Everyone tried to warn me, but the weather is winning.

Since I've been up here in Seattle, I've been handling the weather like a seasoned pro.  (Pun obviously intended.  What do you mean, 'What pun?'  Get it?  SEASONED!  As in seasons!  And how the weather changes in the seasons!  Gah, nevermind.)

I showed the Seattle summer who was boss.  "Psh, you call this 'hot'?  I just moved from the Valley, mofo, you don't *know* hot.  Living there is like living on the surface of the sun--you can take your silly 92 degrees and stuff it."

Even autumn was beautiful.  Brilliant.  The slow cool down and change of leaves (those are the things that grow on trees, my fellow Angelenos, that are *actually* not supposed to be brown all the time) and gentle progression of cloudy, softly raining days has been altogether pleasant, especially after not having an autumn for the past several years.

Ha ha!  You better strap yourself in for winter,  you wuss!

I was lulled into a false sense of security about my weather preparedness.

A couple days ago, one of my sweet fellow interns told me that this weekend, there would be a storm and asked if I was ready for it.  I scoffed.

"Of course I am!  I even went out and bought one of those weather-stick things."

"Weather-stick?  You mean an 'umbrella'?"

"Yes, of course.  Ha ha, whatever you people call them.  There's no need for these where I'm from, but I get it.  I'll play along."

"Right," Intern Friend said.  "Well, be careful.  It's supposed to get bad tonight."

I nodded.  I scoffed again.  Bad?  What, like, more rain?  Hellooo... I'm already a boss when it comes to this 'weather' thing.  I can handle it.  Me and my weather-stick.

So the drive from one job to another was okay.  Sure, it was raining.  Sure, it was darker outside than the inside of Simon Cowell's heart.  (Ew, I'm already judging myself for that, sorry.)  But it was fine, until out of the blue, weird frozen pebble things started pelting my car.

"WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS?!"  I screamed, more to my car than anyone.  It was cold.  It was like rocks.  It was not rain.  It continued to pummel my car.  Lightning hit somewhere close by.  Thunder rumbled along shortly afterwards.  You guys, this weather was happening.  I screamed and ran into the mall for my second job, convinced that there was a fifth horseman of the apocalypse and his name was Effing Weather, Fool and that I was going to die.  I was almost in tears when I got to my store.

"I almost died getting here," I told my coworker.  "There is some messed up weather going on outside right now.  It's like frozen rain, but not all pretty and fluffy like snow.  It's like frozen balls of death kinda rain and it tried to kill me."

"Oh, it's hailing?"  My coworker asked, obviously not as alarmed as she should have been.

"You mean 'hailing the combined fury of an angry Jesus and all the weather that ever existed'?  Oh, yes. That is what is happening outside right now.  Don't go outside.  Someone wise tried to warn me, but I didn't listen," I nearly sobbed and grabbed a customer by the shoulders.  "I didn't listen! Oh, for the love of God, don't take the weather for granted!  Don't go outside!  There is a storm out there and it is no freaking joke!"  The customer walked away shaking her head.  Whatever.  I warned her.

So that was my first intense experience with hail and quite the introduction to winter weather here in Seattle.  I have a sneaking suspicion it's going to be a very long winter.

Why I'm excited for the apocalypse and how you can be, too!

At the risk of sounding complacent, I am mutha-fuckin' ready for some natural disaster-apocalypse shit to happen.  Preparedness runs in my veins, you guys, a gift (in part) from my ass-kicking, pirate chasing (seriously, that happened fo real) military officer father.  The other half of that is from my ass-kicking, sharpshooting (she has a medal), military officer mother.  Holy balls, TAB, you must have had an insane upbringing!  Not so much, voice-in-my-head, EM and I had a relatively normal childhood.  But when you go through survival training and organization and ass-kicking lessons in the military (like my parents did) they drill that stuff so far into your head that it hits you square in your genetics, which is why EM and I are genetically programmed to outlast even cockroaches and Keith Richards and Twinkies.  Are you following this logic with me?  Good.

