Let me just preface this by saying that I’m super glad New York City wasn’t hit by a hurricane this weekend. People probably would’ve died just like they did in North Carolina and Virginia, and New York would’ve lost its damn mind. But I must admit I’m a little disappointed that Irene didn’t show her face just a little bit. Like a blurry watercolor, a tiny peek-a-boo that would’ve made being landlocked worth it. But no such luck. In the East Village, all we got was a little bit of wind and a few droplets of rain. Hell, the only way Hurricane Irene could’ve killed you in New York City is by boring you to death, which it did. I’m Duncan Sheik barely breathing right now.
This is what I did on my hurricane weekend. On Saturday morning, I awoke hoping to see a cow flying outside my window, only to find nothing other than a few taped up windows. I checked for news on the hurricane and discovered that it was going to make landfall the next morning. “Great,” I thought. “What the hell are we supposed to do until then?” I went and purchased candles and batteries, and withdrew money from the ATM. New York felt very I Am Legend at this point. The streets were mostly desolate save for a few people running into the grocery store. My food for the hurricane consisted of Wheat Thins and pasta, the latter of which I realized could only be cooked with electricity. Panicking, I rushed to the bodega and spent 20 dollars on Sour Patch Kids and other assorted candies BECAUSE I’M A GROWN UP, OKAY?!
The late afternoon is when things got particularly real. My roommate and I split a bottle of wine at 3:30 in the afternoon and proceeded to get drunk while watching season one of The Simple Life. (I live for a post-rehab chubby Nicole Richie. She just doesn’t care about anything. I mean, she poured bleach on a pool table in a drunken rage! Skinny Nicole would’ve been too hungry to think of that.) We then moved onto some Albert Brooks movie called Defending Your Life, which was confusing and gave me anxiety because it was about dying. I don’t really know what happened after 7:00 pm. All I know is that I woke up to a Ben & Jerry’s carton of ice cream (Oatmeal Cookie Chunk obvi) and Chinese food delivery food at eleven in the morning.
This is when I started to get really annoyed. The city was shut down, everyone was suffering from cabin fever and tweeting the same annoying thing (“Really Irene? Come on, Irene!”). I needed to get to the bottom of this and figure out if she was ever going to show. So I called her myself.
Me: Hey honey. Where R U?
Hurricane Irene: I’m in Coney Island causing a ruckus!
Me: Okay, well are you coming here? You’re late to your own party!
Hurricane Irene: IDK. I’m pretty tired.
Me: Not even like a little cameo? Can’t you just come for a sec and knock over a trash can?
Hurricane Irene: Don’t tell me what to do! Besides, I hate New York. You guys are just a bunch of pompous jerks. By causing damage to your city, I’d almost be giving you guys what you want.
Me: That’s so true. Okay, well I definitely don’t want you to destroy stuff. I was just hoping for a little poke. But I totally see where you’re coming from and I respect that.
Hurricane Irene: Good. It’s important that I’m being heard right now.
Me: You’re being heard loud and clear. Good luck on your travels and see ya never.
Hurricane Irene: Bye babe! U R my sweet rose…
So yeah. Irene never showed so I just spent the rest of the day in bed watching episodes of 7th Heaven. All kidding aside, I’m relieved the hurricane didn’t hit us as expected because if it did, we’d be screwed and it wouldn’t be funny. New Yorkers, how did you spend your weekend? Were you eating two cartons of ice cream and nursing a hangover like me?