A long time ago, before I was even born if you can believe that, I guess a bunch of people wore buttons saying "I like Ike."

You know, because of Eisenhower or however it's spelled.

Well, I think I'd like to introduce a new button. Mine will say "Ike can suck my hairy ass."

You know, because of the hurricane.

For those just tuning in, I live in Southern Indiana. Tornado country. Maybe earthquake country. But not fucking hurricane country.

Well, somebody must have missed a memo or something. That damn hurricane Ike refused to die after wreaking havoc down South where it belonged. Nope, it continued Northeasterly with its hurricane-force winds, and wreaked havoc upon the Louisville area too. Upon my area.

Everybody is affected. Some in worse ways than others. I, for example, have not had power since noon on Sunday (UPDATE: Power came back at 8:30 PM Tuesday). I lost some big-ass branches, and a couple of big trees either fell or split in half. There are millions of twigs and leaves littering my lawn, and some in my living room that are really perplexing me.

But all of that I can deal with. The thing I may not be able to deal with is this:

That, readers, is my swing. Or the pile of rubble formerly known as my swing. Fucking Ike took it out completely. Ripped it right out of the ground.

I'm sad about this. Much sadder, I'm sure, than I should be. "It was just a swing, after all," people will say.

But, to me, it was really much more than that. To me, standing there Sunday afternoon, it was almost like I'd lost a friend.

I couldn't help but think of the dozens of times I'd sat on that swing with MixedSignalGirl, or the millions of times I'd sat there without LaptopGirl, or all of the other times when I'd just go out there to relax and not think about anything for a while.

It just makes me sad that it's gone.

Let me put it this way: If Ike had destroyed my house, and my detached garage, and my swing - I'd replace my swing first and then worry about the trivial structures.

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I wrote the above, in my little notebook, while sitting in that same coffee shop, next to that same lovely companion. Trying to feed off her creativity, I suppose, and not really succeeding. I was distracted, after all.

Now I'm across the street at Bearno's. Drinking a Goose Island Honker's Ale (132), scribbling in this notebook, and watching my phone. There's a chance that I might hear from her again tonight. There's a smaller chance that I might get to see her again tonight. So I'm waiting.

There's no sense in going home. No power there, and not even a single bar of reception on my Blackberry - just "SOS."

And, of course, she's not there either. So, I'll wait for a while. She's worth it.