It's raining on prom night

Yesterday morning the home phone rang at 7:17am and I figured it was Paul for some weird reason. He had already left for work on the 4-wheeler at 6am, to be picked up by the secretary in his department and I figured he was calling to tell me to do this or that or whatever. Keep in mind, our phone lines have been under water for a week now and rather than a dial tone we have this screeching and squealing and squawking that might be mistaken for alien communication. I immediately cringe when it rings because I know I have to put the phone up to my ear and not only am I risking alien brain infection when I do that, but I also know it's going to hurt my ear. So I cringed and picked up the phone. Amidst the screeching I heard the neighbor say, "I just made it through in my truck! It stinks to high heaven, but I made it through!" I thanked her, hung up the phone and hollered, "Kids! Get yer clothes on - we're goin' to town!"

There were three super happy kids at that announcement. One super happy momma, too.

Before we left, I had some phone calls to make - one to the city to get the utilities put in the renters's names which I couldn't do, one to the gas company to get the gas put in the renters's names which I couldn't do either, but at least got a landlord thingy put on the account for future use, and one to the place that has a job opening to tell them that I am interested and would await her return call. (Which never came yesterday, but I did hear last night that she did get the message and now awaits my appearance in her office, wahoo!) By the time I did all that, then called the renters to tell them that they personally have to put everything in their names, then took a shower and got ready (I'd forgotten how to put on makeup and look me awhile to convince my skin to not shriek at the foreign substance being placed on it), we made it out the door at 11:20.

When the neighbor said "it stinks to high heaven" she totally was not kidding. Ever had a wading pool in your yard and you decide to drain it and move it to somewhere else in your yard? Yeah? And know how it smells underneath the pool when you move it? Yeah? That smell like rotting rot and the stench of rottenness? Well, magnify the smell under the wading pool by about 13 million. We literally gagged as we drove through. It's bad. Real bad.

The drive into town was sobering enough to turn off SpongeBob singing "The Best Day Ever" because even though we thought it was a pretty durn good day because we were finally out of the house, we were all struck silent at the wreck that has become parts of our city. Buildings literally gone, washed away, nonexistent now. Fences full of debris, trash and hay bales from God knows where, washed in from fields. Our favorite deli, waterlogged. A convenience store that has a gaping hole in the roof where the refrigerator floated right through the top. And the obvious death to all vegetation that water came in contact with. (Pardon that preposition there, dangling at the end of that sentence.) And the smell. My heavens, the smell.

7 days stuck in our house was nothing compared to what hundreds of people in my city experienced.

Then, to add insult to injury, Woody's Cafe, which has been a Main Street icon for like, ever has been renamed Mom's Home Cookin'. I am not exaggerating when I say that Sam nearly cried. He was so upset. His daddy took him to Woody's last year for breakfast and he still talks about it today. I remember going to Woody's for lunch with Nana after mornings of shopping downtown when downtown had shopping. To rename it is an abomination in my opinion.

So in order to lighten the mood I started talking about the Chinese food we were going to eat because we all had craved Chinese food for a week and kids isn't Chinese food great, let's eat Chinese food, yipeee! But instead the three kids mutinied and begged for McFood. Hello Kitty and FlyWheels in the Happy/Mighty Kids Meals won over a week-long craving of yummy, MSG-laden Chinese food. I just closed my eyes and pretended my grilled chicken - hold the mayo - was broccoli beef. It didn't work, but I tried.

While I was disappointing my tastebuds, I called the Miami Cineplex and got the matinee time for Ratatouille.

After lunch, we did our banking and went to Wal*Mart to buy a Transformer, a Littlest Pet Shop something or 'nother, some blue, pink and purple nail polish (Which, by the way, my nails are lookin' awesome coated in purpleness), new eyeliner and contraband candy to stick in the bottom of my purse. Then we headed to the Cineplex for 2 hours of air conditioning and darkness and not home.

Ratatouille was rather not that good in my opinion. Oh, it was cute in parts and the kids loved it, but the scenes where there were rats - LOTS OF RATS - in big ratty hoardes, scampering and, for the love of Pete, cooking gave me the heebeegeebees and I couldn't help but say "OH MY GOSH" out loud, loudly, several loud times. (shudder) It was long - two hours worth of long, rodent-filled kitchen scenes that made me never want to eat out ever, ever again. Ever. Yes, I knew before entering the theatre that the movie involved a rat chef, but I had no idea that scenes involving hoardes of rats cooking would be involved. (more shuddering)

Upon leaving the theatre, I found out when the first showing of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix will be. Oh yeah, I am that big of a dork. I have also been known to drive to Wal*Mart at 11:00pm in order to be one of the first to buy a copy of a newly released book, only to find that I was the first and only idiot to buy a copy at 12:01am. Yeah.

We came home around 5pm, after a stop at Sonic for yet more! fast food and glorious, glorious soda. I had sweet tea at lunch because sweet tea is the one thing Miami McDonald's does oh so right. We don't keep soda in the house as a general rule because we really like soda, so that first slug of a gigantonormous Sonic Coke was nearly orgasmic.

Yesterday was Ladies' Night at Buffalo Run, so we called Mom to see if she'd watch the kids, she agreed and we again, headed for town. Paul hadn't been to town through the Fairgrounds, on South Main and he was as dumbstuck as we had been earlier in the day. He, too, was upset over Woody's cafe's name change.

Paul's been brewing up a very sudden, what he's calling a cold since Sunday and spending an evening out amongst the mold spores, God knows what kind of rot germs in the air and then a smoky casino has made him sick enough to declare, "Get me a doctor's appointment today. I'm dying." For him to admit defeat after only 2 days, it must be bad. I'm wagering my bet right now that it's pneumonia again. Dangit.

Tomorrow is the day I go to visit the prospective place of employment and hope for a hire. It was going to be today, but Mom can't watch the kids for me. Her best friend's father passed away and they are having a very ceremonious tribal burial for him and she asked Mom to be there. He was the last remaining full-blood Seneca-Cayuga Indian. Mom said something about having to go earlier to be smoked. I'm not familiar with the ceremony, seeing as how firstly, I'm not Seneca-Cayuga and secondly, I'm only 1/128th Cherokee. Enough for a card, but probably not enough for a good smoking at my burial. I'm not making fun, please don't misunderstand. I'm just saying, my translucent skin and freckles don't lend to people automatically knowing I'm Cherokee. When I walk into the Indian Clinic, most stare and probably wonder, "What is this Irish chick doing here?" If there's any smoking at my funeral, it will be done by those also holding a bottle of Bud Light.

Oh yeah -- it's raining again.