who built our house and he told me the entire schematic of the gas lines in the house. According to him a demolition of the kitchen wall will not be necessary. Damn, I hope he's right. My kitchen is my treasure even if I don't actually use it as often as it was intended. If the gods had wanted me to cook, they wouldn't have invented take-out menus.

So with all this swirling around in my head, I came here to the site last night to see what was going on. That's when I read the comment by some jack-off calling himself, Wild bill. Okay, I flew into a bitch storm and wrote a blistering message to Wild bill. My grandmother would have admonished my words and she would have said to me, "Darlin', a lady doesn't speak that way." Of course she would have been right, but last night I was no lady. I was one tired, whipped down bitch! I'm sorry if I let you down Sweetum. (Yeah, that was how I referred to her the few short years she was on earth and loved me so very much, as I loved her. Someday I'll tell you about her. She was my "Darlin" too.)

As I write this, this morning at five o'clock, there is a raging thunderstorm outside. Please hang on tight you sad little blue tarps on the roof. I can't take any more water inside the house. Hang on tight.

I have just seen a tape on the news of bush's remarks after he visited the area of my state that Ivan blew away. Bush said everyone was praying for those who were in Ivan's path. I guess those who were in Frances' path have already spun off the prayer wheel. Anyway, prayers are nice and all, but what would be more beneficial to the folks who have weathered this hurricane season would be people who could do the repairs we need. Seems a bit ironic to me that we have so damned many people out of work in this country and now, here in Florida, we are terribly short of laborers who can replace and repair damages. G. bush, if you want to really make a difference, put some people on the government payroll who can come down here and help us literally rebuild our homes and our lives. Give us as much help as you have given the Iraqis who never invited you to invade and destroy their country. We are pleading, while they were fearing! It's time to put your own damned country first. Let's use our tax dollars where they came from, right here at home, the one with the oh so fashionable, fall hurricane season, blue tarps on it's roof.

(if one more person tells anyone down here that "at least you're alive" that person may not be for long. Yes, we're alive and if we were dead we wouldn't have to be dealing with all this shit, so give it a break!)

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