Dew Point: 6 million.

11 Feb

You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. As of June 12th, cable television has officially gone digital. What does that mean for me? No more weather channel, Dr. Phil, or Two and a Half Men. I used to complain about my three measly channels, but now that they’re no longer, I am literally going out of my mind. My apartment is like solitary confinement. No television period, no internet, no alcohol—our pets HEADS ARE FALLIN’ OFF! But really. I’m going to kill myself.

The humidity?????? I feel like I should be wearing a snorkel and a wet suit. There is more moisture in the air than there is in the entire Pacific Ocean right now. Am I in Kansas City or the Amazon rainforest? I’ll tell you one thing, 90% humidity does NOT do pleasant things for my hair. I’ve looked better. I have. In fact, I think my hair was dryer at birth than it is in the middle of the afternoon on this hot summer day. 105 degree heat index? Is this real life? What did I do to deserve this? I’m drowning.

I recently purchased a four pound crate of fresh strawberries. The question is, will I be able to consume them all before they grow hair and develop a parka of furry mold? I’m going to have to eat strawberries for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and fourth meal for the next week and a half if I stand a chance.

I’m sitting in the middle of the couch. To the left of the couch is a small end table. Upon this end table sits my large cup of pink lemonade. It is literally six inches out of my reach. I am so disgruntled. It’s barely out of my reach, and I’m actually too lazy to get up to reach it. I should be shot.

I found a helpless baby bird outside my apartment the other day. I mothered it for the afternoon and then released it back into the wild. Not three hours later I exited my apartment to find it dead in the grass. Can’t win ’em all.

The other day I came across a little blurb I had apparently written back in March around St. Patty’s Day, and had not published. It was humorous so I thought I’d bring it back to give you a taste:

So it’s just after 8 p.m. on St. Patrick’s Day, and I am diligently scripting training videos in the comfort of my apartment, meaning I am diligently Facebooking the shit out of the internet, and I laugh because everyone’s update statuses read “getting sloppy on St. Pat’s/ drinking green beer/etc,” and then I run across one that says, “Just finished reading Jane Austen!” and “Watching Dancing With The Stars!”

That sucks.

Anywho, it is time for me to go be productive. If you don’t hear from me in the next 12-18 hours, it is because I was smothered by the amount of moisture in the air and didn’t make it from my car to the apartment alive.

“The full frontal hug, the ‘we should get together,’ that’s soccer mom talk for ‘wanna do me in the cul de sac?’”

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