I'm fully aware that this blog should no longer be considered "Dawn and Michelle's Blog." (Sad face emoticon) Let's be honest: There's really only one of us who is committed to this thing.
Well, my heart is committed; it's just the doing part that has commitment issues.
So, in a valiant effort to rally myself to write something...... I've decided to copy and paste some of Dawn's best material onto this post. (I'm easing my way back into the coming up with stuff to write about part of writing.)
In case you hadn't noticed (which really just means you've never read our blog), Dawn's kind of a creative genius when it comes to cleverness. So, enjoy this extra special edition of our (Dawn's) blog.
*She doesn't know I'm doing this. But I doubt she'll mind; she handles attention pretty well.
All I'm saying is that you never see Nicki Minaj and E.T. in the same room.
Why does Minnie Mouse wear heels? She's the only female mouse that Mickey knows. Pressure's off girl. Your boyfriend doesn't even have a shirt.
Shouldn't there have been ONE scene in the Karate Kid where Daniels Mom was like, "Why are you constantly in that old man's shed?"
Hey guy driving the Astrovan...you don't need the stick figures depicting you family on the back. No one is mistaking you for a player. Because minivan.
I only want to see your ultrasound photo if you're having a velociraptor.
BREAKING NEWS! 23 injured while running with bulls. Authorities report that injuries happened because they were RUNNING WITH BULLS.
Pregnant women look so happy. It's like they don't know what's going to happen
I noticed today that my ironing board cover was wrinkled. I laughed at the irony. Then I laughed again because irony has the word iron in it.
I just watched Ruby chase her tail for 10 minutes, thought "dang, she's so easily entertained!" Then realized that I watched Ruby chase her tail for 10 minutes.
If you receive an email that says "FREE NICKI MINAJ CONCERT TICKETS" don't open it. It may contain free Nicki Minaj concert tickets.
Every time Nicki Minaj tells someone their voice isn't good enough on Idol, someone is crushed to death by the weight of the irony.
I carry a knife but it's just in case of cake.
Ooh! It's Oscar night! What to wear!? Oh yeah....same thing as last year. Sweatpants and a teal Snuggie. #notfamous
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Thursday, May 2, 2013
I Try to Sound Smart in this One. It Goes Badly.
Pretty much the only reason I'm writing a new post is because I have "writing music" on right now that I'm willing to inspire me. Well, that and also because the other day Dawn mentioned something about our blog and I responded with, "Wait. Hold on. We have a blog?" Honestly, I was glad she reminded me. But, just so everyone knows, I take all the blame for my neglect and inconsistency. I think that's pretty big of me.
So, in turning over a new leaf (the leaf being this one post right here), I'm writing. Something. Not quite sure yet where this is going, but I'm looking forward to a wild ride of stops and starts and deletes and the technological version of angrily crumpling up pieces of paper (that's when you close your laptop really, really hard) and other exciting moments in a writer's (I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even tried to slip that in there. "Blogger" is what I meant to say) life.
Because I'm looking for "easy" and "less work rather than more" as the themes for this post, I thought I'd start with the stylistic literary device known as "stream of consciousness." Or, "my pointless & meandering train of thought." You can go ahead and call it that when you want to relate to the masses who haven't read "Mrs. Dalloway." (Which, let's be honest, is pretty much the only book that anyone knows about that was written in this style.)
So, here's a glimpse into my own (sad) stream of consciousness that I experienced a few minutes ago. Be sure you're sitting down for this. (Wait. Actually? Stand up. Or, get in a really uncomfortable position; something that will make it difficult to nod off.)
