In any case, shortly after posting the last entry, I made the mistake of going west of the intracoastal for a doctor's appointment, around the same time it became apparent we were going to be hit by Ernesto.
Chapter 1: In which I consider jumping out the window.
Scene: My OB-GYN's waiting room.
Seeing as the tropical storm/Hurricane was now impending, every single pregnant woman and every single FAT NEW YORKER decided to run to the OB-GYN's office. So, imagine the room is elbow to elbow in estrogeny or estrogen-replacement cranked-up women. Essentially, the 7th circle of hell.
As I scan the room, I see that these fat, wrinkly, (dear-god-why-are-they-at-the-OBGYN?!) old New York women have the only two acceptable magazines in the waiting room. I'm left with "Parenting" and "Healthy Baby," Shoot me. I soon hear that I have to be subjected to their banal observations about pop culture. Keep in mind it's obvious that these women can't possibly know each other-- they just share the sisterhood of "We're here to die and we'll annoy you until you do the job for us."
So they begin squawking to each other like migrating parrots: "My GAWD, How YOUNG Blythe Danner looked at the Emmys, and oh, that she MUSTA had collogen injections in her hands..." Then, they add their criticisms of Jane, my favorite magazine, that they held in their grubby, fake-nailed hands. (On a side note, why do strangers talk to each other here?! WHY?! I can't wait to go to the UK, where, they tell me, this kind of thing doesn't happen.)
"AW GOWD, LISTEN TA THIS.." one says, reading a letter in Jane. "I'M FINE WID SLEEPING AROUND IN MY TWAN-TIES, I FIGURE WHY DO I HAVE TO HAVE TO SETTLE DOWN YET?..."
"SO SHE'S SAYIN' SHE WAHNTS TO SLEEP WITH 50,000 MEN. UNBAHLIEVABLE."
...I stare down at my shoes uncomfortably, and think of moving one of my rings over to my ring finger.
So, yada yada, finally my name gets called, and I sprint out of the waiting room on the way out, still afraid to catch their eye.
Chapter 2: Ernesto gets ready to lay down the lovin'
Scene 1: driving around Del Boca Vista
Americans are especially good at two things. Consumption of food and consumption of gas. Throw in an impending hurricane and BAM! We surprise even ourselves.
I decide not to wait in a 2 hour gas line, but hedge my bets, and decide to fill up the car later. My dad hears we have a half-empty tank and flies into hysterics. Seriously-- If we're all destroyed WHY would we need to drive anywhere, anyways? The logic escapes me. (People tell me later that it's because when the power goes out, stations can't pump for days, weeks. Whatever.)
By the time I make it to the grocery store, every single desirable item is GONE. People are filling entire grocery carts to the brim. Do people really think food will cease to exist after the storm? OR (in some cases) that they really need to be eating that much?! No.
As I ask the large check-out man what he thinks of the storm, and we both decide this is a non-event. As if he were a part of this, the guy behind me in line (with a dozen or so candy bars in hand, might I add) decides to chime in.
"Well, the storm could go either way, HONEY."
HONEY?! Getting honey'd by a stranger was the last straw. I can't wait for this storm to be over.
Although I do enjoy a little tropical stormage.
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