Tag Archives: heat

Hot and Bothered

We’re in the middle of a heat wave in my area, which by definition means a week of temperatures above 90 degrees with humidity, no rain and a plethora of manic meteorologists taking delight in telling viewers the weather is miserable while they sit inside their air conditioned studios.

I only have one window AC unit, and while I hate feeling absolutely frozen and trudging through snow, I dislike extreme heat even more.

I guess I hate feeling cold and I hate feeling hot—so basically I just hate feeling.

Anyway, my brain is also fried for various reasons—all perfectly legal, mind you—and so this rant will serve double-duty. Like they say, when life hands you lemons, stick them in your bra so people believe you when you complain about boob sweat.

Hot and Bothered

DAY 1. What beautiful weather! Days like these are what get me through the long stretches of winter when I’m stuck scraping ice off my car. Well, minus this humidity. It’s getting a little bit thick.

DAY 2: It’s really heating up out there and no rain is predicted for days, so I should go out and water. However, it’s still nice to sleep with the windows open despite what sounds like a drunken domestic between chipmunks outside.

DAY 3: This isn’t fun anymore. The thermostat in my living room has reached 84 degrees and the birdbath has become a hot tub for small woodland creatures. I can’t crank up the pitiful AC unit even more. I should probably water. Again.

DAY 4: It’s hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. That is, if you’re into eating chicken excretions off of dirty pavement. Molesting my AC unit is starting to feel a bit awkward, but at least I have an excuse to not wash my hair and run around the house without pants. Considering renting out living room as Bikram yoga studio.

DAY 5: Up at 3 a.m. to go for a walk and mow the grass because it’s already 112 degrees by 6 a.m. Screw it. The grass isn’t growing anyway and if it spontaneously combusts, there’s a chance a hot firefighter will be called to the scene.

DAY 6: GOOD LORD, IT FEELS LIKE AN OVEN. The 5-foot walk from my door to the car soaks me in sweat and my yard is starting to turn brown. I should water. I should straddle the sprinkler and ignore all those looks from the neighbors. I should move to Alaska.

DAY 7: Still sweating. Still bitter. The trash in the garage smells like decaying rats and all I’ve put out there is an empty almond milk container and paper towel tube. WHY DOES MOTHER NATURE HATE ME?

DAY 8: I’m in hell. No, seriously. Between this heat and people saying, “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity” and taking pictures of the thermostat on their car dashboard, I must be in hell.

DAY 9: Grocery shopping almost leads to a speeding ticket because I have to get home before the food that I bought melts in the car. I refuse to water the grass. Screw the flowers. In fact, screw nature.

DAY 10: The words “cold front” are used to describe something other than my mood and it’s finally in the low 80s. Relief might just be in sight, but my pants?

I make no promises there. 


Before I go, two  quick things. First, you have until Friday to enter my giveaway for $50 of cool Knock Knock stuff. Even if you don’t enter, the comments on that post are gold. You people are gold, I tell you!

Second, I’m honored to be part of another big HUGE giveaway with a bunch of other fabulous ladies.

summerreadinggiveaway_zpsa7c38b8c

As you can see, the loot includes six books, a gift card and other fancy (free) things. So in between sympathizing with me about the heat and entering my giveaway, head on over to Robyn’s at Hollow Tree Ventures and enter to win all the fabulous prizes.

Stay cool!

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Summer Rhyme Time

Today’s post is the result of what happens when it’s 96 degrees outside and I don’t have air conditioning. It is also a combined effort of a prompt from Studio 30 Plus—Summer Days—and the Red Dress Club—something you memorized or remember from childhood.

Mine involves a hook man and a pot selling ice cream truck. Go figure.

Anyway, it’s a two-for-one prompt special today. Next time I will try and compose something more coherent and less heat-stroke induced. Now without further ado (ahem–clearing throat here,) begin!

Long gone are the mornings spent scraping off snow,

wearing our hats and gloves each place we go.

Flip-flops (or no shoes) replace our big boots,

and out come the T-shirts and bright bathing suits.

But when I was a kid summer meant a bit more,

you never quite new what fun could be in store.

No school to attend and no homework to do,

or boring assemblies left to sit through. 

Instead I would sit on my bike or the swings,

falling in rosebushes, icing bruised things.

Wiffle ball games were held back in the grass,

so that it would hurt less to slide on your ass.

The arguments came with about every play,

as someone who sucked at the game would then say:

“I so wasn’t out, you can all go to hell,

get off of my property before I tell.”

Running through sprinklers and stepping on bees,

Skateboarding fearlessly, skinning our knees.

The trampoline served as a real launching point,

as we “popcorned” each other right out of the joint.

Over the fence they would fly with great height,

setting new records for seconds in flight.

Slip and splash basically served as a way

to quickly maim someone through innocent play.

SlipnSlide

A water-slicked tarp leading straight down a hill?

A highway to taking one hell of a spill.

Trucks all pimped out with some music and lights,

would sell us kids all kinds of frozen delights.

(Looking back now I think most of those rides

were really a front to sell pot on the side.)

At any rate, we ate treats in a cone,

and our parents bought brownies and left us alone.

We always would find that one friend with a pool,

(the one that we never hung out with at school.)

Camping’s been talked about here once before,

but it’s simply a summer thing I can’t ignore.

For I still remember the fear and the fright,

when told of the Hook Man each hot summer night.

the-hook-01

Thanks to the moron who told me that bit,

I was waiting for serial killers to hit.

(Another reason I don’t like camping.)

Anyway, now that I’m older and work every day,

this “job” that I speak of just gets in the way.

Work on my tan is replaced with real stuff,

like deadlines and editing drafts that are rough.

But things balance things out with the sunshine and heat,

flowers in bloom and the market with treats.

My skin glows with color and freckles appear,

that normally hide for the rest of the year.

The smell of a charcoal grill still can’t be beat,

even though I’m not into consumption of meat.

Things can get steamy, uncomfortably so,

but at least I’m not shoveling three feet of snow.

So while things are different for whatever reason,

summer is still quite a wonderful season.

I might not get weeks off but with any luck,

I soon will cross paths with that great ice cream truck,

(For ice cream, of course.)

Humor me—summer memories from childhood?