wilma, you bitch

apparently, there is a hurricane on the way. i havent really noticed.

everyone keeps asking me when i plan to evacuate, when i am procuring bottled water and canned goods, how many trees are at how many of my windows, am i worried, why always on the weekends, la la la, dee da dee dum.

let it get to within three hundred goddamn miles first, aight? it's going eight miles per fucking hour, for christs sake.

then, i can decide what i will do.

if this thing tracks for orlando, then i will take twenty minutes to get precious things within my nin hundred square feet off of the floor, up on shelves and in cabinets, then i will pack a bag, make a sandwich and drive north. twenty minutes of preparation and i can leave for three months, if i need to.

stop jabbering! figure it out, homeowner! realize that i have no real estate on the line! i am indifferent to the wiping out of the state, if it comes to this! i can fit my necessities in the backseat, on my way the fuck out of dodge!

god!

there are lots of reasons not to live in florida. one more is hurricanes, and one after that is impending victim mentality.

it's going to be white sox and astros. i will pick the white sox.