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Fear and Loathing in North Dallas

Issue Date: Friday, Jun. 13, 2003

The weather in Texas can change as quickly as the mind of a woman… going through menopause… in July… at a %70 off sale at the Neiman Marcus discount outlet… while wearing tight shoes.

One moment the heat is searing your lungs and your brain, your clothes are sticking to your baking body and the air is so humid you feel like you are breathing through a sponge or a poorly maintained lung machine… underwater; and the next, wind is whipping out of the west, dark clouds roll in, the temperature drops to 80 and you are pelted with raindrops as big as harvest fed field mice.

For the past few days storms have blown in almost a routine fashion. The mornings have been misty and humid, the afternoons muggy and hot and the evenings (and over night) have produced thunderstorms that Zeus would be proud of.

I, for one, am not a big fan of the boom boom thunder thunder big noise loud crash blinding light storm. If it wants to rain quietly and with a bit of decorum [read: visit England during the … well, anytime really] then I am all for the life giving water from the sky. But if a storm wants to stomp around making a big noise and a big scene then I’ll be over here, *points* under the bed.

I have had a considerable problem with storms (and clowns) since I was pretty young. I’m not sure if it was that I thought that the storm was the catalyst for that big snotty looking tree to eat Robbie Freeling in Poltergeist or if I thought it was a manifestation of evil spirits that created the storm. Oooh, another creepy movie with heaps of creeps wishing bad things to happen to curious kids was Something Wicked This Way Comes. That flick used storms as a tool to say, ‘Warning! This is shit is about to get skeery!’ In other words, foreboding. I guess I learned that if a storm sprung up, something was about to get wack.

I know I am speaking of movies here but there were some real life scary storm thingies too.

I lived in East Texas for about nine years and the area was called Tornado Alley. Whee. Fun times. I can remember that every time there was a tornado spotted in the Nacogdoches/Center area that it most likely went right down Highway 7 East. I lived about a mile off of Hwy 7 East. The sky would go green and I just knew that I would have to make my way around felled trees and that rusted out water tank that always got picked up and deposited in the middle of that two lane highway on the way to work the next morning.

I lived in a valley (sorta*) between Swift Hill and another little rise in the landscape. When a funnel or tunnel cloud would come through you could hear it screaming. Sideways winds, the sound of trees cracking and falling over (that suspiciously sounds like trees pulling up roots to come get you), hail, blinding lightening. Suffice it to say, I was/am not a big fan of storm-like activity.

*The valley was there because a 10-acre lake used to inhabit the space. I say used to because my ex brother in law (Debra Jean’s ex bundle of fun) blew up the dam while fishing with dynamite. Poof, lake no more. No, I’m not kidding. Yes, I wish I were.

Last night when Mister and I went to bed a storm was crankin up to let loose. There have been storms three nights in a row, hence the crankiness that surrounds me. I have not been sleeping well. I thought that I was handling the lightening and thunder like a good girl, no jumping, squealing, shrieking or basically acting like a guppy in a blender. I thought that I was being calm, cool and collected. Yes, sure I would wince at particularly bad patches of BLINDING ELECTRIFYING LIGHTENING! But, who wouldn’t?

My façade was blown when Mister suggested that I take a sleeping pill.


A sleeping pill?

I have such goodies in my cabinet because of a little thing I like to call insomnia. It hasn’t been bothering me lately [knock on wood], or so I thought.

I padded quietly through the dark apartment to the kitchen to look in my medicine cabinet. I pulled out my little bottle of Sonata (I think that is what they are called.) and looked at them.

Just then a searing flash of white so intense burned through my retinas and allowed me to see the skeletal outline of my kitty Max. An enormahuge BOOM!!! reverberated through the apartment and set my crystal goblets to singing.

I decided to take two.

The next thing I know, it was 6:30 this morning. My equilibrium was off and my brain felt like mush. I stumbled around after I got out of bed, took my shower, contemplated my mascara for an inordinately long time and left my mouth lipstick free.

Moral of the story, I don’t like storms. I should only take sleeping pills on the weekends and a hairdryer is a dangerous instrument when you don’t have your balance.

I still don’t like clowns…. I’ll tackle this in another entry.

Mister cracks me up so bad.

Mister: We can have everybody over tonight to my house if you want. The common areas are fairly clear of debris.

Me: Your “common areas”? What, do you have a compound or something??? *snicker*

Mister: Yes, I am a Twig Dividian… there aren’t enough people for a whole branch.



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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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