On Friday, August 26, 2005, I was working out at the gym with my best friend Beth. We made plans to see The 40 Year Old Virgin at the movies the next day and I went back to the apartment that I was planning to move out of during Labor Day. I was living on Lake Ave in Metairie in Jefferson Parish, along the 17th Street Canal. I had already checked out the new apartment and was just waiting for the apartment to be ready. I went to bed in the guest bedroom, hopeful for the future, the word hurricane not even on my mind. When I awoke the next morning, I got dressed and washed some clothes. A few minutes later, Beth called and asked what I planned on doing. She was getting gas, the lines were long, and they were running out. That hurricane I was not thinking about, Hurricane Katrina, that was supposed to be landing somewhere in Florida, had turned, and was now headed straight to New Orleans. I immediately drove to the gas station and as I was filling up my tank, my cousin Lori called me. Her, her son, and my Nannie were leaving to go to Panama City Beach where my immediate family lives. I needed to be at my Nannie’s house by 2pm to go with them. It wasn’t really a question as much as an order. It was then that it dawned on me…this wasn’t just some normal hurricane. This one was going to be different. Even though my life was going through some major changes as it was – brand new teacher, bad break-up, finding out my dad had a terminal illness – I, along with the rest of the people in and around New Orleans, were in for one more big one.