Has anyone seen our weather?

Dear Death Valley,

It appears you left your park unlocked and allowed your weather to escape to Tennessee. I’m sure it’s just an oversight that you haven’t come to collect it yet. However, I am sweating in ways that I cannot describe. It’s the kind of hot where you drive down the street wearing a muumuu draped over the steering wheel so you can get cold refreshing air from the AC on your lady parts because your ass melted into the seat on contact. It also appears y’all stole our weather. We would like you to return it. Death Valley is sitting at a lovely 99 today, which is hot, but livable in Tennessee at this time of year.

A balmy 99 in the desert

By contrast, at 3:30 today, this is what the temperature is here in Nashville:


Come get your weather, assholes. I am not amused. Thanks.

Something new to add to my list of things that suck: cicadas

Troy and I were married on Friday the 13th thirteen years ago this coming June 13.  I had forgotten that the year we were married coincided with the arrival of the 13 year cicada invasion which is probably some sort of omen. May started out kind of cold here and the cicada invasion was on hold which was perfectly fine by me. I hate flying bugs. I especially hate mass legions of flying bugs. I knew trouble had started when I spotted the first one:

Loud, obnoxious and gross. Look at those beady red eyes.

One is bad enough. Millions of them are intolerable. It is hard to describe the sound so I have thoughtfully recorded it here:

Seriously, this sound will haunt me for years.  It’s like a million rattle snakes hanging in trees shaking their rattles simultaneously. This afternoon, I went to wash the kamikaze cicada debris off my car at the local car wash. Bad idea. I was attacked by dozens of the damned things. One flew down my cleavage. The outrage. As I gingerly tried to locate and remove the buzzing insect from underneath my sweaty left breast, I noticed I had attracted the attention of a few fellow car washers. In my mind, I bravely stared them down and flung the carcass of the dead insect at their feet. In reality, I probably stuffed my not quite as perky as it once was boob back into the sports bra and hid behind the car wash vacuum cleaners. What the hell were they staring at anyway? It’s not like I was picking the underwear out of my ass or something.

I have the luck of the Cherokee because it’s damned sure not the Irish

At just before 5 a.m. this morning, as I lay sleepless in my bed listening to two puppies scream at the unfairness of being crated, I watched a lightning storm move in. Watching lightning snake across the night sky is actually kind of cool as the patterns are endless and if I was still young enough to be able to manage chemical joy, this would be prime time to drop acid. Sadly, the days of treating my body like an amusement park are long past. At 4:57 a.m. the night sky turned neon blue and the fan I had running to dull the puppy noise ceased working. There went the sub-station and with it, the power and my beloved air conditioning.  At 4:58 a.m., the hail started to hit the house and I decided to get up. The trees were twisting violently in the wind and I could hear the sounds of wood breaking. I debated heading for the basement, but by the time I was ready to go, the wind let up.  As quickly as it came, the storm passed by. I pretended to go back to sleep, but sometimes, you’re  just kind of fucked and you might as well get up.

With the rising of the sun, I stepped outside with two very bad puppies and took stock of the back yard. Some limbs down, lots of leaves everywhere. I took the puppies inside. Still no power. Getting dressed without being able to see is kind of a trick. I settled on a white t-shirt, leggings and Tevas. Sure, that seems a bit dressed down for a law office and I pretty much look homeless, but fuck it. I packed up the laptop, grabbed the cell phone and told Troy I was heading to work. I opened the front door and was greeted with this scene:

Underneath the tree is my car.

Down the street, it looks like this:

My neighbor's house is on fire

I should be more upset for my neighbor, but there’s a tree on my car y’all:

Note that this large limb fell directly on my car when it had bare ground all the way around it.

Why is it that  my car had to get hit? Had I pulled up five more feet or parked back five feet, the tree would have missed. This is either supremely bad luck or the just reward for my hubris. Sure, I’m really sad that my neighbor’s car and house down the street are smashed, but my paint is scratched.

It sucks to be these people.

I have no power and won’t for some time. Sweating at night is in my future which I loathe. The refrigerator is full of things that are going to go bad. There’s a chocolate silk pie in there. I put it in the cooler with some ice. Troy put his six pack of Heineken in the cooler. Men have fucked up priorities. You can always swill liquor warm, but a chocolate silk pie melting is a tragedy.

Attention Yankees: please come get your weather

Dear Yankee friend,

I realize the news has been occupying all our minds recently, so perhaps it has escaped your attention that your weather is out of your back yard. While you were watching the news, your weather sneaked out and has found its way down South. While we appreciate the bracing air and fluffy fat snowflakes visiting, we are unaccustomed to cold weather and don’t really own coats. Since Tennessee shares a snow plow with the State of Alabama and the Alabama people are hogging it so they can clear their streets in time to get people to bowl game parties, we are left to fend for ourselves here in Nashville and it is kind of sucking. If it would be OK, would you mind coming down and getting your weather? We would really appreciate it.


The South

The Parthenon has snow on it. Actual real live snow.


PS from Baxter:

Dear Yankee, no rush. The snow is awesome.

Recycling in Nashville

Recycling in Nashville is de rigueur in certain zip codes. If you live in 37206 and don’t recycle, you might as well proudly display the elephant leg trash can you got on your last trip to Kenya to show that you have the social conscience of a flea. So today I went to the recycling drop off in Green Hills to dispose of my cardboard boxes. I drove up and noted that every single person there was in an SUV. Feeling morally superior, I cheerfully tossed my detritus into the metal bins. However, there was one gentleman who was driving a Hummer 3 with the Christian fish symbol on the back who got out and stuffed a box labeled “Spinning Sex Swing” into the bins without a trace of irony/subterfuge.

Recycling your sex toy boxes

Seriously. You have to have giant brass balls that clang when you walk to brazenly saunter up to a busy urban recycling center just after church on Sunday and publicly ditch your sex toy box, all while driving your Jesus-approved Hummer 3.

Jesus approves of Hummers.