|LET'S DO THIIIIIS...|
Panic level 5 (of 10) and run out with Alley to buy tarps and tuna and everything for the oncoming Apocalypse at Costco and Home Depot.
Calm Alley down from level 8 panic and bring her back to level 5.
Alley and I have beaten the crowds to everything but flashlights and feel really smart.
I adhere tarps to wall with duct tape.
Said tarps crumple off of windows at the slightest breeze.
I crumple in a similar manner.
I secure tarps with HAMMER AND NAILS!! I win.
I cook the entire contents of my freezer.
...whilst watching the "then he can borrow my slicker!" scene from the perfect "What About Bob?"
All weekend Broadway shows are cancelled. I feel like it is a snow day and dance in my kitchen alone (even though I feel terribly sad for understudy Brian Cali who was scheduled to perform all weekend).
Final show of the week commences, and due to overwhelming energy from all the events, the show is explosive with energy.
I commence drinking. Which I absolutely never do-- 2 glasses of Pinot Noir will do, across the street at The Glass House Tavern with Tyne and all; discussing poems and deciding that tomorrow we shall see the storm through together by playing Scrabble and what she referred to as "Classic Monopoly"
it is now
I get home on the world's slowest N train, having had a nice deep and meaningful with Clinton Brandhagen.
My head already hurts because I am such a lightweight, and I decide to eat some oatmeal, drink 2 liters of water and take Ibruprofen.
STAR TREK IS ON. (YESSSSS...TV win!) Oh 3am Star Trek: The Next Generation, how like the TV version of a booty call you are...
I discover that it is indeed a stupid Riker episode. Bleeeecccch. Bed.
I awake oddly early with a mild-ish hangover
I resolve to never drink wine and discuss poetry ever again.
it becomes clear that there will be no Scrabble with Tyne.
...because the entire MTA closes down.
I decide my activity for the day shall be coming up with a possibly viral tweet (""I'm not on Facebook" is the new "I don't own a TV.")
...Oh wait, no. It stops.
I consider going for a run.
I go for said run.
I hide in a doorway while it downpours
I continue said run
I drown myself in myopically focuses news coverage. Because that is how local news rolls.
In despair and boredom, Morgan James and I decide to meet-- she drives to 31st Avenue to meet at Brick Café for a completely amazing hour of conversation in which she bares her heart and soul, I recite Carl Sandburg's "Little Word Little White Bird" and tell her the entire story of how my parents met.
Morgan departs in search of rope at the 11th hour.
Sierra Boggess calls me and we kvell about our relaxation.
I commence in the reading of Russian literature.
I nap for 25 minutes.
I write for 90 minutes.
I stop because my back, neck, wrists and brain all hurt from the efforts.
I decide it is time to make stir fry.
I declare, disgusting
I eat it anyway...
I come to the conclusion that it is drizzling, I am bored, and have 5 gallons of water 75 batteries and 8 cans of tuna.
...Now we're talking. Wind. Rain. Irene arrives. ...LET'S DO THIS!!!
So far so good.
The only way forward is to get by the same way I got by leaving LA in 1993-- by watching Fractured Fairytales in my closet.
1:00am I am also enjoying clips of classic Sesame Street. I have now counted to 20 with Madeleine Khan, and to 10 with Elmo, Grover, Bert, a kid named "John John" & James Earl Jones (who loved 7...so much).
I fill the bathtub and 8 gazillion pots with water.
I get sad and lonely.
I collapse in bed covered in a tarp....just in case... (True story)
I awake and it is over. Like for real over. What was all that fuss about?
I asses the damage. I am actually quite glad I tarp-ed my windows because there is some water damage and the sills are soaking wet. Yay preparation!
I prepare brunch for myself using some of the water from the tub.
Tyne calls me to check in. "That was it? What a non-event. Let's do the matinee." We decide to check in in 4 hours for possible Scrabble.
[This message has been brought to you by the letter I. For Irene. Duh.]