"This 'Parenthood' playlist is amazing! This is totally the kind of music that a writer would have on in the background while they write the Great American Novel. I can at least write a lame blog post. Dawn would be happy with me. She's at the Killer's show tonight. I'm doing....this. Okay, start writing. Hey, this is going along smoothly! AAAAHHH! Derailed! This laptop is making my thighs feel hot and claustrophobic. I should probably take a break to cool them off. Since I'm up....Trader Joe's popcorn, please. Okay, transferring to the desk. GEEZ, the top of this desk is dirty! That's what I get for buying a glass-top desk. I should get those Windex wipes. Those are brilliant. And I'm probably getting brilliantly ripped off by buying those in their nice, convenient packaging instead of just using paper towels and the bottle of Windex. I should clean the bathroom soon. (Gasp!) Dang! I always forget that when I'm listening to something on Spotify, it's seen by people! People I know! Oh. Phew.... (sigh of relief); this playlist is making me look arty and hip. Unlike that time when I listened to that one Lil' Kim song. Wait. WAIT. DAMMIT! I think that was before I knew about privacy settings!! Man, it's hot! Gross - even my typing fingers feel sticky-sweaty. It's making it too hard to type. I should stop. (Really, Michelle? That's taking the excuse-making a little far, don't you think?) My gosh! I'm boring myself!"
And it went on like that for a little while longer.
So, this was my return to our blog. I know - I'm not proud of it either. But, it's something. Which, if I recall, was all that I said I was going to write anyway. Sooooo, kept that promise.
I'll do better next time. Or, Dawn will do better next time. That's probably more plausible.
So, in turning over a new leaf (the leaf being this one post right here), I'm writing. Something. Not quite sure yet where this is going, but I'm looking forward to a wild ride of stops and starts and deletes and the technological version of angrily crumpling up pieces of paper (that's when you close your laptop really, really hard) and other exciting moments in a writer's (I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even tried to slip that in there. "Blogger" is what I meant to say) life.
Because I'm looking for "easy" and "less work rather than more" as the themes for this post, I thought I'd start with the stylistic literary device known as "stream of consciousness." Or, "my pointless & meandering train of thought." You can go ahead and call it that when you want to relate to the masses who haven't read "Mrs. Dalloway." (Which, let's be honest, is pretty much the only book that anyone knows about that was written in this style.)
So, here's a glimpse into my own (sad) stream of consciousness that I experienced a few minutes ago. Be sure you're sitting down for this. (Wait. Actually? Stand up. Or, get in a really uncomfortable position; something that will make it difficult to nod off.)
"This 'Parenthood' playlist is amazing! This is totally the kind of music that a writer would have on in the background while they write the Great American Novel. I can at least write a lame blog post. Dawn would be happy with me. She's at the Killer's show tonight. I'm doing....this. Okay, start writing. Hey, this is going along smoothly! AAAAHHH! Derailed! This laptop is making my thighs feel hot and claustrophobic. I should probably take a break to cool them off. Since I'm up....Trader Joe's popcorn, please. Okay, transferring to the desk. GEEZ, the top of this desk is dirty! That's what I get for buying a glass-top desk. I should get those Windex wipes. Those are brilliant. And I'm probably getting brilliantly ripped off by buying those in their nice, convenient packaging instead of just using paper towels and the bottle of Windex. I should clean the bathroom soon. (Gasp!) Dang! I always forget that when I'm listening to something on Spotify, it's seen by people! People I know! Oh. Phew.... (sigh of relief); this playlist is making me look arty and hip. Unlike that time when I listened to that one Lil' Kim song. Wait. WAIT. DAMMIT! I think that was before I knew about privacy settings!! Man, it's hot! Gross - even my typing fingers feel sticky-sweaty. It's making it too hard to type. I should stop. (Really, Michelle? That's taking the excuse-making a little far, don't you think?) My gosh! I'm boring myself!"
And it went on like that for a little while longer.
So, this was my return to our blog. I know - I'm not proud of it either. But, it's something. Which, if I recall, was all that I said I was going to write anyway. Sooooo, kept that promise.
I'll do better next time. Or, Dawn will do better next time. That's probably more plausible.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Dog Show Re-deux
Let me preface this article by claiming my undying love and devotion for the 137 year old tradition that is the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. Sadly, I know what you're thinking right now. Dog nerd. Whenever I giddily announce that I'm as excited as a Jack Russell to watch 6 hours of dog show over a two day period, you snicker at me. (Meanwhile, you with the smug superiority of someone who has a life, and wouldn't be caught dead wasting it on such frivolity, will happily log 10 thousand hours a year watching baseball, or the Bachelor, or, God forbid, Honey Boo Boo.). I've said my piece.
With that, I offer my suggestions to the WKC planners and programmers, as well as the fine (if not a bit snooty) organization known as the American Kennell Club, to bring our beloved sport (IT IS TOO A SPORT) into the mainstream.
