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This post was supposed to go out in August after the hurricane named Irene assaulted us.  My chronic procrastination prevented me from putting it out on the intertubes then, so you’re getting it now.  Enjoy!


Contrary to popular belief (or at least my belief, however unpopular), Irene wasn’t even Chinese.  She was the spawn of Satan, himself.  That bitch beat us up and left us for dead, without power, and with trees down every-freaking-where.

Saturday, August 27th, started off like any other crappy day in Maryland.  It was dreary, rainy, and just all around “Maryland’s kinda sucky.”  But, it was a special crappy day.  We were scheduled to attend a surprise party for one of our dearest friends, Mikey, who was turning 40.  Come hell or high water, we were going to make it to that party.  We got up early, puttered around, and I made the dishes I said I would bring.  I double-checked my list:

  • tortilla warmer
  • big-ass pitchers
  • refried beans and spoon
  • guacamole and small spoon(s)
  • flashlight (mine – the one marked NOT YOURS!)
  • D-cells
  • the other flashlight (that Dan was allowed to use)
  • raincoat
  • camera
  • beer
  • fully charged cell phone
  • more beer (just in case)
  • brand new “Yay Cleavage” shirt

I went down the line, check, check, check.  I was ready.  We abandoned our pets and roommate to brave the storm alone.  The cat is still bitter, but she’s normally a bitch, so I’m not letting it bother me too much.  We tried to stop at the ATM for some money for the race pool and lo and behold, the ATM was out of service.  Oh well, we’d just have to borrow our $10.  Poop happens.

…that’s what we get for being cocky, I suppose.

We braved the increasingly furious weather to go to Debbie and Effer’s Gay-Rog.  Effer did a fine job of decorating the place, the Mi(s)chelles had stuffed the big “40” pinata full of various embarrassing sundries, and Krisy hung up poster-sized pictures of Mikey posing dorkily in his super-cool jams.  We got there at 4:30 and the birthday boy was slated to arrive at 6pm-ish.  Jodie, Mikey’s wife, was in charge of keeping him home so the surprise wasn’t spoiled.  We were all sitting around joking about how wimpy the storm was when the power went out.  Well, that’s what we get for being cocky, I suppose.  So, now it’s 80 degrees in the dark garage and there’s no freaking airflow because we can’t have the damn windows or doors open because Irene’s out there huffin’ and puffin’ and trying to blow the house down.  Holy crap, that sucked.  Then I said, “Why don’t you hook up the generator so we can plug in a fan, Effer?”  Yay, me!  Look at the big brain on Jen!

15 minutes later and the fan was on, we got the TV and satellite receiver hooked back up and running and we were listening to some 80s and waiting for the rest of the guests and the birthday boy to arrive.  Then one by one, the guests start pussing out.  After all the confirmed guests had either arrived or called to let us know they were staying home to avoid the storm, we called Mikey’s wife, Jodie, to let her know she could go ahead and come on over.

Mikey and Jodie, along with their daughter, Alissa, showed up around 5:45.  It took them a while to get to the Gay-Rog.  The weather was starting to turn ugly.  The wind was blowing, rain was coming down, or should I say, going sideways, and tree branches were starting to be blown all over the place.

We celebrated Mikey’s birthday in the semi-darkness of the garage.  Oddly,  we didn’t lose satellite signal the entire evening.  We were able to watch the race and have music and have a pretty good time.  These peeps (other than Jodie, Alissa, and Mikey) braved the weather and made it: Krisy (Mikey’s sister) and her husband, Ricky; Big Mike (Mikey’s dad, a.k.a: Froggy) and his girlfriend, Carol; Jen and Muffin; me and Dan; and Debbie and Effer (they kinda had to be there, it was their house).  Other people stopped by to drop off decorations and/or food but didn’t stay because they had kids or whatnot and didn’t want to be out in the hurricane and stuck away from their childlings.  For that, they are forgiven.  Anyone else who pussed out is a sucky asshole.

Anyone else who pussed out is a sucky asshole.

After about two hours of partying and listening to trees falling down around us, people who live in the back-ass woods started getting nervous and decided to head home.  Good thing they did, too.  Trees were down every-freaking-where!  Krisy and Ricky and Mikey, Jodie, and Alissa all live down the same road back on the farm.  They barely made it down their road (after several attempts to get there many different ways).  Froggy and Carol didn’t make it home.  They tried to go home two different ways, then tried to go to Krisy’s or Mikey’s and couldn’t make it there, either.  They ended up in a hotel with rain blowing into the room through the air conditioner.

