"Good Night Irene, I hate you Pete, and Venus & Mars Explodes"

Hi. It’s Kay!

Wow! That Irene, right? I have to be honest with you, I’ve developed a sailor’s tongue over the last six months, and I kind of like it. Maybe it’s because of the 30-plus years of suppression (a Catholic thing) but let me tell you, my brothers and sisters out in EG, when you hit your second spring like me, at 45-plus, the words will flow from your mouths like drinking beer from funnels, 1980's style.

Plus, my therapist and my every-other-Friday support group told me it’s okay to let the f-bombs fly, because swearing is part four in the divorce process — there are ten stages in total, who knew?

Okay, back to the storm…. When I was preparing for Irene’s arrival … I have to tell you, I used adjectives that would make Chris Rock blush, but again … it’s okay. I can’t skip any of the stages or I’ll have to pass go and head straight to jail - that’s what the books says.  

Here’s are some of the ways I prepared for the storm - Kay style:

1.  Moved other peoples cr@p to one side of the garage so I can put my sweet ride, my Hyundai with one dent, to safe harbor. Time spent: 2 ½ hours. Years off my life, too.

2.  Pulled my car into the garage for the first time in six months, pressed down on the garage door opener, and bang, bang! The freaking door slams on my roof - I guess I underestimated the dimensions.

3.  Spectators were walking by my house, laughing at half my car hanging out on the driveway. “I spit on your graves,” I thought as I waved to them smiling. Five years off my life and an Italian salute to their dogs.

4.  Called Pete, “the generator man,” the day before the storm to make sure the generator was working properly. You know, the old saying, “Build the barn before the storm," or something like that. Pete’s wife, the “Vice President,” took three years from my life in a ten-minute conversation that I had with her.

5.  Helpful Peter came over four hours late, looked at the generator, looked at me, looked at the generator, and looked back at me, and said, “What do you want me to do?”

“Pete, I said. “I’m paying you, you’re the professional. You tell me, DUDE.”

6.  Pete took the dipstick out (I’ll refrain from comment here), looked at it, looked at me, looked back at the stick, pulled his hat off, put it back on, looked back at me and finally said, “The oil is milky.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Yup, it’s milky, not good. Not good. I can change the oil if you want,” Pete said. “Sure, Pete that sounds like a stellar plan,” I said.

“Whatever,” he said.

7.  “I can’t replace the filter, though, only the oil,” Pete said. “Hmmm … how come not the filter, Pete?” I said.

“Don’t have any filters on my truck,” Pete said.

“Of course you don’t, Pete. Why would you, Pete? Considering that you’re driving a bus with your logo splattered across the entire truck that reads: Pete’s Generator & Repair Services,” I thought.

 8.  “What the f*&@k do you have onboard your bus, Mr. Peter Rabbit?” I thought. Six years off my life watching Pete scratch his bald head, pull up his belt so his pants hung vertically above his waist, and watched him change the oil.

9.  Pete worked for one hour, charged me $270 dollars, and left his stinking-greasy hat that reads, and I quote, “You’ve the equipment, I’ll clean your pipes.”

“Really, Pete?” I said to myself. Twenty years off my life for reading his hat, but then burned it to ashes outside, did a Native American circle-cleansing dance, and gained ten years back to my life.

10. Went grocery shopping, filled the refrigerator, hauled the decaying teakwood outdoor furniture (not my choice) away from the dormant pool. I hate that mother-wood. After two hours of moving it an inch, I kicked it, kicked it again, another kick, and threw the 8-foot chairs to the other side of the yard. A lifetime off my life. Tension releaser - priceless.

11. Cleaned the house, grabbed some light beers and organic chips, lit candles, and started reading Chapter One of “Men are from Mars, Woman are from Venus.” I was ready, first time alone in a storm; I was prepared, strong, and fearless.

12. “Come on Irene, show me what you got my Irish sister,” I said.

Two seconds later, the lights when out. No worries, I reassured myself, Pete cleaned my pipes and the generator will kick on any minute. 

13. One hour passed, no electricity, Venus and Mars exploded over my living room carpet from me ripping it to shreds while twirling my hair, four beers, two shots of vodka later, I went outside and yelled into the tropical winds, “I hate you Pete!!! I hate you Pete!!!! I hate your pants, I hate your hat, and I spit, spit, spat, over your bald head—for eternity.”