So here I sit on Flood Watch

The BBQ Pit
1

We have a major storm system passing through the area at the moment. Unfortunately, when we moved into this house (rental only, thank God,) nobody bothered to tell us we were in a flood plain. A couple months ago, when we got 6-7 inches of rain, my girlfriend woke me up in her typically understated way.

“I have some…concerns…about the weather.”

(Sleepily) “Waddya mean?”

“Look outside.”

I looked outside, and Holy Mackerel Catfish, it looked like we were in a houseboat floating down the Mekong River. Flood water was to within 1/2 inch from being no longer an outside phenomenon. We anxiously watched as the water peaked juuuuuust short of wetting the carpet, and began to recede.

We didn’t get wet that time, but we resolved to find another house. Long story short, we’re pretty well stuck here for the time being…precisely because we don’t have a lease. We might be having to pack up and leave soon, and rental houses of any stripe are a rarity in this small town.

So we’re reduced to making ridiculous preparations. I have cut approximately 9 billion pink styrofoam blocks upon which to hoist our furniture should the Levee Break And We Have No Place To Stay (harmonica solo.) They are currently stacked up in our kitchen in two titanic pink columns that look like something Big Gay Frank would use as an art project on Trading Spaces.

I am so freaking sleepy.

Upon last peek, the water is certainly rising again, but I doubt we’ll see the magnitude of flooding we saw last time. The rain appears to have slacked off. Maybe I oughta go to bed.

Ohohoh, and I went to get a haircut today. The guy finished up and started to lather up my neck for a straight-razor shave. This is normally the highlight of any haircutting experience. Ideally, the experience should be swift, deft, and leave your skin baby-ass smooth.

Well.

Ever see that cartoon where the dumb kid bear wants to give Papa Bear a shave for his birthday? He strops the blade, and chunks of the edge all fall out, leaving a jagged, nightmare mess, and Papa Bear panics and flees. Kid Bear lights out after him, with Mama Bear ineffectually pleading, “But Faaaaatheeeeeer…” after them both. More hilarity ensues.

I wish I had half the sense of that dang ol’ cartoon Papa Bear. The guy lathers me up, and instead of being a pleasant SHHHHKshkshkSHHHHKshkshk and me walking out feeling like Cary Grant, he dove in with a SCRAAAAAPEscraaapeSCRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAPESKKKKRRRRREEEEaaaape.

So here I sit, sleepy, on Flood Watch, with a red, raw, razor-burned neck, waiting to hoist all my furniture on pink blocks.

I think I’ll have another drink.

2

Ah, and I just found out that because of the high water, our toilets have apparently decided to, um, politely reject any new submissions.

FLUSH

“Aaaagh! Plunger! Plunger! Where’s the plun…?! Siiiiigh. Gimme the mop.”

A man should not have to mop up pee-infused toilet water at 5AM.

T’ain’t right.

3

You can probably find benchmarks for your area, along with river crest precictions which will let you sleep at night. sorry about the toilet tho, best I can do for ya.

4

Insurance! Get renter’s insurance!

5

Sorry to hear about the flooding. Best of luck on finding a place that will actually stay dry when it rains. Sorry about the neck, too - nothing like a razor burn to make your life complete. All your other troubles seem to fade away…

Big Gay Frank refers to his wife sometimes. Maybe it’s actually “wife”, cause he’s the gayest straight guy I ever saw. Except for my current con-ed teacher, who apparently also has a wife. And a lisp, and a way of holding his head and hands that is as gay as nineteen balloons. I’m so confused.

6

Fortunately, we do both have it. We just have a lot of stuff we’d rather not lose.

7

Tell the landlord you want the place sandbagged. Won’t stop a real flood but will give you another foot.