"Irene, don't be a dick."
That's a Facebook quote from my friend Paige, written this time last year, as Hurricane Irene barrelled toward Florida and she—a resident of Orlando—packed for a long-planned weekend at the beach.
I know I began my last blog with a quote from a friend, but I had to do it again. Partly because, like Isaac, I think Paige drinks during the day. But mostly because there's nothing funnier than that statement. I think it will always be my go-to quote as I brave life on the peninsula this time of year, looking skyward and at ominous radar maps. Pleading with Mother Nature not to throw a tantrum, not to lose her shit. Just. keep. it. together.
I'll keep this short and just say that Irene, in the end, kept her composure and took her business elsewhere. Isaac on the other hand? Kind of a douche. Like a sloppy drunk who drops by unannounced, slamming into your door because he doesn't see that there IS a door, he charged his way into my little place on Queen Street yesterday and wreaked havoc.
I came home last night to find my ground-floor apartment flooded. I've lived in that single house for seven years now, through Floyd and countless other storms, and never once had to clean leaves out of my floor air conditioning ducts. No flooding ever. Until Isaac. He dirtied up the baseboards, dumped rainwater right through the carpets. Wrecked my new West Elm foyer rug (it's in the trash outside my door if anyone wants it). There was even a dead frog mysteriously clinging to the bottom of my coat rack. It kind of felt like Isaac tossed it at me as a final insult, before taking his leave and heading on his way.
But here's the real problem: as I keep one eye on him charging through New Orleans and clearing levees, I have to keep my complaints mostly quiet. Our fellow Southerners are cleaning up a lot more than their baseboards, so I'm forced to air my rugs and not my grievances. It's not that I'm aiming for sanctimonious, just, well... I'll let Isaac be the dick. And it's not easy, especially as you're trying to wish mildew away. God only knows what kind of unholy stink is going to be there after today—24 hours of soaked-in water that won't vacuum or dry up.
As for the rest of the country? I figure Isaac's gotta be at the tail end of his bender, and it won't be long before he loses steam and passes out in a ditch somewhere.
Back to me: I didn't need Isaac or his B&E antics, but that's why I've got people like Paige. To pass along sentiments so funny and apropos, they don't ever really wash away.