The Handlers: Hire Clinton Kelly and Stacey London to make them over. This is a whole broadcast in itself. Stacey will have those dumpy dog dowagers whipped into shape in no time! AND how fun will it be to see her make them throw their sparkly shapeless skirt suits, chunky man flats, and unflattering leg wear in the trash can?! And the Junior handlers? Clinton please! Show the home schoolers a fashion magazine, for the love of Michael Kors!
The Dogs: They are perfect. However, I'd like to see all pooches under 5 months old. That would be SO FUN! Sure there would be less perfect prancing, but there would be MORE floppy ears, baggy puppy skin, goofy grins, and general puppy mayhem. The dogs are making life way to easy for the ill-attired handlers.
The Announcer: Michael La Fave has been the WKC announcer since 2001. His air of British superiority is practically perfect. He is like the Alex Trebek of the dog show world....we know you have all of the breed info in front of you, so maybe dial down the arragont tone, Mike. Since I love that, we shall keep him, but we will ADD....oh I don't know...Flava Flav. (I'm SURE he's available.)
The Judges: I don't know how we could ever top the level of pomposity that exists in these dusty blowhards, but I suggest Simon Cowell, Nicki Minaj, JLo, and, well, me. THINK about it....JLo gives the show a little street cred, (AND looks fab in formalwear) Nicki brings the cray cray to Madison Square Garden, and Simon and I are perfect foils with our rapier wit. (I TOTALLY imagine him liking all of the little, fluffy, brown eye- booger type dogs. Right?!)
The Production: When the dogs enter the ring, they have music. Like at a boxing match. Some suggestions. The Standard Poodle, Diva by Beyonce. The Afghan? I'm Sexy and I Know It. How about The Mastiff? I say Iron Man by Black Sabbath! Bloodhound? Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash. How about the Chinese Crested? Born This Way by Lady Gaga. Chihuahua? Oh this ones easy...La Bamba! Dalmatian? Fire by Jimi Hendrix! Labrador? Eat It by Wierd Al! LOL!!! I could do this all day!!!! Hahaha! (Leave your suggestions in Comments, please, clever friends.)
I offer these suggestions FREE to you Wstminster Kennel Club contingent on my being a judge for the 2014 show. You are so welcome. The dog show world will never be the same....
Just Dawn
With that, I offer my suggestions to the WKC planners and programmers, as well as the fine (if not a bit snooty) organization known as the American Kennell Club, to bring our beloved sport (IT IS TOO A SPORT) into the mainstream.
The Handlers: Hire Clinton Kelly and Stacey London to make them over. This is a whole broadcast in itself. Stacey will have those dumpy dog dowagers whipped into shape in no time! AND how fun will it be to see her make them throw their sparkly shapeless skirt suits, chunky man flats, and unflattering leg wear in the trash can?! And the Junior handlers? Clinton please! Show the home schoolers a fashion magazine, for the love of Michael Kors!
The Dogs: They are perfect. However, I'd like to see all pooches under 5 months old. That would be SO FUN! Sure there would be less perfect prancing, but there would be MORE floppy ears, baggy puppy skin, goofy grins, and general puppy mayhem. The dogs are making life way to easy for the ill-attired handlers.
The Announcer: Michael La Fave has been the WKC announcer since 2001. His air of British superiority is practically perfect. He is like the Alex Trebek of the dog show world....we know you have all of the breed info in front of you, so maybe dial down the arragont tone, Mike. Since I love that, we shall keep him, but we will ADD....oh I don't know...Flava Flav. (I'm SURE he's available.)
The Judges: I don't know how we could ever top the level of pomposity that exists in these dusty blowhards, but I suggest Simon Cowell, Nicki Minaj, JLo, and, well, me. THINK about it....JLo gives the show a little street cred, (AND looks fab in formalwear) Nicki brings the cray cray to Madison Square Garden, and Simon and I are perfect foils with our rapier wit. (I TOTALLY imagine him liking all of the little, fluffy, brown eye- booger type dogs. Right?!)
