07.30.2003 - 6:02 p.m.
Holy fucking shit, it's been hot lately. I know, I know, I live in Seattle where CLEARLY it can't be as smoldering as your scorched-earth desert town, but bite me, it's hot. And your home probably has air conditioning. Pussy.
How did this turn into me calling you names? I'm sorry, baby. It's just so hot, you know? Yesterday when I was driving home and listening to NPR (does the gratuitous consumption of public radio mention make me sound more cerebral? no?) I heard that it was 94 degrees. Hey, isn't that a boy band? But really, ninety-four-damn-degrees. At 6:30. Man.
All I can do is sit in the backyard and drink beer. I set up camp in a patio chair, beer and book in hand, and occasionally soak myself in the sprinkler. Dog's tongue is about 17 feet long. Cat stretches in a long furry puddle in the living room. It's hot, I'm telling you.
The year we lived in Las Vegas, around August we bought a kiddie pool. During the hottest part of the day, we'd just hang out in the pool, sitting in a couple feet of cool water. Yes, a REAL pool would have kicked far more ass, but whatever. It wasn't a hard shelled pool, it was the vinyl variety with fairly unstable walls. Sometimes the cat would come mincing up to the pool edge, and carefully balance a paw on the wall while peering over into the water. Every time I saw her do this, I meanly hoped the wall would collapse, which would result in a mini tidal wave whooshing over her. Sadly (for me, not the cat) it never happened.
Cat was a bird serial killer in Vegas. We bought a bird feeder, and hung it on the fence far above, we thought, where she could jump. We kept having to move it higher and higher after observing her defying the laws of gravity. Matrix-like, she'd fly through the air swiping at the big dopy doves that always hung around. We'd always be coming home to find sorrowful little piles of bloody feathers, and a cat with a smug expression and suspiciously rotund belly.
Jesus, what am I rambling about? I can't even stay on topic. It's HOT.
I'm hoping the heat wave will stay through the weekend. JB's birthday is Saturday (Hello! 30-freaking-years-old! Now the hippies cannot trust him!) and we're heading to his family's cabin on the Umpqua river. The blistering sun will be much nicer at a place where we can jump in the water every few minutes.
Also, "Umpqua"? Not a pretty word. JB vehemently disagrees, but I'm sorry - it's an "UMP" followed by a "KWAH". There's nothing melodious there. There are much cooler local river names, like "Snoqualmie" and "Rogue" and "Mackenzie". Umpquah just sounds frumpy, like it's wearing granny panties and maybe hasn't washed its hair lately.
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comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004