Holy humidity, batman.

 

 

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Why do doors that open automatically for you with zero action and 100% convenience on your part say “caution?”  You don’t need to caution me that there is convenience ahead. You need to warn me when doors are NOT going to open up magically for me so I don’t body-slam it, break my nose and lose my dignity.  There should be warnings for the opposite. “Caution: Manual Door. If you don’t take action on this door, you will slam into it face first, breaking your glasses, stubbing your toe, and embarrassing yourself publicly.” 

The heat will take my life. It’s hell on earth. I don’t know how much longer I can survive it. It has been above 100 degrees for 8 weeks straight now, many of those days reaching temperatures above 113, day in and day out with the exception of perhaps two days where it dipped into the low 90s. I don’t understand! Why does the earth need to get this hot? We already have ovens, God. We can bake our Tombstone pizzas and Pillsbury croissants in our GE Profiles, we don’t need to set them on our driveway to make the magic happen.

My weather app has just stopped giving me “sunny” or “partly cloudy” clipart to illustrate what it’s going to be like outside. Instead, it just shows this:

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There are just no words to describe how awful this heat wave is.

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You know it’s hotter than balls when the weather channel has to start using creative adjectives to describe how life-sucking the temperatures are.

The other day, the weather forecast predicted temperatures to actually dip below 100 for the first time in weeks, and it said this: “Monday: 94. Colder.”  COLDER? COLDER, AccuWeather?! Go wash your mouth out with soap. Unless I will be needing to don a cardigan, don’t tell me it’s going to be “colder” when it’s 94 f-cking degrees.

I have been sweating like a bitch. I get home from work everyday smelling like the gorilla complex at the zoo. I have never been sweatier. The humidity is thicker than Queen Latifa’s thighs. I feel like I need to start wearing goggles and flippers just to get through it. I’m so glad I’m not a plant right now. They are all just shriveling up and dying off.

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Missouri canceled all their 4th of July fireworks shows due to the extreme fire hazards flaming fireworks would pose. The grass is drier than Ben Stein’s sense of humor. One rogue roman candle would light this place up like Chicago in 1871. WHEN WILL IT END?!

Winter sounds like a myth now. It’s like Big Foot. Only rumors of it exist, supported weakly by vague recollections older people have of it that they are barely able to describe anymore with their faded memories. I can’t wait to be cold again. I’m starting to go to the grocery store just to hang out in the frozen meats section just to remember what goosebumps feel like. Give me autumn or give me death!

Well, time to go watch those athletic freaks of nature blow my mind in the Olympics.

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“I made a whole batch of those cupcakes, so if you like them and you want more, just say the word. But if you don’t like them….then just don’t say anything.”

 

Hot flash.

Oh. My. GOD.

Another day of unbearable heat. I came home just absolutely pissed off today because of how sweaty, overheated, and exhausted I was. The weather is truly sucking the life clean out of me. I’m panting like a dog, heaving with every gasping breath as the humidity collects in puddles inside my deflating lungs. Working outside blows. I can’t go on like this for much longer. Even my car is trying to give up. It whines as I force it to chug up the road.

My subconscious is trying to escape the god awful heat index by getting me to kill myself. Just now in the shower I accidentally slashed myself with my razor unusually close to my femoral artery. I bled.

Either that or the remainder of the pink in my hair was washing out. It was probably both.

I can’t live like this you guys. Every year I forget that the earth reaches heat indexes like this. Then it happens and I begin to melt like a wax doll, groaning and moaning and sluggishly dragging my body about to do my daily tasks. I CAN’T GO ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m sitting here in my living room looking like Papa Smurf. After such a disgusting day in the sweltering inferno that is Pennsylvania, I came home, took a cold shower, and then put on a nice detoxing mask by Astara.

Every time I decide to apply a face mask, someone comes home. They stare. I look like I’ve been choking, all blue in the face. Boy does it make your face feel fresh though.

I absolutely murdered a wasp today in cold blood. Of course when I say “cold” blood I actually mean boiling hot blood because the blistering oven of the outdoors was making my blood boil and roll like a pot on the stove. Anyway, I stepped away from my vehicle for just a few minutes, and returned to find a hornet perched on the driver’s side door handle.

“Oh no you don’t,” I said boldly. Then I stood there and stared at it for probably 60 seconds. It didn’t move.

I took a shingle sample folder and cocked it back. I had just one chance to destroy this wicked insect, and if I fudged it up, I would suffer the consequences. This wasp would unleash its fury on me and sting me until I laid motionless on the ground with my thumb in my mouth. With one foul swoop I smashed the shit out of the hornet with my folder, and it fell to the ground in a twisted ball, buzzing furiously. I curb stomped it triumphantly. It didn’t stand a chance.

I’ve always enjoyed torturing insects. As a child, I carried out some borderline sociopathic murders in my bathroom. I used to find centipedes and spiders and moths in the bathroom upstairs that came in through the vents somehow. I’m not sure if you know this or not, but I hate insects more than I hate Tyra Banks (maybe). Finding an insect in my domain made me crazy with rage. It was like it was violating my safe haven. Bugs belonged outside, away from me and my living quarters. Discovering one in my home made me go Ted Bundy on their asses.