The Production: When the dogs enter the ring, they have music. Like at a boxing match. Some suggestions. The Standard Poodle, Diva by Beyonce. The Afghan? I'm Sexy and I Know It. How about The Mastiff? I say Iron Man by Black Sabbath! Bloodhound? Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash. How about the Chinese Crested? Born This Way by Lady Gaga. Chihuahua? Oh this ones easy...La Bamba! Dalmatian? Fire by Jimi Hendrix! Labrador? Eat It by Wierd Al! LOL!!! I could do this all day!!!! Hahaha! (Leave your suggestions in Comments, please, clever friends.)
I offer these suggestions FREE to you Wstminster Kennel Club contingent on my being a judge for the 2014 show. You are so welcome. The dog show world will never be the same....
Just Dawn
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Petting Zoo Fun!
I should have known that the Petting Zoo in San Juan Capistrano was going to be a laugh riot when I asked Siri "Where is the Petting Zoo?" when I was in San Juan today. Siri replied, politely, "The zoo of petting is very close to where you are now." I feel like she needed some sort of accent to word it this way....(Oh you can just imagine the delight on Rick's face!)
Lets address the obvious question: Why the heck were you at a petting zoo? I needed to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE people! (Recovering from surgery, different story, totally not funny.) So...here are Rick and I at Zoomars Petting Zoo. Me: "YAY!!!" Rick: "It stinks here." Lady at the Entrance: "Do you want admission only, or purchase any animal food?" Rick: "Admission only." Me: "PURCHASE ANIMAL FOOD!! YAY!!"
Here are the funny/ironic/interesting thigs that ensued:
There is a huge dinosaur statue there. Huge. Life size. True to the historical flora and fauna of San Juan Capistrano? Not sure if there were ever any Apatosaurus' roaming SoCal.
The majority of the animals at the Zoo of Petting were, wait for it, Guniea Pigs. Are you kidding me?? Guinea Pigs are rats with a better PR Agency. Think Lindsey Lohan vs. Ke$ha.
There was a Birthday Party/Picnic area. AND it was packed. It smelled like goat shit, ya'll.
Llamas love carrots, a lot, and have hideously poor mouth chewing manners, certainly not enhanced by their lack of dentistry. One of them was very happy to have his matted, stinky neck scratched. Like Ruby, only not as Princess-ey.
The bunnies were largely being chased and tortured by toddlers, so I spotted a beautiful black one trying to evade little Nathan in his cowboy outfit, and I slipped him a fat purple grape. He was grateful. (I would have like to have slipped little Nathan some Prozac.)
The line for the pony rides was depressing. Don't get me started. I may or may not have PETA on the horn as we speak.
I loved the wooly, semi-shorn sheep. I will never understand how people can eat them. Sorry, I know, not the place, just sayin'. They have sweet faces and gentle demeanors. Maybe that's why God chose them to represent His beloved humans in so many ways.
One of my fav moments was Rick conversing with an Ostrich or Emu or something. They had the same hairstyle.
So, all in all, Zoo of Petting excursion was a rousing success! I got out, I got to pet things, feed things, and when I got home, got to perplex my dog with very strange animal smells. It's always funny to see her go from GREETGREETGREET!!!!....to Wait!....What the heck is THAT? SNIFFSNIFFSNIFF.....
It's a happy day when you go to a petting zoo so crappy that the big feature is Guniea Pigs, and you are STILL stoked! My husband loves me.
just Dawn
Lets address the obvious question: Why the heck were you at a petting zoo? I needed to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE people! (Recovering from surgery, different story, totally not funny.) So...here are Rick and I at Zoomars Petting Zoo. Me: "YAY!!!" Rick: "It stinks here." Lady at the Entrance: "Do you want admission only, or purchase any animal food?" Rick: "Admission only." Me: "PURCHASE ANIMAL FOOD!! YAY!!"
Here are the funny/ironic/interesting thigs that ensued:
There is a huge dinosaur statue there. Huge. Life size. True to the historical flora and fauna of San Juan Capistrano? Not sure if there were ever any Apatosaurus' roaming SoCal.
The majority of the animals at the Zoo of Petting were, wait for it, Guniea Pigs. Are you kidding me?? Guinea Pigs are rats with a better PR Agency. Think Lindsey Lohan vs. Ke$ha.
