First, I would just like to say: Hey, terrorists? Yeah, you suck.
Probably terrorists don't read my blog. But you never know. I feel that I am doing my part in not letting the terrorists win by mentioning that they continue to suck.
When are people going to learn that the way to get back at your enemies is NOT to blow them up, but to write books about them, preferably ones that get made into Disney movies? That is the most excellent revenge you can have on your foes. Particularly when later, they email you via your website and ask if they can borrow your apartment in New York since they know you're in Florida because they read your blog, and you write back to say, “Did you even SEE the movie of my book? That Mandy Moore character was YOU, you know.”
Or not, because your lawyers won't actually let you write back to them and say that.
But you can print out their email and show it to all your friends and laugh and laugh.
That, terrorists, is the appropriate way to get back at people you hate. NOT by blowing them up.
Look, someone had to say it. I'm just glad I got to say it before Hurricane Dennis came and blew me away.
Oh, yeah. They are evacuating the Florida Keys, where I live.
I myself am not going anywhere. Because I did not actual believe the hurricane was going to come this way, and now it's too late, and I can't get out. But that's all right. I now live in a house that was built in 1860, and frankly, if it has been around this long, I'm betting it will stick around a bit longer.
I realize that by writing those words above, my house is now going to blow down this weekend. But oh well. I think that would be an EXCELLENT excuse for my editors as to why I was unable to get my manuscripts to them on time:
“Um, sorry, but my house blew down.”
This sounds a lot better, as far as excuses go, than, “Um, I was floating on a raft in my pool reading The Historian all week, and that's why I didn't finish my manuscript on time.”
Not, of course, that this is what happened, TO ANY OF MY EDITORS WHO MIGHT BE READING THIS.
Anyway, with my luck, the new house will be just fine in Dennis.
But the house I'm trying to sell will blow down.
So, since I never showed you the before and after pictures of the kitchen my husband renovated in that house, I figured I better do it now, while it is still standing.
Here is what the kitchen looked like originally:
Personally, I kind of liked it, because it was all 1940ish, and I am fond of that era.
But to a professional chef like my husband–who does not like being mentioned in this blog, and so I am forbidden from using his real name—it was a nightmare to work in.
So he had it gutted.
Then the hurricanes started, and the workmen fled. So all last summer, the kitchen looked like this:
That is me in the middle there, when I still had longish hair. Since we had no kitchen, all I could eat was fried chicken from the gas station down the street, which turned out to be some of the best fried chicken in town. Gas station chicken is so popular, in fact, that often, when I want gas station chicken, I cannot get it, due to the fact that they have run out.
I hope the gas station does not blow down in the hurricane.
After hurricane season was over and all the workers came back, they finished the kitchen, and now it looks like this:
Seriously, didn't my husband do a good job with the kitchen planning/renovation thing? Wouldn't you want to live in a place with a kitchen like this? You can, you know, if you still want to move to the Keys after Dennis. Just contact a realtor down here. They'll know how to get in touch mine.
I personally know one person who would LOVE to live in a house with a kitchen like that.
But I forced him to buy this other house, which has another non-cook's kitchen that he has to renovate. Which he isn't too happy about.
But he has a pool with a small waterfall in it, so I don't know why he's complaining. And there's still easy access to the gas station for fried chicken.
Still, he insists on renovating. He's waiting until after hurricane season to gut the new kitchen (um, also until we sell the old house, so we can actually pay for the new kitchen). He has the plans all ready to go.
But you shouldn't feel too sorry for him, because in the new house, he has something he didn't have at the old house, namely this:
And okay, Gem isn't REALLY his.
But if you woke up every morning and opened your door to find this little face peering up at you, wouldn't you be happy, too?
Anyway, see all that furniture Gem likes to get her dirty little pawprints all over? I have to go drag it inside now.
As the natives say, there's a price to pay for living in paradise. This week, that price is named Dennis.
I just wish both Dennis and the terrorists had written books instead.
PS Remind me to tell you later what the naked lady across the street just did.