It’s Hot (Some Like It Hot)

Well! It finally stopped raining (EIGHTEEN DAYS IN A ROW) enough for us to actually sit lakeside on Sunday, the low point of which was me narrowly missing a good old toeful of dog poo, the high point being those hours just sitting there baking in the sun reading. (Special Topics in Calamity Physics, if you’re wondering. My take so far? Lay off the tricks! Also, the similes. WE’RE DROWNING IN SIMILES. SIMILES LIKE MISERABLE SANDS THROUGH A GRUBBY HOURGLASS.)

Have I mentioned the rain? Yes, I know I have, but MY GOD. THE RAIN. It’s been the wettest summer I’ve ever seen which, combined with the heat and and the propensity of a certain small pug to lay on my shoulders, makes for a truly sticky workday experience, and I can guarantee an ever-present nice sheen of hot, steamy dog breath condensation right in the crook of my neck. I will even rub it against you if you ask nicely. This also means going outside is practically BEGGING for West Nile virus, thanks to unforeseen swarms of mosquitoes, which result in multiple bites in the armpit area and ultrasexy ape-like scratching.

Because of the unfortunate weather situation, life around here has been spectacularly boring, unless you include the long-awaited discovery of Dexter, which might be the best show television ever invented. How is it possible that a serial killer with absolutely no moral code and/or feelings or desire for sex is … somehow creepily hot and — dare I say it — sexy? I’m chalking it up to Michael C. Hall who, again, is not remotely attractive in any other context, yet looks smoldering when pretending to consider harsh, brutal murder. This is not unlike the bizarre crush I’ve harbored on Gary Oldman since Dracula — yes, Dracula, but I have to remind you, in case you already knew this about me, that I mean the YOUNG Dracula, the one all hot and bothered for Mina’s blood, not the one with the Princess Leia shit around his ears, along with those long, windy fingernails. (GAH. FINGERNAILS. BLEAH VOMIT OMFG FINGERNAILS. NOOOOOO.)

In further Darwinian evidence that I should not be allowed to procreate, I woke myself up last night choking on my own drool. Yes, that’s right, I nearly drowned myself in my sleep from excessive sleepy-time saliva production and woke up actually thinking I was dying, but instead of acting rational and attempting to swallow it down like a normal person, I LEAPED out of bed, desperate to contain the coughing so as not to wake up Adam and went flying out of the room in honest consideration that I may have been dying in the same manner as a person who chokes on his own vomit. Instead, woke him with the leaping and hacking, resulting in an oh-so-pleasant midnight conversation that involved a lot of hand gestures for the universal sign for “CHOKING ON SALIVA” along with lame attempts at explaining bed leapage so as to avoid the inevitable mocking for the fact that dude, I nearly drowned on my own DROOL.

In random bits, three miscellaneous items that are in no way related to each other, but illustrate the sad, incredibly boring housebound state that we’re in:

— I discovered a previously forgotten stash of my mom’s lemon bars in our freezer. They’re like a tiny orgasm for the mouth! OH YES THEY ARE. HIGHLIGHT OF THE WEEK.

– I’ve finally found a store that carries Patak’s Indian Garlic Relish. If you can’t find it in your area, might I suggest you order some? Mix with a blend of nonfat yogurt and mayonnaise in an approximately one-to-one ratio for each (is that how ratios work? I mean, equal parts? Am writer, not math-type person and frankly am embarrassed that I don’t know this information and all too often, have to ask people how to do simple math.) Eat with lightly salted cucumbers and TRY NOT TO WEEP FROM ECSTASY.

- After three consecutive loads of laundry that reek of mildew (HORK) despite immediate transfer to dryer, I discovered the problem: The washing machine ITSELF reeks of mildew. Constantly. It’s an ancient front-loading model and it’s always had a SLIGHTLY mildew-y odor, but with the heat and BACK-BREAKING HYOOMIDITY, I was blasted with a face full of rotten laundry odor five minutes post-washing that continued when it was empty. Whaat do I DOOOOOO? I tried a bleach load; nothing! AM I DESTINED TO CLOTHES THAT SMELL LIKE FEET FOREVER?

Happy Tuesday! May you be having more interesting times than we.

*Jay-Z

36 comments June 30th, 2008