There was a Birthday Party/Picnic area. AND it was packed. It smelled like goat shit, ya'll.
Llamas love carrots, a lot, and have hideously poor mouth chewing manners, certainly not enhanced by their lack of dentistry. One of them was very happy to have his matted, stinky neck scratched. Like Ruby, only not as Princess-ey.
The bunnies were largely being chased and tortured by toddlers, so I spotted a beautiful black one trying to evade little Nathan in his cowboy outfit, and I slipped him a fat purple grape. He was grateful. (I would have like to have slipped little Nathan some Prozac.)
The line for the pony rides was depressing. Don't get me started. I may or may not have PETA on the horn as we speak.
I loved the wooly, semi-shorn sheep. I will never understand how people can eat them. Sorry, I know, not the place, just sayin'. They have sweet faces and gentle demeanors. Maybe that's why God chose them to represent His beloved humans in so many ways.
One of my fav moments was Rick conversing with an Ostrich or Emu or something. They had the same hairstyle.
So, all in all, Zoo of Petting excursion was a rousing success! I got out, I got to pet things, feed things, and when I got home, got to perplex my dog with very strange animal smells. It's always funny to see her go from GREETGREETGREET!!!!....to Wait!....What the heck is THAT? SNIFFSNIFFSNIFF.....
It's a happy day when you go to a petting zoo so crappy that the big feature is Guniea Pigs, and you are STILL stoked! My husband loves me.
just Dawn
Monday, November 26, 2012
I'm Sexy and I Know It. by: Dawns Spine
Hi Blog Fans, (You know, Dawn and Michelle's Moms)
It's me, Dawns amazing Spine. It has occurred to me of late, that the hair, the smile, the face, the skin, get ALL of the attention! They don't do CRAP compared to me! PLUS, they get all the glory! "Oh Dawn, you look so youthful!". You know what I get?...."Oh Dawn, you have the spine of an 85 year old woman!". It's time I had my day in the sun! So lately, it's been all about me. AND I have been twisted, slammed, kicked, flipped, karate chopped, and wrenched for all of my trouble. What am I anyway, compared to the colored, dyed, Botoxed, extensioned, cosmeticed, plucked, groomed, moisturized, shaved, waxed, serumed, buffed, and exfoliated MORE IMPORTANT entities that all together make up our Dawn?
Oh Dawn, you are so cruel. I have stood up for you (Literally) your whole life. You have "rewarded" me with gymnastics, wrestling, and free sparring for my dogged perseverance. Well, now its all ME, isn't it? I got MY picture taken twice this week! I had MY specialists tending to our needs this week, didn't I? HA to you, colorist! Manicurist! I'm the star this week!
Dawn, if you can't grasp how important it is to nurture and care for the structure over the exterior, who will? The foundation over the superficial? I hate to be the I-told-you-sayer of your body (I've always left that up to the SO self-important, "You can't live without ME" heart) but your reality check is NOW, my Dawn. Time for a lovely Pilates class. Hang up your theoretical wrestling boots for good. Or else.
Love,
Your Smoking Hot Lumbar, Thoracic, and Cervical Spine.
It's me, Dawns amazing Spine. It has occurred to me of late, that the hair, the smile, the face, the skin, get ALL of the attention! They don't do CRAP compared to me! PLUS, they get all the glory! "Oh Dawn, you look so youthful!". You know what I get?...."Oh Dawn, you have the spine of an 85 year old woman!". It's time I had my day in the sun! So lately, it's been all about me. AND I have been twisted, slammed, kicked, flipped, karate chopped, and wrenched for all of my trouble. What am I anyway, compared to the colored, dyed, Botoxed, extensioned, cosmeticed, plucked, groomed, moisturized, shaved, waxed, serumed, buffed, and exfoliated MORE IMPORTANT entities that all together make up our Dawn?
Oh Dawn, you are so cruel. I have stood up for you (Literally) your whole life. You have "rewarded" me with gymnastics, wrestling, and free sparring for my dogged perseverance. Well, now its all ME, isn't it? I got MY picture taken twice this week! I had MY specialists tending to our needs this week, didn't I? HA to you, colorist! Manicurist! I'm the star this week!