I would drop them into the sink, and just barely plug the sink in a way that the water would still drain, but the bug couldn’t go down and escape my wrath. I would start by unleashing a scalding hot stream of water from the faucet onto the insect. The slightly open drain would suck the bug to the pipe, but wouldn’t allow it to go down the drain, holding it there as the stream of boiling water burned the shit out of it. I would do this a dozen times or so, and then I would get out the hairspray. It would get coated multiple times with sticky, toxic, volumizing hairspray as it gasped for breath and its wings became glued to its body. After that, I liked to pour a giant dollop of shampoo on it so it was trapped and suspended in a goopy, soapy mass. For good measure, I repeated the scalding hot water move several more times before I finally pulled the plug and let it go down the drain into the septic system.

Psychiatrists might be alarmed by this information.

Anyway, I’m off to enjoy some Chips Ahoy. What a pleasant name for a cookie, “Chips Ahoy.”

Okay, bye.

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“What has more visitors in one month than Las Vegas has in one year?”

“The moon!”

Friend Zone.

Do you ever look at people who comment on your wall posts and think, “Who the f-ck are you?”  I do this far too often. Half the people I don’t even remember ever deciding to befriend and have no idea who they are at all. Sometimes I sit down and try to clean out my Facebook friends, but get too discouraged by the time I reach the C’s and give up.

Life is rough.

I don’t like Elijah Woods’ face. He’s a tiny, pointy little man. He’s like a glossy gnome. I want to put a pointy hat on his head and tinkly bells on the tips of his toes and watch him work nimbly with tiny tools on tiny toys.

He’s a nymph, is what I’m trying to say.

I think I might start having a weekly bit starring people who shouldn’t be parents. Here is example 1 for this week—This person comes to us from a comment thread on someone’s status update about their own offspring:

nice.. i have a 6 and 8 yr old i have custody of there the best! he

my oldest is my wild one my youngest is quiet and sissy.. there out in cali right now until aug 15th then they come back they go see her for the summer.. witch becomes my time to party..lol so how many kids do you have?

The spelling? I’m surprised this person was able to read the results of their pregnancy test.

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It is SOOOOO HOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I wanted to type out “hot” with a million O’s to elaborate, but then the word would be “hoot” instead of “hot” dragged out. “Becca, why didn’t you just write HOTTTTTT then?”  BECAUSE, you guys. Then it would phonetically be “HOT-TUH-TUH-TUH-TUH.”  And I’m smarter than that.

Anyway, back to how hot it is. It’s SO hot. This is hell on earth. I called it quits today at 2 pm. Unfortunately, what is usually a 12 minute drive home became a long, sticky, smothering 55 minutes because of construction on the highway. I sat in one spot for 45 minutes, absolutely baking in my Blazer. My car may as well have actually been on fire. I wouldn’t have known the difference. I have no air conditioning in my car. That means I sat there with the windows open on a 97 degree day in the blazing sun, sweating my beaver off with no relief. No wind breezing through, no movement of any kind. Just stagnant, unmoving, deathly heat. I smell like a slobbery dog. I also look like a slobbery dog. I’m not even sure I can wash my shirt from today. I may just have to dispose of it.

I’m tired of television shows that are about pawn shops trying to have clever titles. “Pawn Stars.”  “Hardcore Pawn.”  We get it. Pawn sounds like “porn.”  So racy.

Has anyone seen the latest York Peppermint Pattie commercial? According to York candies, sex toy companies are about to go out of business. Who needs a vibrator when your Peppermint Pattie can give you endless sexual pleasure? My, god. The commercials have me convinced that just one bite of a crisp, minty York Peppermint Pattie will have my eyes rolling and my toes curling in a lip biting orgasm. Really amping up the sex appeal, York.

Different, but, whatever works.

WELL, I’m off to chug my body weight in water since I lost 80% of it in my car today.

I bid you adieu.

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“And that, my friends, is why you don’t get your money’s worth when you wear jeans to a strip club.”

iScream.

There is a child just outside the apartment below me just absolutely screaming its head off. It is making the most offensive, wretched sound I have ever heard come from a human being ever before in my life. It sounds like it’s on fire. Do normal people gasp with sympathy, “I wonder what’s wrong—I hope he’s okay!” ? Because I am wondering what I could do to end its life while minimizing any major cleanup or legal consequences afterward. If it would just stop making that horrid, dreadful sound. Until it ceases to project this detestable sound however, I am going to start brewing up death threats to call down to its parent-figure one floor below.

Why do children have to be so god-awful? Don’t they understand that no one likes screeching? Nobody wants a wailing, noisy child around. No one. Don’t kids want to be liked? Isn’t that why they start doing drugs so early nowadays, to fit in? Why haven’t they caught on? Is there no reasoning with children? Don’t they comprehend that shrieking like a howler monkey is only going to make them grossly unpopular and probably spanked in public? Ugh. I wish paddling children was still socially acceptable and not considered child endangerment/abuse. I think it would really cut down on the fit-throwing that children insist on.