Hot Hot Heat.
So what's with this all-of-a-sudden-being-summer shit? Wasn't it just, like, a week ago that I was wearing long-sleeved garb and propping open the oven door after Jamie did some of that cooking-type stuff (clearly I am not skilled in the culinary arts), just to bask in waves of residual frozen-pizza-scented heat? Internet, I ask you (as I could only ask you the following), WTF?!
Its 90 degrees here in Charm City today (but, as the weather channel so unhelpfully points out, it “feels like 93!”), sticky-muggy, and our family was OF COURSE caught ill-prepared for this sudden temperature shift. You see, because our house is a gazillion years old* we have but a few measly window air conditioning units to shore against our sweltering ruin, all of which are still piled up in some far corner of the attic, which is itself about a quadrillion degrees** right now. Its a virtual inferno up there, man. And where is my goddamn husband -- he of moving heavy things fame -- when I need him to, uhh, move some heavy things? Oh that's right, he's chilling his ass in an air conditioned office. Its probably so nice and crisp and cool there that he and his coworkers have adorable little knit cardigans and such draped over their chairs, easily accessible to them just in case it gets a might bit too nippy.
Stupid cardigan-wearing bastards.
One summer when I was in graduate school, my then boyfriend and I became so fed up with that year's seemingly endless heat-wave that we actually went to see the movie Twister in the theater, just to escape our sweltering living spaces for a time. It was, in a word, unbearable. I mean the film, of course. And as I walked from the theater $5 lighter but heavily burdened with unspeakable knowledge of Bill Paxton's hair (if you can call it that), I realized a hard lesson in the repercussions of poor judgment: sometimes the lesser of two evils, well, isn't.
Which is basically just a long way of saying: I'm going to sit right here in a rapidly expanding pool of my own sweat and whine pitifully until Jamie gets home and bestows upon our household life-giving climate control. Wah.
Seacrest OUT!
PS: Completely unrelated link to funny bit about Lost's 3rd season, supposedly penned by the show's head writer.
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*estimate only.
**ditto that.
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Yes I agree with you, the sudden heat is surprising for me too. I guess the weather making physics do not care about people that much as people do about physics. I need another glass of some cold refreshing fluid.
Posted by: Maria loves pictures | May 30, 2006 at 05:40 PM
Can't talk. Busy, melting.
Posted by: Karen Rani | May 30, 2006 at 06:08 PM
I couldn't live without my central air.
Posted by: Bethiclaus | May 30, 2006 at 07:28 PM
same is totally going on up here--the weather, the old house, the window units and everything. well 'cept for fact that i am sitting at desk at work right now, with cardi close to hand;-)
oh, and one of my memories of you is actually going to see (and pay GOOD money for) the movie That Darn Cat....And there WAS no heatwave...
Posted by: joy | May 30, 2006 at 07:57 PM
joy, i'm going to put down some cold hard cash on Amy Couture being involved in the viewing of That Darn Cat. i mean, she HAD to be, right? its just too Amy C-ish!
we also went to see Jeepers Creepers (horrifyingly bad yet unexpectedly enjoyable horror flick). Good times, man, good times. how is the Amy C these days, by the by?
Posted by: sweetney | May 30, 2006 at 08:08 PM
Meanwhile, Down Under we're sitting inside in trendy knitted cardies with the gas fire blazing, half a season behind on Lost and desperate to know what. the. hell? is up with Mr Eko and my fingers are almost numb from typing in the cold.
I, madam, envy you.
Posted by: tracy | May 31, 2006 at 12:15 AM