Things were a little weird this weekend. There were truly stunning amounts of dramatic weather in California; I saw hail, lightning, and the hardest driving rain I’ve ever experienced. Apparently I missed a waterspout and tornado in my general vicinity, to boot — a friend of mine actually had to get under a desk in Northern California. Under a desk! This is not what we do here.

Add that to the recent quake and tsunami activity, nuclear radiation threats, a super moon, and dire predictions of more natural disasters, the attendees at Saturday’s party were a little on edge. The stress of the situation seemed to make me appoint myself the ambassador of hysterical half-truths and pure gossip, as well.

Bob: Oh my god, Becky! I’ve been looking for you for an hour! I was under the tent outside until I got scared that I was getting carbon monoxide poisoning from the heaters.

Becky: Bob! There was no way I could get to the tent through that rain — see my heels?? I was trying to listen to the Cuban band in the front room, but the wind was too loud! You’re so wet — aren’t you scared of radiation rain?

Bob: Oh my god! I’m too jetlagged to even think about that. Besides, how much radiation can I be covered with?

Becky: I heard something like a peanut butter sandwich’s worth.

Bob: Peanut butter has radiation in it??

Becky: Here, here, drink some of my margarita. We need to calm down.

Bob: I swear, I can feel the super moon.

Becky: Did you hear the guy who predicted the ’89 quake is predicting a quake for tomorrow?

Bob: Oh my god!

For all my pot-stirring, I got what I deserved — after the party I only had a half-block run from my car to the place at which I was staying, but it was raining so hard that when I arrived at my friend’s apartment, I looked like I was thrown into a swimming pool.