Forty days and Forty nights

I’m building an ark.

Seriously. Am going to Home Depot or Lowe’s or whatever the hell the hardware stores out here are called, phoning my dad for some carpentry tips and building a fucking ark.

Hey God! You hear me? If you’re trying to let us in on your upcoming armageddon, can I have another sign besides the rain? Give me a few locusts perhaps. Some blood red skies. Hell, at this point I’ll even take a horseman or two (just not four…I think that means the end is REALLY near. Two shall suffice.) To me, Forty Days and Forty Nights was just a movie with that hunky Josh Hartnett. But now? Seriously, if this is a sign, let me know so I can gather up the menagerie (a very ark-worthy crew, minus the whole spayed/neutered factor) and get the hell out of this state.

When I moved here I was worried about that whole earthquake, falling-into-the-sea rumor but the torrential, endless rains that have plagued us for over 4 months? Yeah. Nobody warned me about those. Thanks, assholes.

You think I’m making it up? Let’s take March. We set the record for the rainiest number of days. I’m talking it RAINS. EVERY. [Insert Expletive of choice, or if you’re like me, multiple explitives of choice, here.] DAY.  Besides walking to and from the shuttle in the rain, to and from my car in the rain, and Lila’s new predilection of ‘pretending’ to have to go to the bathroom every 20 minutes (requiring subsequent outdoor walks), I’ve been damp. And dreary. And it doesn’t look like things are going to change any time soon. Besides this article  saying we had a few more weeks of the wet stuff, I heard yesterday on the news that they’re predicting this to continue through the end of the month.

Wanna hear my prediction? By then, I’ll either have sailed away on my ark, or else the city will be ruled by a "24"-esque martial law due to rain-prompted riots. Seriously, you think *I’M* grumpy? Oh honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

People move to San Francisco for the sights. For the weather. For the outdoor activities, the beautiful landscape, and the relaxed attitudes. (Or for the weed, ya potheads.) We all want to ENJOY these activities, be able to ride our bikes – or hell, walk! – without getting rained on. I know it’s supposed to rain in the spring, but this ain’t no Atlanta drizzle. This is constant, soul-infusing wetness that perpetuates every nook of my existance. This, my friends, is my own personal hell.

And it’s not just me that is grouchy, it’s everyone! People are driving like they’re Nascar fans with a vengeance, cutting each other off to get the checkered flag. I’ve personally flipped the bird about four times a day on average. Even my friendly Peet’s barista has a perma-frown, and I don’t even have my normal chipper demeanor to talk about the wrinkles she’s going to get from that expression. Frown away, dour one. I’m right there with ya. We can form a club.

My college pals can attest that I didn’t go to class in the rain. (Thankfully, it was often quite pleasant in North Carolina or I doubt I would have graduated.) Nope, especially not in November when it was cold and rainy and gross and, hmm, very  much like our weather here! I even grew up in Cleveland, making me appreciate any and all sunny days…hell, this girl layed out in upper-50’s weather to get some pre-prom sun. Now that’s dedication, chums. Suffice it to say that though I’ve experienced my due share of lovely weather, I’m not immune to its charms. I appreciate it!! If it were a gift horse, I SO wouldn’t be looking it in the mouth, I’d be braiding its hair all My Little Pony-esque, believe you me.

And so the ark. Seems to be the best plan. With 4 animals, I’ll be spending the next few nights teaching them to walk two-by-two. As for me, well, I’m taking applications. Can’t board an ark alone, after all.

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