So when things like Katrina and Haiti and Japan and Chernobyl and the end of the dot-com era and the breakup of Pangaea and the end of the dinosaurs at the hand of alien robot overlords who will probably return happen, EM and I will be waiting, ready to rule the land like kings because we are so much more prepared than everyone else, except my parents. And probably the president, because I imagine they have him pretty prepared for this kind of thing.  Oh, and unless you have some kind of bunker or lead-lined basement, in which case I'm jealous and we should be friends so that we can talk about our emergency plans and survival kits together.  (Does yours involve bacon?  Because mine does!)

Now, because you lovely people are actually reading this ridiculous blog, I'm going to impart some of my wisdom to you about what you really need to be prepared for some kind of disaster.  What KIND of disaster you ask?  ALL KINDS, including, but not limited to:  earthquake, tornado, hurricane, tsunami, cyclone, wildfire, volcano, nuclear meltdown, zombie/bear/shark attack, monsoon, flood, flash flood, solar eclipse, lunar eclipse, getting lost in the forest or at sea, something involving a desert or extreme drought and finally, getting in a death match with Bear Grylls because you have a cache of fresh water and he is left drinking snake blood and the water squeezed from elephant poop.

Let's discuss the two types of emergency kits you need:  an Oh Shit! kit and an Armageddon Box.  Your Oh Shit! kit should be small and compact enough that you can grab it in less than five minutes and run, especially if there is something like a tsunami or a dinosaur chasing you.  It should have enough supplies to sustain you for two days.  Your Armageddon Box should be something slightly more long term, and this would be something that you could rely on if parts of the infrastructure collapsed and you needed to camp out somewhere for 10 to 14 days, or until you heard over the radio waves that the military had cleared your city of the zombie plague and you're safe to return to your abode.  Both of these kits should be easily accessible - for example, since EM and I live in Los Angeles and spend most of our time in traffic, our Oh Shit! kits are in the trunks of our cars.  Our Armageddon Box is in our carport.  It's smart to keep supplies in a couple different locations, in case you can't get to one.

There are three rules that you should keep in mind when getting your kits together:

1.  Depending on your location, you need to make sure you are dry, warm, watered and fed. 

2.  The rule of 3:  a human can last 3 minutes without air, 3 days without water and 3 weeks without food and 3 times 3 is 9.  Wait, forget that last part, that's not part of the same rule...

3.  Be aware, use common sense, and remember:  shoot 'em in the head, and they'll stay dead.  (Especially useful when fighting zombies and Bear Grylls.)

Here are some things that you should consider having in your Oh Shit! kit:

• Drinking water and water purification tablets (at least a gallon, but FYI, you should have a gallon per person per day)
• Food for two days (you can get compact and semi-tasty MREs at any army/navy surplus store)
• A first aid kit
• A flashlight and extra batteries, or even better, a hand-crank flashlight
• A clean, dry change of clothes
• A space blanket
• A small emergency radio
• A multi-tool (like a Leatherman) or a Swiss Army Knife, something with a can opener for canned food
• Waterproof, windproof matches or a fire-starting flint
• Maps of your area
• A dust mask (to help against dust and also airborne biologicals that will zombiefy you)
• Baby wipes, toilet paper, pads/tampons and garbage bags for "personal sanitation"
• A small tool kit:  wrench, pliers, screwdriver  (important for turning off utilities)
• Road flares and a whistle (should you need to signal for help)
• Bear spray (not just for bears/Bear Grylls!  That's a 30 ft. radius of spicy protection, my friends)

That should help you last for a couple days.  Granted, that is if you're in a climate like I am (in southern California) and we don't have to worry too much about cold, wet weather and our main concern would be having clean water.  If you're in some place like Seattle where water is more accessible and you would be more concerned about staying warm and dry, I'd seriously consider having rain gear and the little chemical hand warmers in my Oh Shit! kit.  Remember, keep this one the most easily accessible to you and in a backpack or bag that you could carry.  If you can't lift it because it's too heavy, it's not going to do you any good.

