Goldilocks Syndrome
Like many of my neighbors, I've been cursing a blue streak about the bizarre heat wave in the Northeast. WTF, my friends? If only someone would perform a longitudinal study of weather patterns to determine if global warming were really happening, or if it's only some paranoid plot by the left to make us recycle and shit.
Oh wait...
Right. So yesterday, here in the Great Green North, the projected high temperature was 90 degrees. Yes, in October. This is a pisser for a number of reasons: first, it's damn hard for me to work when it looks like summer outside. Second, it's hot and I'm sweaty, and I had just about enough of that crap during May, June, July and August. Third, I'm sick of all of my summer clothes. Fourth, I live for sweaters, and my favorite sherpa-lined hoody is languishing in the closet, picking up dust, feeling bad about itself. I'm coming, my love! It's only a matter of time! Fifth, let's not forget about hair, and the frizziness that accompanies hot weather. The Asian fro? Not a good look.
This list could go on, but mostly it boils (and I do mean boils) down to the statement "This kind of heat in October is against nature. And it makes me cranky. Hulk smash."
So yesterday, I'm in the shower, and I opened the window in the bathroom. I love a hot shower, but I don't love a steamy bathroom when it's 90 out. The outside air was cooling the water, it seemed; I kept turning it hotter and it wasn't searing my skin off.
Click, click, click (the sound of the rusty gears in my brain shifting.)
A quick check of the basement, home of the major household machinery, reveals a leaking behemoth of an ancient hot water heater.
It's a holiday weekend (Thanks, Columbus, for killing Indians! We celebrate you and all your works!), we have no hot water til the guy comes on Monday.
The final kicker? The high temp. tomorrow is 68.
Yours in cold showers. Happy weekend to all.
Oh wait...
Right. So yesterday, here in the Great Green North, the projected high temperature was 90 degrees. Yes, in October. This is a pisser for a number of reasons: first, it's damn hard for me to work when it looks like summer outside. Second, it's hot and I'm sweaty, and I had just about enough of that crap during May, June, July and August. Third, I'm sick of all of my summer clothes. Fourth, I live for sweaters, and my favorite sherpa-lined hoody is languishing in the closet, picking up dust, feeling bad about itself. I'm coming, my love! It's only a matter of time! Fifth, let's not forget about hair, and the frizziness that accompanies hot weather. The Asian fro? Not a good look.
This list could go on, but mostly it boils (and I do mean boils) down to the statement "This kind of heat in October is against nature. And it makes me cranky. Hulk smash."
So yesterday, I'm in the shower, and I opened the window in the bathroom. I love a hot shower, but I don't love a steamy bathroom when it's 90 out. The outside air was cooling the water, it seemed; I kept turning it hotter and it wasn't searing my skin off.
Click, click, click (the sound of the rusty gears in my brain shifting.)
A quick check of the basement, home of the major household machinery, reveals a leaking behemoth of an ancient hot water heater.
It's a holiday weekend (Thanks, Columbus, for killing Indians! We celebrate you and all your works!), we have no hot water til the guy comes on Monday.
The final kicker? The high temp. tomorrow is 68.
Yours in cold showers. Happy weekend to all.
Labels: whining
posted by kfluff at 10:01 AM
4 Comments:
I share your pain on so many levels. It is not only 90 here right now, but humid as a mofo along wih it. Hate you, weather.
And a cold shower? Is nobody's friend. Perhaps you could persuade Senor F to bring you giant pots of boiling water while you recline in the tub?
Let's have a weather haters club. Isn't that like Chappelle's "time haters" group? Or am I conflating a couple of different sketches?
I'm sure that Senor F. would love nothing better than bringing me steaming pots of boiling water while I lolled in the bath. So very Victorian! It might be a bit like a parody of Shainberg's Secretary without the spanking and the cutting. And without the pissing myself. Definitely without the pissing myself.
And I still can't wear my Dominatrix-like boots, because they make my legs sweat... Where the hell is Fall????
Yum. sweaty legs!! I think the fall is here as of last night; no luck further south, Frenchie?
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