Mother Nature is taking her shit back

We had one hell of a storm last night. The thunder woke me from a dead sleep. I was dreaming that I was in a storm. Nothing screws you up more than waking up, realizing you are awake, yet still hearing what was in your dream. The whole house shook after each thunderous outburst. There were a couple of times I swore lightening had gotten a transformer. The wind roared like a train. I've always heard that tornados sound like trains, so I kept waiting for the house to pull a wizard of Oz. Our driveway lies under a very branchy tree, this morning I fully expected to see that my car had become a convertible.

The only major casualty was to our back screen door. The wind ripped it right off it's hinges. That, and our decoy owl had one quick, short flight. The head was in one place while the body was in another. After the ruckus last night, I expected to drive to work through the remains of an apocalypse, but the neighborhood looked fine. Amazing.

All was well until I felt an itch on my arm and found a wasp sitting on me. I damn near wrecked. The people behind me probably thought I was having a seizure. There is no graceful way to flail around and try to roll down four windows at the same time. Luckily, it stayed on it's side of the car and I stayed on mine. Once I got to work it flew out the passenger's window with no prompting. I had to clean my pants.

My husband and I like to pick "horses" when a reality show comes on. Rules are: you must pick one boy and one girl before the first episode comes on, or if there is no website, after the first episode airs. You must stick with these choices no matter what. If your choice loses early, you can pick a replacement but it doesn't count.

My last winning horse was Richard Hatch on "Survivor". Yeah, that was 10 years ago. I've had a string of second place winners since: Clay Aiken on "American Idol", several "Amazing Race" couples, several more "Survivor" losers, and a smattering of one-time shows here and there. Last night was the finale of "Kept" on VH1 and again, I chose the second placer. Austin, 6'3", blonde, smart, honest, sexy - Seth won. Seth, who is 5'6", retarded, ugly, and rude. What the hell? If there was a contest for picking second place, I'd win hands down. But you know what second place is, right? First loser.

I'll be so glad when football starts again. I love football. Not just the game, per say, but the rituals that go with watching the game. The preparation of the game-watching food, the consumption of the game-watching beer, the wearing of the comfortable and often ugly game-watching clothes, and my favorite, the enjoyment of the game-watching nap. There is no sleep compared to that set against the commentary of a very lengthy football game. Babies don't sleep that well.

In my house, there is also the game-watching trash-talk spewing forth from my husband. Over the years I have come to realize that trash-talking is an art, one my husband has mastered. While I still sputter around with things like "Break his legs!" and "You gotta be shitting me?", my husband strings words of such clever filth and atomically impossible acts together that I'm left in awe. Once the whistle is blown, my stable, mild-mannered, laid-back husband becomes of demon from hell. Such passion! Such fervor!

Tonight we are going to the birthday party of a friend of ours. We are heading out to a dueling piano bar. I've never been to one. I understand the possible cheesiness levels are high in a place like that, but everyone else seems to enjoy them. We'll see.