Here is a brief account of my week. This is going to be a bit long. If you don't feel like reading, that's fine. Right now I'm so happy to have had a hot shower this morning and WaWa coffee in front of me that I don't care about much else.
Sunday: Day before storm.
Being the good girl that I am, I wake up bright and early and go out to do the errands that officials told me to do. I fill my gas tank, I go to the grocery store, and I do not pass GO! until I get my $2o0 (from the ATM). P.S. - the ATM, grocery store, and the gas station are completely deserted. It seems that I am one of only about three people in South Fort Lauderdale who thought to prepare for the storm.
I then come home and make sure my hurricane kit is prepared.
Brooke's Hurricane Kit1. Bottled water
2. Batteries
3. 20 year old Duracell flashlight
4. Blue Princess corded telephone
5. Hello Kitty radio
All set. I then sit in front of the tv to watch the latest episode of "Watching Wilma". By noon I am looking up the numbers of the networks, preparing to threaten all kinds of bodily harm to the various newscasters if they block out football for more images of newscasters standing on the beach saying "Wilma's not here yet!" Fortunately they must have sensed my displeasure and football comes on at the designated time. Unfortunately the Packers lost in the last 2 seconds of the game. Crap.
Sunday Night
It is becoming apparent that the storm is not only beginning early, but is not going to decrease in power. It is going to whomp us as a Category 3. Rain and wind are already lashing at the windows. Not a lot of sleep is happening that night, especially since I am woken up several times by the toot-toot of various appliances being turned on and off as power comes and goes.
Monday Morning
Wake up at 6:00 am to howling wind and pounding rain. The storm is coming from the south at over 100 mph. Guess which direction all of my windows face? I turn on the news to see that one of the networks has already lost its broadcast video and is only showing satellite pictures of a growing Wilma with echoing voices in the background. 20 minutes later the cable goes out. Half an hour later the power goes for good.
It is now 7:00 am.
I bury myself under the covers and try to block out the sound of my windows in their valiant fight against Wilma the Twat-Whore - my new nickname for her.
Late Monday Morning
People in my building are going from condo to condo to check on each other and see the storm from various angles. Several are huddled, terrified, in the stairwells. I go across the hall to look after my neighbor who has emphysema. She is beyond petrified. We watch as tree limbs, signs, and awnings fly through the air and down the street to parts unknown. We go to my condo to watch the normally calm and glassy canal turn into white water rapids. Unidentified flying objects land in the water and are carried out to sea.
The storms subsides for a bit, but it's clear that this is the eye coming over us. I can actually feel the storm shift to the west. We are now on the dirty side of the storm. It is called this for a reason - it fights dirty. The canal now looks like a surfer's paradise - there are actual waves breaking. The wind is literally rocking the building. My neighbor, who had gone back to her place during the calm, bursts through my door in tears. It dawns on me that I need to add alcohol to my hurricane kit.
Monday Afternoon
As scary as the storm was, we are fortunate in two ways. One - it was short. I am here to tell you that if it had lasted all day and into the night they would have found me in the fetal position in my bathtub. Two - the cold front that pushed Wilma towards us settled into South Florida. It was a cool 75 degrees. After Katrina, it was approximately 95 degrees, and I had no power for five days. That pretty much sucked.
We are unfortunate in that not only is there no cable or power - but no water either. I feel positively decadent brushing my teeth and washing my face with bottled water. I then realize that my personal hygiene is not the only issue - there is the matter of the toilet. As soon as it is deemed safe to go outside, I find myself a big bucket (previously used for kitty food - kitties seem to be a recurring theme here) and scamper down to the pool. I will use pool water to fill my tank and flush! I am so clever!!! I arrive at the pool to see nine other residents who are just as clever - and clearly quicker - than I. I spend the rest of Monday staring out the window and talking on the phone. I then go to bed at 8:00 pm. Between hauling water and going to bed the minute it gets dark, I feel like Laura Ingalls.
"The Recovery"
Tuesday - was spent talking on the phone, listening to Hello Kitty, eating junk food, and going up and down the four floors of my building with toilet water. I also rearranged my cupboards.
6 million people are out of power in Florida. People are fighting in the streets over gas, ice, and water. My street has utility poles at 45 degree angles. A palm tree is lying on top of a car. Tree limbs are - literally - everywhere. It is announced that most people will not have power until mid-November. I attempt to book my flight out of hurricane hell.
Wednesday - water returned in the morning at a trickle. It was at once the best and the worst shower of my life. My flight, which had been booked for that night, was cancelled. Of the one million people in Broward county that lost power, 12,000 have had their power restored. I was rearranging my closets when a neighbor poked his head in and invited me to a barbecue for that evening. I emptied my freezer and joined my neighbors - many of whom I had never met. Everyone contributed their thawing perishables and favorite alcohol. We even had music and a lamp thanks to one neighbor's generator. It was truly a bright spot in an otherwise dark time.
Thursday - I actually get in my car and drive the five miles to a friend's house, cursing myself all the way for not bringing my camera. Only one traffic light in the five mile journey is working, and many are simply gone. Trees have uprooted sidewalks. Lines are six blocks long at gas stations. There is a Starbucks that has no windows left, and the glass is sprinkled like glitter on the street. I am ecstatic when the reports from the radio state that the airport is open.
I am OUTTA HERE!
And so here I am, in mom's den drinking coffee and looking out over the beautiful view of the beach. I am home. Truly. Yes, I will go back to Florida and work the rest of the school year - I could not possibly think of leaving my kids now. But yes, I will be moving back to Jersey when the school year is over. I will not go through another hurricane season like this. I will not go through another hurricane like Wilma. She made up my mind for me. So I guess I have her to thank for helping me decide my future.
Thanks Wilma - you twat-whore.
Andy Dick. His name says it all. He is my premiere nominee for 
David Spade. Don't you just want to smack the grin off of that face? Again, the idea of that "man" - and I use that term loosely - in any type of sexual situation is enough to make me consider celibacy for life.
The Donald. They say that power is an aphrodisiac. In this case it brings on the bulimia. Besides the fact that he is an incomparable ass, that hair should be ripped right out of his big ugly head. And don't get me started on those eyebrows. 
Tom Cruise. Freak.
