Take my advice, don't waste your time, energy, or brain power. She's sneaky ... she's got a bad sense of humor, and -- trust this woman when I say --- she's one woman not to be trusted!
In the South we have to deal not only with the heat of our long, long, summers; but also with the long, fickle winds of hurricanes. It's been one week since Gustav made his unwelcome presence known to those of us in the South living along the Gulf Coast. That nasty man was no Southern gentleman. He did the wham and the bam without the thank you mame!
I heard weather forecasters on TV and the radio say the National Hurricane Center was right on the mark with predicting where Gustav would stick it to us. If that's the case, why didn't anybody tell me.
Gustav was like a 1980's dancing fool. First he threatened to do the Conga around Florida, then the two-step into Alabama and Mississippi, followed by the Cajun Jitterbug through Louisiana, and the Cotton-Eyed Joe in Texas ... leaving most of us dizzy and out of breath!
Now, as a journalist I have chased hurricanes through the region, from South Florida to Western Louisiana. And I have had storms chase me all the way back home. But after Katrina, I vowed not to be taken alive by another storm ... never to be that hot or thirsty again with no air conditioning and refrigeration.
With the internet and satellite radio, you can keep track of every little hiccup and burp of these storms. I guess that is supposed to be comforting -- getting to see the big bag of wind before it kicks your butt from here to kingdom come. Instead, it just gives one sleepless nights, new strands of grey hair, chronic diarrhea, tension headaches, and extra pounds on the body from that nervous eating pattern when you gulp down hurricane provisions before they spoil. Trust me when I say hurricanes do not provide picture-perfect Kodachrome moments.
And if you evacuate, you've got to pretend you are Christopher Columbus searching for the new world as you decide to go east or west or even north --- yes, we Southerners go north when we must. And good luck finding a motel room along the way. I spoke with some Louisiana Belles who told me they drove past Memphis to find a room, then put three adults, one dog and two cats into that room ... don't picture it. If that wasn't bad enough, they ate Memphis barbecue the first two days. Between the barbecue beans, grandpa, the husband, and a nervous dog, the motel management almost had to evacuate the evacuees for fear of a gas explosion.
To make matters worse, Gustav was the disaster that wasn't. By the time he hit the Louisiana coast he had no balls ... just a sock stuffed into his pants. His rain was similiar to that of a horse on diuretics and his winds similar to a great big fart. But a couple million people got out of his way, praying he was not the evil twin of Katrina.
Halloween came early ... he scared the beejeebees out of us, but left us with the treat of not too much to clean up. Just one week later we are faced with Ike about to play a cruel trick on the Gulf Coast. He's taunting all of us from Florida to Texas. Plus, he seems to be in cahoots with the forecasters who keep saying "it's too early to tell where he's going to make landfall."
Mother nature must have stock in the companies that manufacture Pepto-Bismol®, Immodium®, Nervine, Jack Daniels, and Myers Rum. Too bad Mother Nature doesn't have stock in companies that provide hormone replacement therapy.
I can't help but believe cranky old Mother Nature is going through menopause -- that less than pleasant change of life crap -- and taking it out on all of us in the South. I know it's not nice to fool Mother Nature, but we don't have to show her any Southern Hospitality either.
" ... and the buzzards keep circling!"
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