Good Night Irene and Good Riddance

What’s the news of the week, Gadhafi?    

Get real.

The Libyan people only think they’ve won a hard fought war for freedom.  If I'm reading correctly between the lines, the new regime will be a Shia government, regressing about ten centuries where the women live under colored sheets (also called burqas) and pretending to be submissive while the men beat them anyway.  Is this what they wanted?  As the cliche goes, be careful what you wish for.

But enough of the small talk.  Let's go on to the more important stuff.

Hurricane Irene off eastern coast

The real story is that dangerous damsel Irene churning off the Eastern Seaboard.  Gratefully, she’s skipped Florida.  (Thank you, darling).  But she’s sweeping north, and on her way to our daughter in Virginia Beach. 

Earlier this week it was all a big joke.  My husband kept telling her, “So long, it’s been nice to know you.” 

It was funny for five minutes, but today, reality’s hitting.  She lives on Chick’s Beach, a few short blocks from the Chesapeake Bay, and she’ll be sitting out the storm, ready for Irene to roll into town.  Irene--shaking her booty like she’s been wired to the most energized bunny on earth before waltzing up the coast and battering her next set of victims.

Philly’s got 8 million people, New York, 19.  And that’s not counting the rest of the 67 million in the way.  Jeez, this is getting complicated, even for a blog.     

300,000 are trying to escape New York today while my hairdresser has reservations to fly out Sunday to the city, just to relax and see a couple shows.  Hey, I’m no fortuneteller, but I predict she’s gonna be stuck downwind of Disney with a ticket riding nowhere.

I told her she'd still be here next Tuesday, but then I got to thinking.  What if Irene turns around and Kendall somehow gets a flight, and then another hurricane blew by, and the poor woman never returned?  I started having nightmares of steel wool peeking out from under my forehead and behind my ears.  I know we're living through a national crisis, but I CAN'T survive looking like this.  Even wise men say life's a crap shoot.  First thing tomorrow I'm in for a color job. 

 

That problem solved, I still got my daughter in Virginia to worry about, and for the first time ever, they’re stopping the subways in New York and evacuating the very sick from the hospitals.  On top of that I got friends with grown kids in the city—one with a baby—and I’m frantic about them too. 

But I think of Stacey—natch—riding it out in her house with three cockatiels—that’s why she didn’t leave—and batteries, and all kinds of cans: veggies, fruit, soup, juices, tuna, and other crap.  Dr. Oz would approve.  So does her mother.  

Nothing else I can do now but pray.

I hope you’ll all join me for the millions who are left in harm’s way.

“Let everyone live through this safely, Lord.  Good night, Irene.  And good riddance.”