"Might As Well Be Walking On The Sun"

It's been ... a bit warm ... at home lately.  The kind of heat where you find yourself sweating just from sitting still.  The kind of heat that takes away your appetite and your desire to DO anything.  I've found myself saying "nahhhh ... I don't really want to brush my hair right now.  I'll wait until it cools down a bit."

"Oh come on", you say as you read this.  "You just are not used to the heat is all.  You're soft from all that West Coast living.  You clearly can't just roll with the temperatures like the rest of the country."

Yeah?  Fuck.  You.

It was 92 when I stepped out of the shower last night at 9:30pm.

92 ... at 9:30 at NIGHT.  Which means it had cooled down to 92.

The felines are fine.  They were of primary concern (of course) and honestly they got the best end of this situation.  One has been living downstairs in the coolness of the basement and the other has a whole air-conditioned home to herself.  The Awesome Boyfriend and I tried to make it work on Tuesday night as we settled into our bedroom but sleep wasn't gonna happen.  So we split things up and slept solo, on top of beds, with fans directly on us.  I managed to get about 4 hours of sleep and I could only hope that the Awesome Boyfriend did the same or better.

Last night we were smarter ... we took a note from our happy feline friends and slept in their territories.  While I was a bit slow in stretching and bending this morning (from sleeping so low to the ground), I woke only because I heard the Awesome Boyfriend coming through the door.  And kudos to my feline buddy too - who let me get some much needed sleep (in between licking my elbows and playing with her white mousie a few times during the night).

We'll replay the scene tonight (even 'tho the weather dorks say the heatwave has broken) and sweet relief will arrive tomorrow.  How do I know this?

Because when the repairman arrives to fix our central air, I'm taking the keys to his truck and he's won't be going anywhere until the unit is fixed or completely replaced.  Period.

And THAT'S how "West Coasters" roll.  Word to your mother.  Peace out.