A Live-Report of Hurricane Sandy

3 Nov

[Note: In all seriousness, Hurricane Sandy was a real bitch and I have many friends who were affected by the superstorm. My thoughts and prayers are with those who are suffering due to this natural disaster.

To donate to Hurricane Sandy relief efforts, I suggest going through the Red Cross.

To volunteer your time and energy, the Red Cross is also great.

BUT, the following is a complete joke and parody of what I did while waiting out the storm.]

One big bitch of a storm.

Sunday 8:00 p.m. – Receive email from boss. No work tomorrow. I promptly rid myself of lingering hangover, march to liquor store and demand a bushel of their finest, cheapest wine.

Sunday 8:15 p.m. – Dragging said bushel, I march into the grocery store, grab a log of mozzarella and rent every disaster movie available in the Red Box. This includes such titles as:

-       Day After Tomorrow

-       Perfect Storm

-       Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus

-       2012

-       Armageddon

-       Deep Impact

-       Cloverfield

-       Twister

-       Piranhas

-       Piranhas 3D

-       27 Dresses – because Katherine Heigel’s career is a disaster movie itself.

Sunday 8:45 p.m. – I post a photo on Instagram of wine, mozzarella, Triscuits and Red Box movie collection. 18 likes in three minutes.

Sunday 8:50 p.m. – Masturbate to Katherine Heigel.

Yup. You would, too.

Sunday 9:00 p.m. – Pass out drunk with half eaten log of mozzarella, soiled tissues and dirty wine glass.

Monday 6:00 a.m. – Abruptly wake up to trash can lid slamming against window. Look outside window. State: “This ain’t no hurricane.” Crawl into bed.

Monday 9:00 a.m. – Abruptly wake up with headache. Look at alarm clock, panic at time, jump in shower, hop out, run back into room, check time – hasn’t moved. Try to turn on lights. Won’t work. Check microwave: no time. It’s official – the power went out somewhere between my distinction that this is not a hurricane and waking up with a hangover.

I go back to bed.

Monday 11:30 a.m. – Reawaken on my own accord. Shuffle into living room. Turn on television. It does not turn on. Remember the power is out.

Monday 11:33 a.m. – Sulk.

Monday 11:38 a.m. – Open up laptop. Forty-two percent battery. No internet. Proceed to watch Day After Tomorrow.

Monday 12:38 p.m. – Laptop dies. Power still not on.

Monday 12:45 p.m. – I find a dead rat in my bathtub. Debate cooking it and then remember that I don’t have power. Decide best course of action is to just leave it.

Monday 1:00 p.m. – My stomach finally informs me that I’ve lived on only wine and cheese for the past 12 hours. I go to fridge. Contents include:

-       99 percent of a bushel of wine.

-       A can of Bud Light from three months ago.

-       Leftover nachos, also from three months ago.

-       Jelly

-       Guacamole

-       Baking soda

-       Garlic.

All contents are warm.

Monday 1:05 p.m. – I finger dip jelly and guacamole while checking social media via smartphone, battery at 90 percent. Outside, storm rages against windows. I become certain that they will break.

Monday 1:15 p.m. – I destroy old cardboard boxes, procure duct tape and proceed to board up all windows.

Monday 1:29 p.m. – It’s now pitch black. Proceed to take down all cardboard barriers for light, instead.

Monday 1:45 p.m. – According to Twitter, worst hasn’t even come yet and I’ve already eaten all edible products, ran out of computer battery and owe roughly 8 movies to Red Box.

Monday 1:46 p.m. – Contemplate going outside to get food.

Monday 1:47 p.m. – Look outside. Immediately veto leaving apartment.

Monday 1:48 p.m. – Begin calling any restaurants in area.

Monday 1:58 p.m. – Finish calling restaurants in area. None open.

Monday 1:59 p.m. – Lie down on couch. Contemplate reading book.

Monday 2:14 p.m. – Contemplate whether I actually have a book.

Monday 2:24 p.m.  – Confirm that I definitely do NOT have a book.

Monday 2:45 p.m. – In desperate need of food, I arm myself for the elements by wearing eight pairs of sweatpants, five t-shirts, a rain coat, and three trash bags duct taped to my legs, arms and trunk.

Monday 2:46 p.m. – Step outside building and immediately regret decision.

Monday 2: 51 p.m. – Walk 400 yards down street. In that quarter mile I see the following:

-       Dead rats.

-       Trashcans rolling like tumble weeds as if it were a bizzaro Road Runner cartoon.

-       A car upending itself like the semitrailer in The Dark Knight.

And a stray cat.

Monday 2:52 p.m. – A piece of cardboard flies out of a dumpster and smacks me in the face. I aggressively thrash it off and find a cat sticking its head out of the dumpster. I walk toward it as the feline meows like a dying cow.

Monday 3:00 p.m. – I grab the kitten and shove it in my trash bag outfit.

Monday 3:30 p.m. – The only store open within an 800-yard radius of my apartment is the Halal market owned by Muhammed Muhammed, who also happens to live in my building. He tells me a story about the sand storms that happened in Kabul when he was a kid. He said it was like this but with sand instead of water and that no businesses closed. At least once a year it would happen. I tell him I have a cat in my outfit. He hands me a bag of cat food and kitty litter and then a case of water and pasta. He tells me to leave the shopping cart in the vestibule. I thank him.

Awesome store.

Monday 3:45 p.m. – I make it back home. Cat immediately runs to bathroom and begins playing with dead rat. In state of desperation for connection and entertainment – I let it happen.

I also begin to eat the pasta raw because I have an electric stove and cannot, therefore, boil any water.

Monday 4:15 p.m. – Cat finally finishes playing with rat. I grab 20 paper towels from kitchen and throw it into hurricane. It immediately takes flight in gale storm winds.

Monday 4:30 p.m. – I wash cat in sink with water from case and soap. I find out it’s a female. I name her Irene, because she was a Hell of a lot better than Sandy.

Y U WASH ME?!

Monday 5:00 p.m. – Irene and I play with my shoelace on the living room floor.

Monday 6:00 p.m. – Irene and I pass out.

Monday 9:00 p.m. – I wake up from my nap to catch Irene pooping in the makeshift kitty litter box I made out of an old box of Cap’n Crunch. Irene, fresh from a steamy poo, sits on my chest. I fall back asleep.

Monday 10:00 p.m. – I wake up to my phone ringing. I still have 10 percent power left. My mom is calling. Apparently I haven’t paid my electric bill in a month but my zone is just fine.

Monday 10:03 p.m. – I hang up and go back to sleep.

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