We stayed and kept partying.  We figured if it came down to it, we’d just camp out at Effer and Deb Jean’s.  Ray and his family stopped by around 9 after a wedding.  Someone had their freaking wedding!  I guess I would have had it, too, but still – hurricane.  Hello…  We had a great time eating strawberry shooters* and chilling in the gay-rog.

At about 11, Dan and I decided we should go ahead and get home “before it got too bad out there.”  We’re idiots.  It had *been* bad out there for quite some time, but we didn’t want to go home to sit in the damn dark.  So, we said our goodbyes and good lucks and headed out into the belly of the beast.  And what a beast she was!  We didn’t even make it 100 yards down the road before we had to navigate under a tree that was only prevented from falling completely down by an electric line.  We had to travel on both sides of the road, going under trees in various states of “repose.”  Lazy ass trees.  They’re all like, “it’s so windy!” and I’m all like, “suck it up, sally.”  I tried to count the number of downed trees but lost count after 18 because number 18 went all the way across the road and we had to go half in the ditch on the left side of the road to get around it.  And after that little panic attack, I forgot to start counting again.  Thank goodness we were in the flying punkin.  It’s tininess saved us from having to turn back.  We made it all the way home after 35 minutes which is significant because we only live 3 miles from the gay-rog.

When we were pulling into our long ass driveway, we noticed that one of our neighbor’s trees had fallen across our driveway.  No biggie.  We just parked the car in the driveway and walked.  Or, I should say, Dan took the flashlight and left my ass in the car to navigate over the tree.  Jerk.  He was all, “I was getting the generator started, honey.”  His ass.  He was trying to figure out where the generator was.  You see, while I was getting all my stuff together for the party, Dan was supposed to be getting the stuff ready for the storm.  Turns out, he thinks getting ready for the storm entails putting batteries in the flashlights.  Yeah, no.  There’s just a teeny bit more to it.

So, after he goes looking for extension cords, I drag the generator outside and try to start it.  He’s running cords through the windows (I’m too short to reach over stuff in the garage, so I got the outside duties).  The damn thing didn’t start.  Twice.  And I know how to start a damn generator.  So, I have to call him outside and hold the flashlight for him while he troubleshoots it.  Turns out he didn’t add the oil in the thing the *last* time he was supposed to, so it was bone dry, preventing it from, you know, WORKING.  So, I was pissed, cold, soaked to the bone, water was running off me in rivers, I was hearing trees coming down around us, I heard a small tornado in our next door neighbor’s yard, and ohmygodareyoukiddingme I’m having to deal with the freaking generator?!  I don’t think so, kemo sabe.

Finally, oil was added, generator was on, extension cords were run, and the important shit was plugged in.  Yay, bedtime.  Oh, wait.  It’s 90 degrees upstairs and we can’t open the windows, because, hello… hurricane.  And, no, a fan didn’t qualify as “important shit,” but it will next time, so help me.  So, sleeping that night sucked balls.  Oh, and I forgot to fill up the tub with water, so we were using the water from our well’s bladder.  Thank the baby Jeebus that lasted until Wednesday, because shit was about to get real.  Literally.  Hrrk!

The next morning, we ventured out to assess the damage.  The neighbors lost at least 4 trees (other than the one across our driveway) and we had a “leaner” in the back behind our fenced in area.  The roads were cleared before we got up, but the trees were still laying on the sides of the roads.  90% of the county was without power.

We rode around and most of our friends were fine.  Froggy and Carol couldn’t get home until late Sunday afternoon.  We were fortunate enough to have the generator, so we could watch TV and charge our cell phones and laptops and NOOKs.  We have a camper that has a propane water heater, so we hooked that up for showers.  We ate out the entire time, so no dishes!  Krisy even fed us one night – mmmm, steak & real mashed potatoes!  Woot!

Really, my only complaint was that the hurricane was on Saturday and we didn’t get power back until Wednesday afternoon.  It’s only a complaint because we live on the main road and every-freaking-person had power but us (and about 30 others) on Tuesday.

So, in conclusion, Irene is a complete and total bitch and she’s not Chinese.  Dan needs to actually prepare for shit when he says he’s going to, and I really, really need to remember to fill up the tub with water.

* Strawberry Shooters Recipe


  • Stemmed and hollowed out strawberries
  • Godiva chocolate liqueur
  • Whipped cream (spray can)


  1. Fill a hollowed out strawberry with Godiva chocolate liqueur and top with whipped cream.
  2. Take it to the face!