Natural Disasters= Virginia is So FUN!

Most people who know me know that I grew up just outside of Atlanta, GA.  Not in the rich, liberal, progressive area.  We started out in Riverdale, GA which is now a very nice place to live if you're an illegal Cambodian nail salon worker or recenly out of jail.  My mother thought the end was coming when they opened a Wal-Mart less than a mile from our house.  At the time I was about 7, and Wal-Mart was great because they had Barbies.  Our dog used to go there sometimes without us.  She was fringe like that.  When I was 12, we moved to Peachtree City, GA which is kind of like the neighborhood in Edward Scissorhands, except the houses are bigger and there's less topiary.  People drive golf carts to the grocery store. 

   But now I live in Virginia.  And when my (at the time future) Husband began campaigning to move us from Atlanta to Richmond, one of the selling points he used was weather.  See, the southern Atlanta suburbs resemble the fetid armpit of hell from March until November every year.  There were two seasons: ungodly heat and Pollen.  So Husband's promise that Virginia was a magical land where one could experience all 4 seasons yearly was intriguing.  He left some things out:

1.  Virginia is the fetid armpit of hell from May to October.
2.  The Virginia Driver's reaction to rain and/or frozen precipitation is (wait for it) STUPIDER than the reaction of the average Atlanta driver.
3.  While yes, it does seem to snow pretty much yearly, it tends to do it only on days when I was already not supposed to have to go to work.

So you see, clearly I was cheated somewhat.


Fast forward to 2011.  First of all, in case you didn't know, when you're pregnant everything feels approximately 46 degrees hotter than it actually is.  Therefore, a measley 85 degrees in the southern summer is a volcanic 131 degrees to a pregnant woman.  You sweat walking to the refridgerator in your air conditioned house.  So when this summer decided to get all scrappy on us and hit the triple digits waaaaay too much, I nearly died.  I promise.  Nevermind that I hardly set foot outside and only got the mail from the air conditioned comfort of my car on the way home from Target.  
   Then this state decided to have an earthquake.  An EARTH.QUAKE.  For those of you not geographically in the know, let me tell you that it is almost as far from Virginia to California (where the earthquakes happen) as it is from Virginia to France. (not really, France is actually about 3x farther.  This is a literary device called hyperbole, kids) Following that little episode of vibratory fun, we're battening down the hatches for Hurricane Irene. A hurricane.  I live 100 miles from the ocean, in VA driving time that equals about 4 hours.  Yet I had to buy extra bread, milk, water, diapers and Little Debbies because the Wrath of Nature is set to blow my house down in a mere 72 hours.


   I was totally duped. 

On the plus side, Husband just brought me a Klondike bar.  I don't know what to do with it. Har de har.