Pineapple Express.

I got out of the shower this morning to a phone call from Hubby at 8am.  My opening line was “Oh no! Why are you calling me at 8am?!”  That would never be good news because Max works until the wee hours of the morning at Saison (this was a link, but Hubby called and told me I had to remove it.  Just Google it.), so there is no way he would be up that early by choice.  He wasn’t.  His room was flooding!

For a while now, I’ve been hearing about the storm of the century headed toward SF.  They were calling it Pineapple Express.  When I spoke with Max, he would always say it was likely an exaggeration.  He would be fine.

But then this happened:

Pineapple Express Photo via

Pineapple Express
Photo via

Yesterday Max talked about how it was raining sideways and people were talking about their basements being flooded.  Uh-oh-did I fail to mention that Max lives in an unfinished basement in Dogpatch?  Well, c’mon, we do have to pay 2 rents right now, so this basement room is as cheap as they come in SF.  The real estate market would bring even the savviest among us right to our knees.  We tried to be legit in finding him a place to live at first, but just couldn’t afford $1500/month for shared co-op style living.  He wanted privacy, anyway.

The basement isn’t bad.  Being the dramatist he is, Hubby calls it his Dungeon, but it really isn’t anything like a dungeon.  He’s got lots of light and insulation and his own private entrance to the house.  Last time I was there I made it all cute and somewhat homey.  I lined up all his birthday cards along his window sills and put a lovely throw on his bed.  Just stuff like that.

This morning, his room flooded with an inch or so of water coming in under the doors and even more water leaking in through the windows.  His saddest/cutest concern was that the rain had ruined the birthday cards I’d lined along his windows.  I told him it was about Christmas time and he needed to get new cards for those windows, anyway.  Little comfort, I suppose.

Flooded SF basement.  Not Hubby's room. photo via

Flooded SF basement. Not Hubby’s room.
photo via

I told him to pack up his shit and go to a nice hotel to ride out the storm.  I don’t know that he’ll take me up on it, but you know how it is when you love someone; if they are happy, you are happy.  I just want him to be happy and he’s sacrificing so much for us right now.  I think he deserves some room service.


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