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Rock Me Like A... Frances?
Hurricane Frances is coming – actually, kind of right at me. It's going to be very big and strong, but will probably not get TOO close to us, unless it takes a southward jog at the last minute, and then we're fucked.

I'm busy and my voice is all over S. Florida - I've been zapping my updates to other radio stations from Key West to North Miami. If you see a frazzled brunette babbling about probability charts and saying lame things like, “Be vigilant!” on The Weather Channel, that is totally me.

Anyway, we're about to be in the thick of it, but I have a little

downtime. It’s very hurry-up-and-wait coverage, with lots of me waiting with breath bated for the latest National Weather Service advisory, letting me know just HOW fucked we all are.

Also, I got word today - my buddy Eric will sell me his fucking

awesome 1979 Jeep Wrangler - red, bikini top, runs like a dream. I should get it for $3K or less. I am SO EXCITED - so excited that I'm probably thinking about the Jeep than the storm. Which might be a good thing.

Our house is still boarded up from when we all thought Hurricane Charley was going to blow debris up our ass, and Beaker will super-secure it this evening.

The worst thing that could happen is our canal flooding, so I really hope it doesn't. (Actually, I guess if it jogs south, the worst thing that could happen is that we bear the brunt, our house blows down, and both of us plus Miss Budina die, but I really hope to avoid that scenario. At least until I get to drive that Jeep one freaking time.)

The storm is supposed to make landfall late Friday or very early

Saturday. Why always on the weekend, huh? Why not during the week, when I am in work, anyway? Why not on a Tuesday, when it would get me out of a talk show? Nope, Hurricane Frances says, “I want to visit on Labor Day weekend and ruin ALL of your fun and profit!” and there really isn’t much room for argument.

As I was sitting down to write this entry, my computer got all frozed up because I was trying to send an email earlier that apparently DOES NOT WANT TO BE SENT, and I maybe might have screamed, “Goddamn motherfucking WHORE!” which may then have caused all of my co-workers to come a-runnin’. When the country guy suggested I restart the machine, I possibly might have snapped, “I don’t WANT to restart it, I WANT it to BEND to my WILL! I am the human, IT is the machine! Bend!”

I think the impending weather is making me a little edgy.

I will show you where I live, if you promise not to come and stalk me, okay?


This map may change by the time you read this, if it is much later than Friday afternoon. But you see that line that says “Sat Morning, and you see that line that says “Fri Evening”? I live on the bottom edge of that prediction cone, right between those lines.

Doesn’t Frances seem like kind of a pansy name for a Category 4 storm? (In case you live in Utah or something Category 4 is just below the worst – Category 5.) I think so, too.

It is getting windy.

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