I’ve fucking had it with
this weather. No, really, I’m not
playing around. I’m sick of it. Sick to fucking death of it.
A friend called from L.A.
today to complain that it is an exceptionally hot September out there. OUT THERE?!?!
What the … Dude! It’s fucking
eighty-three degrees out here and humid.
My clothing sticks to me in places I didn’t know were stick-able. I can’t wear make-up for fear it will melt
off like some Halloween mask.
And, my hair – Good jesus,
don’t even ask about my hair. If the
humidity goes up any higher, even the Bride of Frankenstein will have to
concede defeat.
Thankfully I am smart
enough not to take the air conditioners out of the window too soon. Right now those babies are cranking away,
doing everything they can to keep me from sweating my skin right off.
Oh, sure, if this were the
height of summer, I might even consider this weather to be coolish, but, dear
god, it’s going to be October in less than twenty-four hours. For the love of all things sane, shut the
fucking heat off already. If I could sit
at the beach all damn day, then, by all means crank it up. The minions I spend all damn day with have yet to unilaterally discover deodorant
and, dare I say for many of them, showering and using soap.
I’ve had it. I mean, I do love summer; don’t get me
wrong. But truly, enough is enough is
enough. Bring on the snow. I. Have. Had.
ENOUGH.
