So Take Off All Your Clothes

So, I'm taking a page out of my friend shine's book and broaching a rather unpleasant topic: The heat.

Here in the great Lone Star State, the current temperature is :

Here's what I want to know: I understand that there is this mythical idea called a "heat index", and I understand that it raises the temperature. What I don't understand is why I should care. Why don't you just tell me it 111 degrees outside? What exactly am I supposed to get from the knowledge that Texas is trying to kill me by arbitrarily raising the temperature 10 degrees? Just tell me what if feels like outside and leave your voodoo ways at home!

What bothers me most about this heat is that I am sticky. All the time. Everywhere. As a former grunge head and punk rock girl, cleanliness and I have often been at odds. I enjoy being clean but not the process (really the time) I have to go through to get there. Where is my Jetson's technology?! Don't they know I'm a busy girl, or at least play one on TV? I've got very important TV watching and book reading and drinking to attend to.

Being a bit smelly doesn't really bother me. I know that's not very "girly" of me, but I've never claimed to be one. Sure, I love to put on 50s style dresses and can paint me face to match, but I curse like a sailor and drink you under the table at the same time. Isn't this why god invented deodorant and perfume?

What I want to know is: How did people get intimate before the invention of deodorant, indoor plumbing, and soap? We all know how smelly the world was back in the day. You know those beautiful bouquet's and oranges you see the well-bred carry around in Renaissance and Victorian movies? That's because everyone reeked! Now here I am, in 2010, and I can looking desperately for a pocketful of posies. It is impossible to feel sexy when you've sweat through your pants. When your bra is actually trapping sweat beneath your breasts. It's not pretty.

Enter, Playtex and their Cooling Comfort bra. It may be one of the most hideous bras I've ever seen, but if it can keep my "personality" cool I don't really care. [side note: Dear Playtex, What is the point of advertising this revolutionary new bra if it's not available on your website? Discuss] Can they make underwear like this? Or pants? Or socks? Or full space outfits? What does a girl have to do to avoid schvitzing in her delicate's????

Roasted alive, or how I came to think I was so important

I'm not much of a narcissist. In fact, I doubt there is anyone I know who would label me as such. However, I'm pretty sure Texas is trying to kill me. Or at least beat me into submission.

My apartment is like a sauna but much less comfortable. It has become my latest obsession- this heat! It all I can think about or talk about or write about. Parts of me stick together that I never thought possible. I'm googling "blocks o'ice" looking for something to put in front of my oscillating fan. How did I used to wear hoodies all summer long? Clearly the activity of my youth has rotted my brain and ruined my bodies ability to regulate itself.

My vintage apartment is kept cool by an equally vintage window unit. Actually, my third unit in as few years. They keep dying and now I think I understand- they just want to be free! Last night it was actually cooler outside than it was inside and I cried for the first time in forever that was not directly related to a movie about puppies, sudden death, or Mandy Moore. Sometime around 5 AM I called my apartment manager and left a message threatening death and/or dismemberment if the problem was not resolved. I packed up my belongings, pet the cat on the head (and hoped he'd make it), and drove to work. To sleep. So sad.

So now I'm operating on about an hour of actual rest and a liter of coffee (thank you to my lovely friend who brought me Starbucks when the work machine was broken).

So, Texas; bring it on! I love you but I will hurt you if I have to. You would do go to remember all the nice things I've done for you, like that one time I thought about recycling or did not throw my kleenex out the open car window (even though I'm pretty sure birds will use it to make their homes). Keep it up and I'm leaving. It's not me, it's you.