Ike…my dear, sweet, Hurricane Ike.  It was just a week ago that the threat of your massive winds and torrential rains were but a far-off blip deep in the Atlantic. But tonight, as you inject the steroids of the warm Gulf waters into your swirling veins, the Texas coast holds their collective breath and begs you to go away…return from where you came…or simply “poof” dissipate before our very eyes.  But you’re a mean bastard. A bit like an old college boyfriend of mine who refused to go down without a fight. You’ve already left destruction in your path, but it’s not enough, is it, you angry fool?

So, now we must prepare.  For what, we’re not certain.  Because you refuse to scurry along on a defined path. You have our friends at the weather bureau in a tizzy…their spaghetti models and “cones of uncertainty” changing with each passing hour.  Do we escape only to find that you’ve chosen to veer north (or south) and spare our fair city?  Or is your evil sister, Rita, so fresh in our minds that the thought of 18 hours on a jammed road keeps us in town…holed up in a local bar, drinking your howling winds away?

Tomorrow I must fight the crowds at the local gay Kroger. For bottled water, you ask?  Oh, no. I’ve plenty of that. I must wade through the throngs of frightened citizens to stock up on more important essentials - like toilet paper (only one roll left here…and you ain’t gonna catch me in a candlelit bathroom without the bare necessities), and kitty litter (yes, there is a theme here). And because this is a frightening and atypical situation, I believe chocolate and full-fat sour cream and onion chips are just as (if not more) important.  If the threat of nightmarish destruction is not enough to temporarily throw away my healthy ways, I don’t know what is. That’s my logic, and I’m stickin’ to it.  Ooooh! I wonder if gay Kroger has Twizzlers…the strawberry ones!  And Skittles!  I should also get some popcorn to mix with the chocolate.  Wait, microwave may not be working. I’ll just buy the cheesey bagged kind.  Yes. Good plan.

Anyway, back to you Ike. Please spare Galveston and her inland friend, Houston.  But if you can keep us guessing for just a bit longer, enough for me to legitimately stock up on the above mentioned “supplies” and worm my way out of that Friday night date with “the talker”…it’ll be much appreciated.  Then if you could just suddenly and unexplainably weaken to a minor tropical storm before landfall, that’d be perfect. 

Don’t defy me, Ike. I can be a mean bitch. I’ve got throngs of mean bitches around me.  And you know what they say about pissing off a lady. Times that by 20 if you piss off a lady from Texas. Trust me. You don’t want to go there. Back it up, buddy. YOU. DON’T. WANT. TO. GO. THERE.

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