Me: why aren't you at the 50 cent concert?
Kacy: ROFL
Kacy: why aren't you there?
Me: restraining order :-(
Kacy: LOL
Kacy: OMG you make me laugh
Me: yay! i did something good today!
Kacy: Yay!
"I'm twenty-three. Remember how old twenty-three seemed when you were little? I mean, I thought people were going to be traveling in air locks and I would have five kids. But here I am — twenty-three. Things are basically the same. I think time is running out to do something bizarre. Somewhere around twenty-five, bizarre becomes immature."
Bridget Fonda says that in Singles and it still resonates with me the same as it did when I was twenty-three seeing it for the first time. But tonight, I find myself questioning it.
Is time really running out to do something bizarre and what exactly is bizarre anymore? Would it be bizarre if I shaved my head and got a tattoo sleeve? Would it be bizarre if I packed all my shit and moved to another city I've never been to just to start over again. You know what would be really bizarre? If I actually took time to formulate a retirement plan more sophisticated than, "I'll probably be dead before I retire."
I still do agree with one point. Time is running out. For what? Now, that's the question.
Friday's A/C crisis was fixed before maximum uncomfort was reached. Visions of hot repairman porno fantasies were quickly dashed once one of the extras from Deliverance showed up to repair the A/C. But it's okay because Old Man Snaggletooth is an angel in my book for allowing me to enjoy my weekend in a crisp 74°.
Sadly, I have no exciting stories to report from my weekend free from The Roommates™. I only left the house a couple times to fetch food and during those times I actually had to force myself to leave the cool sweet comfort for a scorching journey The Valley of Ra.
I've noticed that many Arizona bloggers at some point post about the ungodly desert heat. I'm pretty sure I have at least once every summer since I started blogging almost four years ago. On the surface it seems kind of trite to bitch about the weather but there is a reason for it: it's really, really fucking hot. This week we are expected to break several records of the heat index just in time to "cool off" to a balmy 106° this weekend.
And yeah, yeah...It's a Dry Heat®. We ALL know that. A trip to NYC at the end of June was a big reminder of the miserable nature of humidity, so yeah — I'll give you the whole It's a Dry Heat® thing. But 117° is pretty unbearable sans the humidity.
Adam brought up this whole "seasonal affective disorder" thing and I for one agree. I've noticed a trend in most everyone I know. No one wants to do anything in the Easy Bake Oven we call the Phoenix Metro area.
Sounds like a good excuse to crank up the A/C and take a nap. Wake me in spring...er...November.
I came home around 8 PM after having pizza and gelato with Deek and Matt to find my air conditioning on the fritz. This does not make for a happy Friday summer's eve here in the desert. Unfortunately, I doubt the repairperson will be coming since it is dark and the unit is on the roof, which would be dangerous for him to repair in the dark. If it's bad, I can always crash at a friend's for the night.
This morning I heard the perky blonde weather chick talk about how hot is will be and how it is expected to break LOTS of records next week temperatures-wise.
Lovely.
Luckily The Roommates™ are missing all the sweaty drama. They left for Oklahoma this morning. The Boy Roommate is meeting the Girl Roommate's family. I don't know which is worse: going to Oklahoma or meeting your girlfriend's family for the first time.
I was looking forward to having the house to myself (Bow Chicka Bow Wow!) however this whole lack of cool is well, not so cool. Adam said it best. "This weather makes me want to cuddle with a bad of ice."