Here's what you should consider having in your Armageddon Box:

• A small tent
• Plastic tarps to go under said tent (wet ground = wet tent = wet sleeping bag = unhappy)
• A sleeping bag
• More water!  Hooray!
• More food!  Hooray!
• Another first aid kit!  Hooray!  With any prescription meds that you may need, sunscreen and a first aid book so you can know how to treat things like broken arms and shark bites.
• Don't forget your pets!  Food and water for them, too.
• A secret stash of cash
• A portable water filtration kit
• A mess kit with pots and pans, paper utensils
• A small camp stove
• A lantern
• Bigger tools:  a shovel, an ax, a machete
• IF you're familiar with firearms and firearm safety (and yes, I am), a pistol

Above all, have a plan.  How are you going to get in touch with your family, especially if cell phones and land lines are down?  Pick an evacuation route and a meeting place, and then have a backup plan.  Also, here is a great resource for helping you to get your shit together:  http://www.ready.gov/america/index.html.

Now that you're on your way to being prepared for the apocalypse and for Bear Grylls to creep in and try to bogart your stuff, be sure to maintain your kit.  Food, water, and medicine all expires, so be smart about it and update it once a year. 

If you've come this far with me, you're probably so gaddamn prepared for everything that you're just itching for the opportunity to use your Oh Shit! kit and your Armageddon Box, and you should be.  Just remember to be smart and sane about everything, don't panic, and keep an eye open for Bear Grylls.  Being friends with Bruce Campbell couldn't hurt, either.

Why is it always about butt sex?

It's not that I'm slacking off with the posting, but I'm going to be a brat and throw out the "it was my birthday on Monday and also I've been in Seattle and Portland and haven't been near a computer" card, so you guys can just mellow out for a sec.

I'm sorry. Thanks for forgiving me. Let's never fight again, okay?

So you heard me right - I journeyed from helLA to the Pacific Northwest to run amok in two beautiful, rainy cities that were both full of amazing food, gorgeous scenery and Holy Balls, some of the most beautiful bearded lumberjack-hipster men I have ever seen. Seriously, a lot of the men I've scoped here in SoCal have this whole, super pretty actor thing going on, and sometimes it's really refreshing to get out of your milieu and turn your winks towards someone who looks manly enough to throw you over his shoulder fireman-style and chop down a forest with the other hand, all while growing a majestic beard and distilling his own moonshine.

I've sung the praises of Seattle before, but this trip we spent some time in Portland, which apparently is known for like, wilderness and beer and a certain cultural literacy and also so many hipsters. The city was charming and the bars were stellar and there was even a Beauty Bar, which, if you are unfamiliar, is both a salon AND a bar/club. It was in this establishment that I met two unfortunate gentlemen who, sadly, were the victims of my warped sense of borderline drunk humor. (And really? I could probably write a book about all the reasons why I am single but frankly, sometimes you've got to forsake getting some sugar for the good of entertainment and I like to think of myself as a martyr for entertainment. I'm really doing this for you. You're welcome.)

EM took this picture! I didn't, because I suck at that kind of thing.

EM, her lady-friend "Rob-A-Bank" and I sat down and EM went to go order us a round of drinks at Beauty Bar, PDX (that means Portland, FYI). While she was at the bar, a drunk man swerved up to me and said that he would like to buy me a drink so that I would dance with him. Kindly refusing, I told him that I was here with my girls and wasn't interested. He persisted. EM rejoined Rob-A-Bank and I, flanked by Drunk Fool's friend, who then engaged the group of us in conversation. Not wanting to appear entirely bitch, I politely addressed Drunk Fool's friend for the express purpose of exiting conversation with Drunk Fool. Here's how it went:

Drunk Fool's Friend: Where are you ladies from? My friend and I are here visiting Portland, but we're from Seattle.

The Average Broad: Oh, we're from L.A. I love Seattle - what brings you guys here?

