After the gale-force dog poop scooping, we got back in the house, and I turned on the news. Our local anchor, Monica Kauffman Queen of Anchorwoman Hairstyle Changes, was accepting calls from citizens up north where the winds were worst.

It was hysterical.

Anchor: Hello, Mrs. Trailertrash. How are you doing up there? Are you all right?

Mrs. T: Ahmjessfinehowryou?

Anchor crew: *laugh good naturedly because this is the auto-response of Southerners, and Mrs. T didn't realize that by asking "How are you?" they really meant "Did your naugahyde Barco-lounger blow out into the yard?"*

"Did you get any damage from the winds?"

Mrs. T: Well, the roof blowed off.

Anchor: Is everyone all right? (or did you take time out from pulling your family and the shattered pieces of your commemorative Christ-on-a-plate collection from under the debris to call up and say, "Hey"?)

Mrs. T: Oh, we're all fine. We thank the good lord for keeping us safe. (though actually, God smote her because she didn't buy the last limited edition offer from the Christ Weeping tea glass set offered on the Shopping Network)

Monica: Where are you hunkered down now? (I swear to god she actually used those very words)

You get the picture.

The TV weather map looked scary, the wind was gusting, I unplugged the computer and stuff. And then it seemed like everything had blown over. I plugged the computer back in, and, naturally, minutes later, a transformer blew in the neighborhood and we lost power for the next three hours.

Here's what my evening looked like.

Reading my new Breyer collectors book by candlelight. Just like Abe Lincoln, except with fresh pine, bayberry, and cinnamon scented candles.

I had just gotten all the candles lit and was looking out the front door at the sky to see what the clouds were doing, when I saw Lucy and Ricky from across the street trudging over in their rain gear. They had been getting ready to go for a walk when the weather hell broke loose, so they decided to come over and shoot the breeze and bring us a heart-shaped box of chocolate. Crazy straight people. I love 'em.

Probably some cheap psycho with a stewardess fetish laced the chocolates with roofies and gave them to Lucy. Well they're mine now. Just have to decide who to use them on.

The city hooked the power back up just before Deb got home from work, so she got to have the whirlpool footbath (We don't have a whirlpool; we've got a Dr. Scholl's bucket that blows air bubbles into the water and vibrates a little) she'd been jonesing for all night.

She came in, started putting down all her crap (she carries a Sherpa-size load almost anywhere she goes), and practically the first words out of her mouth were, "Honey, I'm farting up a storm tonight. *two-second pause* I might've caused a tornado." Then she left me in the wake of one to prove her point.

I asked her if I could use that line in my diary, and she said "Sure. As long as you explain that I'm afflicted with perimenopause gassiness." So, guys and gals, look what you have to look forward to when your wives and girlfriends hit their mid-40s.

I let Katie out for her last poop of the night. It's raining, but not that bad. She's right in the middle of her crap (in our back yard this time) when the sky just opens up. Deluge. The dog finishes lightening her load, and runs. Not to our back door. But to Jake and Sara's back yard. You don't know how frustrating it is to yell for a deaf dog to come back.

I woke up this morning around five, went to look out the front door, and this is what I see.

I'm standing there, thinking "holy shit," and I hear Sara and Jake laughing at me. They're in their driveway getting ready to take Sara to the airport, and just having a good ol' time over the expression on my face.

Jake: You didn't hear that?!

Me: No. Did the wind pick up again last night?

Jake: Oh, hell, yeah.

I'd slept right through all the excitement. The picture isn't actually 100 percent accurate. The door was blown directly away from the house, like someone had kicked it open from inside, and was resting across both sides of the step railings. I had to move it to get out the front door, and then I couldn't get it back into the exact position for the picture.

I guess the only thing that kept it from blowing into the next county was the little door-closing thingy at the bottom.

I just can't imagine what sort of wind would suck it off the hinges like that.

Oddly, the plastic lawn furniture in the back yard was still upright and in position.

I plan to do another update today. Gawain talked about me yesterday, which is way cool. Thanks, man. I really do admire your inspirational turn of phrase. I especially liked the ...freakishgodforsakencumbaby... one.

Gawain's not the first or last person to initially think I'm a guy. I'll talk about that a bit when I get back home from the vet. Degrees of Butchness 101.

Someone please send me the code for how to do the "Last 5 Entries" thing. I think that would be helpful for these multi-entry days.

Moving on - 12:11 p.m. , 2007-08-14

Where the hell have I been? - 12:10 p.m. , 2007-02-19

Holy shit! - 2:24 p.m. , 2006-01-11

Stuffing recipe - 6:17 p.m. , 2005-12-13

Good Life Update - 10:22 a.m. , 2005-11-11