So, my house is a submarine parking lot.  My mom, brother and sister-in-law, sister and brother in-law and their kids are whereabouts unknown after staying in Gentilly for the storm.  My home-town, or what’s left of it faces many plagues in the immediate future, and likely a thorough bulldozing before this is all done.

My other brother and his clan survived the storm and managed to make it out of town to retreat to humane and sanitary lodgings.  One of my good friends whom I feared the worst for has managed the same hat-trick.  I am amongst other very good friends in my (and their) homelessness.  My wife, for the moment, is still in possession of a job and is able to collect a paycheck.

The teeter-totter keeps bringing me up and down.  It’s a ride that frankly I’d like to get off of, but that’s not in the cards.

I feel like a whiny bitch for even feeling the need to vocalize what everyone else I know — and countless thousands that I don’t — is going through, and some much worse.

I’m a little homesick, but my home is sick and there is no going back for a long while, and even when I can it’s not really my home any more.  More than the home is a longing to see the entire gang, to witness with my own eyes that they are whole and healthy.  I miss my missing family, and there is a very real chance that there will be no relief for that feeling, ever.

Most of the time I’m fine.  Some of the time I’m not.  Every so often I’m a fucking wreck, like I am now.  Eventually the teeter-totter will swing back up again, but for now, my ass is on the ground in, as you say, the mud.

So, here I sit in a hotel in Houston Teyhas.  Katrina is bearing down on the Gulf Coast — New Orleans almost specifically — like Lena the Hyena in full lust-run after a cock proprietor.  I feel like I’m waiting for some Supreme Being to sneeze and accidentally tip his water glass into the saucer that is our city.

The house is boarded up tighter than a hummingbird’s tweet.  All potential projectiles have been removed from the yard and if whatever’s left can be easily picked up and hurled as a missile by the wind, then there likely won’t be a house left standing to be hit by it.  I have no trees on my property to knock down but there are a plethora of trees all around me, and that makes me a bit nervous… specifically that pine tree with a huge branch precariously dangling right over my garage like the sword of Damocles.  Note to self, if my house and property aren’t destroyed when I get back and if that branch hadn’t already succumbed to gravity, I need to cut that bitch and a number of others back.  You children reading along knew you could do that right… you can trim your neighbor’s trees back up to 6′ beyond your property line without getting in any trouble?  There.  You’ve learned something valuable today.

I’m glad that those of you who Got-The-Fuck-Out™ actually did so.  Those of you who didn’t, and still make it through this rigmarole should be severely thrashed with a Water Noodle and then held tight and reminded that even though you are a king-moron, we still love you, and we will end you with our own hands if you do it again.

I’m quietly concerned about a lot of things right now, but I’m comforted by the thought that whatever may happen to the THINGS I own, I am safe high and dry with the most important person in my life who is also safe, high and dry.  I am being kept company by some very good friends who Got-The-Fuck-Out™ with us.  I am not a religious man, so I am spending millions in karmic currency at this very moment, all that I’ve managed to save up over the years, hoping for the unscathed emergence of those I love who have stayed behind.

Good luck, good speed and the first round of drinks are on me when we get home.  We’re gonna’ need it.

EEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

One quote, that’s all it’ll take to set your frame of mind for this site:

"For the man who goes to the gym, the beach or dancing in a club.  For the man who loves the feel of lycra spandex on his body."

Jebus.  Be sure to check out the Fantasy and Super Hero unitards sections.  "Tards" is a pretty apt description.  I… I don’t know if I should laugh, barf or send in the Feds.  Maybe all three.

Excuse me while I go and scrub my eyes with a little rocksalt and vinegar.