My many thanks to Daze, who translated this very well. The full version, since I have a moment to edit it, is below.
"Better to light a candle than curse the darkness." But here at Chez Naamah, we're pirates, so we do both.
It is Day 9 of the Blackout That Ate December. Most people have been restored to power, the huge glaring exception that of course would be us. The destruction is unspeakable. A tree crew came through to clear out the hanging limbs from Roanoke, Virginia. They did hurricane cleanup in Florida, and again in Louisiana after Katrina, and they said this is unlike anything they've ever seen. Obviously we're not dealing with comparable hurricane-level property damage, but the damage to the trees and the power grid is phenomenal. Our neighborhood in particular was one of the worst hit. The streets are lined with downed limbs and split trees, and they're now piled on the sidewalks; in some places they're as tall as I am.
I am well and truly sick of this shit, and I realize it probably makes me a fucking bitch to complain when after Katrina, there were people with underwater houses. But goddamnit. I want some fucking light to read by, I want my goddamn Smallville DVDs, and I want my stereo! And hot fucking water! That would be peachy-keen!
The most annoying part is that there is really not anyone to be angry with. The power company isn't responsible for the ice storm. The crews of unfortunate bastards have been working 16-hour shifts to get it hooked back up, so it's not like they aren't trying.
But, actually, there is someone to blame. I may already have mentioned this, but Tulsa was due to have its power lines buried. Only the worthless piss-swilling rat-testicle posthole-humping smegma stains in the neighborhood due to be buried voted it down, because they didn't want their precious yards dug up. Can you believe it?
If there is any justice in this world, those festering ape-felching babyfuckers will be the dead last to be turned on, and then they will have their yards gutted anyway in the spring, and the resulting trenches will be filled in with a 3-to-1 mixture of dog shit and pizza vomit. I think that would be pretty appropriate.
Anyway, we're OK. Beloved friends have opened their homes to us for hot showers and hot food, and we no longer smell like something fished from Bigfoot's buttcrack. The heat's holding out; I've been forced to abandon candles, because the fumes were making me ill, and that was fun. Now all I have is a cold sci-fi LED light of Book-Lites and fluorescent lanterns, which is like something out of an Alien movie.
The cat is knocking shit over in an effort to get to her toys, and I'm probably going to go smack her as soon as I'm done with this.
Several people have shot looters; you might have seen news reports about that. We ourselves have a rifle handy because someone got into our garage on Saturday night and rummaged around. Then they went to the car. They didn't take anything, because there is nothing to take. They did leave the car door open, so we had to switch batteries between Sargon's car and mine.
Which brings to mind the fact that I forgot to mention: my car stopped running the Friday before all of this. I've been without power, and without transportation, all that time.
Also, last Monday, right after all this started, the Menstrual Fairy arrived! So I've been even more savagely irritable than usual. No Hitachi, no sex. No lights, no hot water. This is fun.
Anyway, Sargon tells me that we're among some 30,000 unfortunate bastards still without power. The power company swears it will have us on by tomorrow at ten. We'll see about that. I won't be back online after that for at least . . . I don't know. Several days. But I will at least be able to decorate my goddamn Christmas tree and turn on a light when I take a crap! It's true: You don't know what you've got until it's gone.
I will put in a brief phone call when we get hooked back up; otherwise, I'll be sitting here with a metaphorical thumb up my metaphorical ass, making Christmas ornaments, reading trashy novels, and going slowly insane.
When I become Evil Overlord, remind me to have my orbital death laser run off annoyance and hate! Either that or cat farts.
Many thanks to those who have sent holiday cards and fun music, and to those who have commented with well wishes, or even just, you know, thought them at me really hard. I miss you all, insert kissy noise here, and I will update you all later.
And, incidentally, yes, I am reading this, because, frankly, I suck at just talking straight off the top of my head.
But I really do miss you all, and, despite the extreme presence of cute snuggly cats, I am most definitely feeling the loneliness of being completely cut off from probably nine-tenths of my social circle.
So, just so all of y'all know that I still am thinking about you, and wishing that I could be reading about your lives instead of dealing with mine, which, frankly, at the moment, sucks ass. And, you know, not nice, clean, well-shaven, hot ass, but you know, disgusting, horrible-looking monkey butt.
So . . . I love you all, I will talk to you all later, and wish me the best of luck as I try to endure this stinky, lightless hell. Bye-bye.