My best girl’s house is still standing, thank God, Buddha or whatever Deity you choose.

The Panty Lady has said that as of right now this very moment, her house in God’s Country is still standing. Although most of God’s Country has been wiped out.

The firefighters blockading her neighborhood said there is a 50 percent chance the fire will jump the fireline and eat her house for lunch. Her neighborhood is the only remaining neighborhood in Tahoe still under mandatory evacuation.

“Ok, tell all the firefighters that I will sleep with every single last one of them if they save your house,” I said. I know where my loyalties lie, and I know when I need to pull out all the stops to help a sista’ out.

“Well, there are also busloads of prison inmates fighting the fire right now, do you want me to tell them you’ll sleep with them too?”

“Oooo. No. Only firefighters. Like they have to produce some sort of firefighting certification and prove that they personally helped to save your house. I only have so much time, you know.”

Like I said, I know when it’s time to pull out all the stops, and I definitely only have time for firefighters. The prison inmates, however, will get a great big hug from me for saving my girl’s house, which is in the middle of where God’s Country used to be.

My best girl is about to lose her house.

She lives in South Lake Tahoe and that fire is coming like a nightmare, straight at her place. Her neighborhood has been evacuated. She gathered up her dog and her boyfriend and now they are at a friend’s house watching the fire come.

 This fucking sucks.

Yesterday, I was suffering from food poisoning.

While in the midst of it, I thought, “Surely, I am going to die.”

Then I thought, “Ohmigod. What if I don’t die?” because I felt like twenty different kinds of shit.

I had to drag my deathly-self to the store and buy my own Sprite and bendy straws and saltines, because I don’t have a boyfriend to do those things for me. It’s times like that that I really wish I had a boyfriend. That and when I need someone to pick me up from the airport.

I cannot discuss what it was I ate that made me ill, because the thought of it makes me become ill again. It is also possible that First Tuesday made me ill. It made me ill the first time.

There’s more to be said about that, but frankly, I still feel like ten different kinds of shit. Not twenty this time, just ten, but that’s still a lot. Too much to write something that takes a lot of energy.