Drunk Fool (rudely interjecting): THIS! (shoves a chunk of weed under my nose. Let me just clarify something here: I hate the smell of weed. I'm sorry. It nauseates me. I know a lot of you all like it, enjoy it, whatever, but to me it smells like a skunk just took a shit on some plant that you're about to light up and smoke. You can call me crazy, lots of people do. Irritated, I continued:)

TAB: Wow. Thankfully, I'm off duty, otherwise I would have a lot of questions for you kids.

Drunk Fool: Ha ha... wait, what?

TAB: You guessed it, son. I'm an undercover DEA agent. I'd suggest you two mosey on along before I have to confiscate your wares there and take you in for questioning.

Drunk Fool: (confused face) You're a... cop?

TAB: That is a 10-4, good buddy.

Drunk Fool: No you're not! Where's your badge?

TAB: I told you, I'm off duty. Plus it doesn't go with this outfit, so I left it back in the hotel. You would be in such trouble, though, OMG. Stay out of my jurisdiction, because now I know your face. I know your face and I know you're dealing and I just might call up one of my PDX brothers-in-arms and have them do a full body cavity search just to make sure that's all the product you have.

Drunk Fool: Are...are you serious?

TAB: Yep. That's cop talk for when someone straps on a latex glove and checks your butt for hidden drugs, like a human pinata or something. Without lube. Not too pleasant, unless you're into that kind of thing. Are you into that kind of thing, son?

Drunk Fool: No... (frightened rabbit eyes at his friend) We should... we're going to go now.

At this point Drunk Fool wanders off. His friend, who had been talking to EM, had missed out on this gem of a conversation and turned to me before running off to find his friend.

Drunk Fool's Friend: Ha ha, so earlier my friend and I got hit on by a couple of gay guys! Isn't that crazy?

TAB: Why is that crazy?

Drunk Fool's Friend: Well, because we're straight. Uh, do we look gay?

Rob-A-Bank: ::shrugs:: Maybe...

TAB: Yeah, we're from L.A. We naturally assume everyone is gay.

Drunk Fool's Friend: Oh, well, I'm not. And um, we have a hotel room...

TAB: That's good for you, being able to make reservations on your own. I hope the hotel is gay-friendly, you know, for your lifestyle.

Drunk Fool's Friend: What? No, no, we're not gay.

TAB: You probably are, a little bit. Your friend over there? The drug mule? He got so nervous when I mentioned hiding drugs in your butt. I mean, I'm not gonna judge you, your preference in sexuality and drug hiding places is all up to you, you know? Just be careful, because when they cavity search you, I hear they don't use lube.

Drunk Fool's Friend: Uh... so... you're from LA? What do you do there?

TAB: I'm in the porn industry. I'm the screenwriter for several films, mainly ones that focus on what I like to call Anal Romance. Ha, but that's probably something you know a lot about! Do you have anything you want me to autograph for you? I can make it out to your boyfriend/drug mule... free of charge.

Drunk Fool's Friend: Um. I have to go over here now.

TAB: (shouting across the bar and dance floor) Ha ha, okay there friend! You crazy kids be safe, always wear condoms! And find better places to stash your drugs! No one wants to smoke butt-weed, okay?

So that's how that went. The rest of the evening I danced with a hipster guy who looked like a lumberjack and wore suspenders on too-tight jeans. When he asked what I did for a living, I told him I made a living correcting improper uses of "irony" and thought I could make a killing here in Portland. He immediately stopped talking to me and danced off.

I love being on vacation.

One time, EM and I fought a bear.

I started writing this one post about Halloween costumes yesterday and then 1/3 of the way through it I realized it was remarkably whiny and obnoxious because I basically just listed all of the things that bug me about slutty lady costumes. Also, I realized I didn't want to offend anyone and I don't know if anyone who reads this crappy blog likes slutty lady costumes or likes slutty ladies or maybe is a slutty lady, because hey, I'm not here to judge.

Instead, I'm going to tell you guys the story about the time that EM and I went up against a bear and lived to tell the tale.

