YOU KNOW YOU LIVE ON THE GULF COAST WHEN ….

You have FEMA's number on your speed dial. (Not that you can get through.)

You have more than 300 C and D batteries in your kitchen drawer. (Kitchen? Should I admit that when I heard our house had been destroyed, I made my husband's first order of business be to go through our bedroom nightstand drawers to hide any, um, unmentionables? )

Your pantry contains more than 20 cans of Spaghetti Os. (Ravioli, in our house)

You are thinking of repainting your house to match the plywood covering your windows. (We just wrote stuff on the plywood. REAL hurricane veterans write the names of all hurricanes their house has been through on the wood)

When describing your house to a prospective buyer, you say it has three bedrooms, two baths and one safe hallway. (Our selling point won't be a "safe hallway." It'll be an attic complete with an axe for hacking through the roof and a rubber raft.)

Your SSN isn't a secret, it's written in Sharpie on your arms. (Pretty much)

You are on a first-name basis with the cashier at Home Depot. (Janet)

You are delighted to pay only $3 for a gallon of regular unleaded. (I was just happy to find gas.)

The road leading to your house has been declared a No-Wake Zone. (But where would the alligators go?)

You decide that your patio furniture looks better on the bottom of the pool. (We didn't have a pool. Before.)

You own more than three large coolers. (Four. And a ten gallon water cooler)

You can wish that other people get hit by a hurricane and not feel the least bit guilty about it. (I don't wish hurricanes on others. I wish them on us, because if another hurricane would demolish our house, the insurance people might pay.)

Three months ago you couldn't hang a shower curtain; today you can assemble a portable generator by candlelight. (I can't even begin to tell you the things I can do now…)

You catch a 13-pound redfish in your driveway. (Crabs, not fish, but the sentiment's the same)

You can recite from memory whole portions of your homeowner's and flood insurance policies. (Flood insurance? I WISH)

You consider a "vacation" to stunning Tupelo, Mississippi. (Valdosta, Georgia, in my case)

At cocktail parties, women are attracted to the guy with the biggest chainsaw. (I'm a roofer gal, myself.)

You have had tuna fish more than 5 days in a row.(OMG. This is true. I bought tuna before returning to MS., because I figured it would be a good source of protein if we didn't have any food. Which we didn't until the MREs arrived.)

There is a roll of tar paper in your garage (if you still have a garage). (Tar paper floated away)

You can rattle off the names of the meteorologists who work for the Weather Channel. (I can do you one better…I actually KNOW people working at The Weather Channel. Of course, one of them is Steph's hubby…)

Someone comes to your door to tell you they found your roof. (Or parts of your house on THEIR roof)

Ice is a valid (and deeply interesting) topic of conversation. (Ah…ice)

Your "drive-thru" meal consists of MRE's and bottled water. (And chili. Salvation Army was big on chili)

Relocating to South Dakota does not seem like such a crazy idea. (Crazy? Can you say "heaven?")

You spend more time on your roof than in your living room. (That would be because we don't have a living room.)

You've been laughed at over the phone by a roofer, fence builder or a tree worker. (Clearly, someone bugged my phone.)

A battery powered TV is considered a home entertainment center. (Only as long as it has a radio, too.)

You don't worry about relatives wanting to visit during the summer. (You don't take vacations during the summer, either. At least, not ones that don't involve the words "mandatory evacuation.")

Having a tree in your living room does not necessarily mean it's Christmas. (Do tree branches count?)

Toilet Paper is elevated to "coin of the realm" at the Red Cross shelter. (Oh, heck, it's coin of the realm ANYWHERE!)

You know the difference between the "good side" of a storm and the "bad side." (The bad side is very, very bad.)

Your kids start school in August and finish in July. (Uh…yeah. Let's just say that my son is LOVING school in Washington)

And finally…you know exactly what bleach is used for outside of laundry. (I didn't know before, but I know now.)

See? I can laugh. Hysterical, insane laughter counts, right? :twisted: :twisted: