In an attempt to maintain my sanity, I present to you….the #IrmaDiaries by Mr. Black. (I will post more entries but I’m having to transcribe from my lap top to phone with no power or internet.)
Today is September 10th 2017 and I’m drinking approximately 8 oz of Walmart Chardonnay out of a plastic shaker cup. The wind outside these boarded up windows is louder than a black plaintiff on an episode of The People’s Court.
There’s literally a fucking hurricane outside.
Her name is Irma….
bitch ass Irma.
I actually evacuated my home in Miami Beach to escape the jaws of the category 5 hurricane, only to stumble into her new path in my hometown of Tampa Bay. What are the odds?
I actually just finished arguing with my mother who decided to toss on her bright blue poncho, put her sister-locks in a ponytail, and attempted to take her four-pound dog out to pee—during a fucking hurricane.
Yes, my 66-year old mother was willing to risk it all to save her peel-n-stick tile.
Well NOT ON MY WATCH. (In my Iyanla Vazant voice.)
I politely asked that she and my 79-year old father (who didn’t see any issue with her stepping out into the storm) agree to NOT go outside during the hurricane. I just didn’t feel like auditioning for the ‘Dog Whisperer’ in tree-filled yard (DURING A FUCKING HURRICANE) was the best idea.
Now originally, I planned to wait until later tonight to drink wine but after that conversation my nerves have officially been fried.
Oh wait, let’s ice this cake—the power just went out for good after flickering on and off for 2 hours. It’s funny, no matter how many times it’s flickered on and off, my mom and her friend (who is taking shelter with us) are STILL caught off guard and let out a “OH LAWD! POWER IS OUT!” each…and every…fucking…time…as if no one else noticed. Well time to power down and conserve.
Xoxo Mr. black.