Rain, rain, everywhere...
...and not a drop to drink.
Native Californians (of which I am one) often joke that we live in a state that has three natural seasons: Wet, Dry, and On Fire. Local conditions have restricted us to Dry and On Fire in recent years, with instances of Wet being few and far-between. No one really likes a drought, but as no one really likes wet socks and the smell of moldy leaves, people have really only complained about it in the summer.
Well, as of Monday, Wet has returned, and with a vengeance. Seriously. There are flooding advisories; people's houses are leaking and sliding down hills (again); Southern California was under some really scary severe weather warnings yesterday; and the beaches are closed due to high water conditions. (It's too much to hope that these "high water conditions" will result in a giant squid getting stuck in the Bay and eating commuters. But a girl can still dream.)
My shoes are soaked. My jeans are soaked. My trenchcoat is soaked, to the point where the water actually came through the ostensibly rainproof fabric and soaked my sweater as a sort of extra added bonus. My hair is soaked, and looks something like a dead Muppet that I have stapled unkindly to my head. I need more Diet Dr Pepper, but I'm trying to avoid going out into the rain again until I can at least feel my toes, since the last thing I want is to take a header into one of the rapidly-developing lakes studding the neighborhood.
Naturally, this is the day when I need to go, on foot, to the cupcake bakery and pick up three dozen cupcakes for tonight's author event. I begin to fear that I, and the cupcakes, will dissolve into sugary, somewhat greenish goo, and simply wash away. It's really impressively wet out there, people.
Glub.
Native Californians (of which I am one) often joke that we live in a state that has three natural seasons: Wet, Dry, and On Fire. Local conditions have restricted us to Dry and On Fire in recent years, with instances of Wet being few and far-between. No one really likes a drought, but as no one really likes wet socks and the smell of moldy leaves, people have really only complained about it in the summer.
Well, as of Monday, Wet has returned, and with a vengeance. Seriously. There are flooding advisories; people's houses are leaking and sliding down hills (again); Southern California was under some really scary severe weather warnings yesterday; and the beaches are closed due to high water conditions. (It's too much to hope that these "high water conditions" will result in a giant squid getting stuck in the Bay and eating commuters. But a girl can still dream.)
My shoes are soaked. My jeans are soaked. My trenchcoat is soaked, to the point where the water actually came through the ostensibly rainproof fabric and soaked my sweater as a sort of extra added bonus. My hair is soaked, and looks something like a dead Muppet that I have stapled unkindly to my head. I need more Diet Dr Pepper, but I'm trying to avoid going out into the rain again until I can at least feel my toes, since the last thing I want is to take a header into one of the rapidly-developing lakes studding the neighborhood.
Naturally, this is the day when I need to go, on foot, to the cupcake bakery and pick up three dozen cupcakes for tonight's author event. I begin to fear that I, and the cupcakes, will dissolve into sugary, somewhat greenish goo, and simply wash away. It's really impressively wet out there, people.
Glub.