Under the best of circumstances, I sleep like a hot bag of dicks. No, I don’t actually know what that’s supposed to mean because I’m tired.
It’s not like I lay awake worrying about things like normal people. No, I lay awake night after night with that Do-Do-Do-Do A Dollop of Daisy commercial going through my head. Or the Dora the motherfucking EXPLORER theme song. It’s an endless loop of irritation that seems to inflict the maximum amount of annoyance for the minimum amount of effort.
Last night, however, in a blissful turn of events, I was tired. Like bone-tired.
Happily, I curled up like a tic in my blankets and prepared for the blissful embrace of sleep to overtake me.
I pried my eyelids open and sat up, dismayed. It sounded as though someone was rattling the door, trying to get in. Probably my cat, I grumbled, as I got up, preparing to boot him down the stairs.
Opening the door and squinting into the bright lights of the hallway, I was shocked to see…nothing. No orange tabby stupidly looking up at me as if to say, “What, me annoying?” Harumphing my way back to bed, I once again curled up like a bedbug and closed my eyes. Just as I was munching my way to dreamland on a delicious marshmallow sandwich…
THWAP THWAP THWAP
What the fuck?
Again, no dazed-looking orange cat, no NOTHING in the hallway. Just a rattling door.
After the fifteenth time, I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to let any rattling door distract me from my delicious marshmallow mountain-top slumber. So I carefully turned myself into a nice fire hazard and pushed a number of things against my door.
It worked…sort of.
All night, my bedroom door rattled, the windows shook, and every time I fell asleep, THWAP THUNK THWAP
Finally, at 7 in the motherhumping morning, while the kids slept peacefully (lucky assholes), I heard the ominous sirens.
Thar be tornadoes afoot.
Grabbing the small ‘ens, my iPhone and a Diet Coke (you know, the ESSENTIALS), we headed to the basement.
This is what I pulled up from Weather.com, after typing in my zip code (I live in Chicago):
Then, I noticed this priceless bit of information. I mean, I couldn’t live without this at 7 in the morning when I was stuck in the basement waiting for a twister to suck me up and dump me off in Kansas somewhere:
We can find out about the fish. And what they’re doing today. PHEW.
WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE FISH!?!?
And then there was THIS gem:
Then, I was happy in the pants to note SOMEONE had finally busted out the Scare Tactics. FINALLY. Fucking FINALLY.
Then, the tornado looked for more mobile homes to uproot. Sensing that St. Charles did not, perhaps, have any, it moved on.
But we’ve been left with a Gusty Bags of Wind Alert.
Which pretty much means that shit can get fucked up most of the day.
Also: by the end of this, Kansas may not be in Kansas any more.