Most of my family vacations involved camping. My father, an outdoorsman of Bear Grylls caliber, believed that it was important for EM and I to learn important life skills in the event of some kind of natural disaster, so that we could retreat to the woods where the zombies would be less numerous (all of my natural disaster scenarios involve zombies) and carve out a living by purifying our own water, making adequate shelter, hacking at various shrubberies with a machete, and being prepared for absolutely every single thing that could happen. Rain? Snow? Hunger? Headache? Blister? Loss of appetite? Dirty fingernails? Dehydration? Getting lost? We've got it covered. Survivalism flows through my veins, along with Guinness and whiskey and cholesterol.

One of our favorite places to camp was (and still is, I suppose) Sequoia National Park. It's a wonderful and beautiful place with lots of geriatric trees and streams and meadows with frolicking deers and not that many bugs and is a lot less crowded than Yosemite - crowded, also, with bears.

When you first arrive at the park, you'll see plenty of signs posted about bears breaking into cars and that you should properly store your food in the provided "bear boxes" - huge steel things with chains and locks that black bears cannot break into, unless they took some kind of lock-picking course (which would probably be pretty helpful for any kind of person, not just bears, now that I think about it). Some people don't obey, though, and every year there are numerous break-ins and shattered window glass from the cars of people who think sticking their Snickers under the seat will be good enough. This results in the bears associating cars and people with food, and makes them naturally curious about vehicles.On this particular trip, my parents had set up their tent next to the smaller one that EM and I used, probably 4 or 5 yards away from our car. We had followed the campground (and my father's) rules to the letter - all food and dish washing/scented items stowed safely in the bear box, nothing food-like or scented or potentially delicious-looking anywhere around the car, or in our tents - not even cherry chapstick or toothpaste. We were vigilant, because you do not ef with bears.

EM and I zipped up our tent but for a small opening at the top of the tent flap for ventilation, wriggled into our sleeping bags and listened to the sounds of the forest. Crickets, owls, other gross bug-things, the stream by our campsite, weird sniffing noises...

Wait. Sniffing noises?

"EM," I whispered. "What's that noise? Do you hear that?!"

EM's eyes grew wide. "Look outside and see what it is!"

"You look outside!"

We crept to the zippered door of our tent and peeked out of the ventilation hole. Sure enough, standing on his hind legs and peering in the rear window of our car, was a large black bear. He sniffed around the window, then dropped to all fours to amble around our campsite, all less than 6 yards from the non-safety of our flimsy tent.

"DAD!" EM hissed. "DAD! Mom!"

My father grunted in reply.

"Dad!" I whispered frantically, thinking that death was just lurking around and we would all perish from some bizarre bear rampage any second now. "Dad! There is a bear outside!"

EM and I huddled together.

"What?" we finally heard my father say. He chuckled.

"He doesn't believe us!" EM said to me.

"Dad, seriously, there is a huge bear outside and we are all going to die unless you go scare it away!" I hissed.

My father grunted again, half-asleep. "A bear? Hm. Give it my regards," and he rolled over and went back to sleep. My mother said something about making noise to scare it away, and then the only noises we heard from their tent were the steady snore of my exhausted dad.

EM looked at me, panicked. "'Give it my regards!?' I don't want to make loud noises! What if it comes over here to investigate?!"

She had a point. I imagined that if I were a bear, I would be disconcerted and curious about a mysterious blue triangle tent emitting shouts and shrieks. I would haul my bear-ass over and maul it, just because I was a bear. Just because I could.We peeked out of the tent. It was still lumbering around, this time closer to us. Sniffing around our fire pit.

Quietly, cautiously, hesitantly and tentatively, EM stuck her face up against the ventilation hole and whispered:

"Boogie boogie, bear!"

Nothing happened. EM looked at me, pleadingly. I moved closer to our tent flap.

"Hey Yogi!" I said, slightly louder. "I think you should go find Boo Boo and leave us alone!"

EM leaned in close and repeated, "Boogie boogie, bear!"

We both looked out towards where the bear had been. He was gone. EM and I crawled back in our sleeping bags, satisfied that our ferocious caterwauling had frightened away one of nature's apex predators. All until, as we were drifting off to sleep, EM yawned and said, "But what if it comes back when we're sleeping?"

Neither one of us slept a wink that night.