Dawn, if you can't grasp how important it is to nurture and care for the structure over the exterior, who will? The foundation over the superficial? I hate to be the I-told-you-sayer of your body (I've always left that up to the SO self-important, "You can't live without ME" heart) but your reality check is NOW, my Dawn. Time for a lovely Pilates class. Hang up your theoretical wrestling boots for good. Or else.
Love,
Your Smoking Hot Lumbar, Thoracic, and Cervical Spine.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
A Poet and I Know It.....
Ode to Marriage (Wife’s Lament)
By Dawn
I like the smell of Windex and he likes Coppertone.
He likes to fill our house with friends, I like to be alone.
We disagree on who’s the best rock singer of all time.
Ian Gillian* would be his pick, Rob Halford* would be mine.
While we agree Paul Rodgers* is mostly under-rated,
Lady Gaga, who I love, he has always hated.
I like gymnastics, he likes the Rams.
(I have disdain for most sports fans.)
I like salty, he likes sweet.
I’m a veg and he eats meat.
I know I am right, but we don’t fight, we “agree to disagree”.
Sometimes I even let him “win”…*wink, wink* hey, that’s just me.
“Where do we keep the duct tape?” I’ve often heard him say…
Where we keep it, and where you left it last are surely worlds away.
On our favorite restaurants, we easily agree….
He has this awesome habit of frequently spoiling me!
With all our heart we love our boys with all their silly flaws,
I’d even go so far as to say we love our mother in laws!
(Hey, I know my mom reads my blog! Sorry for the interruption….)
I like art, he likes to rock. I like to read, my man’s a jock.
I love my sweetie, Ruby Sue. (Don’t let him fool you, he does too.)
He has good guys around him. Though “guy-time” I just don’t get…
My awesome girls could rule the world; we just haven’t done it yet.
Sharing a bathroom with this man just might do me in.
Married ladies, help me out, can I get a big Amen!?
Sigh. He’s my rock star, my best friend, and my better half,
So back off ladies, don’t even try, or I’ll shank you in the calf.
The end.
*Google the ancient rockers, young people.
By Dawn
I like the smell of Windex and he likes Coppertone.
He likes to fill our house with friends, I like to be alone.
We disagree on who’s the best rock singer of all time.
Ian Gillian* would be his pick, Rob Halford* would be mine.
While we agree Paul Rodgers* is mostly under-rated,
Lady Gaga, who I love, he has always hated.
I like gymnastics, he likes the Rams.
(I have disdain for most sports fans.)
I like salty, he likes sweet.
I’m a veg and he eats meat.
I know I am right, but we don’t fight, we “agree to disagree”.
Sometimes I even let him “win”…*wink, wink* hey, that’s just me.
“Where do we keep the duct tape?” I’ve often heard him say…
Where we keep it, and where you left it last are surely worlds away.
On our favorite restaurants, we easily agree….
He has this awesome habit of frequently spoiling me!
With all our heart we love our boys with all their silly flaws,
I’d even go so far as to say we love our mother in laws!
(Hey, I know my mom reads my blog! Sorry for the interruption….)
I like art, he likes to rock. I like to read, my man’s a jock.
I love my sweetie, Ruby Sue. (Don’t let him fool you, he does too.)
He has good guys around him. Though “guy-time” I just don’t get…
My awesome girls could rule the world; we just haven’t done it yet.
Sharing a bathroom with this man just might do me in.
Married ladies, help me out, can I get a big Amen!?
Sigh. He’s my rock star, my best friend, and my better half,
So back off ladies, don’t even try, or I’ll shank you in the calf.
The end.
*Google the ancient rockers, young people.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Hot Temperatures Bring out the Pathetic in Me
This isn't news to anyone living in California right now, but....it's hot. Really, really hot. Like, southern style, chafe-inducing, happiness-killing, excuse-to-go-a-little-certifiably-crazy hot. I know there are people in other places dealing with much worse, record breaking heat; the kind that kills crops and the elderly in the same way. But, the heat that has plagued us the past couple of weeks or so has been hard to ignore.
My apartment in particular has been a bit of death trap. I've tried calling it a sauna and convincing myself that my pores are being cleansed each time I step inside my little heat box, but there aren't enough sweaty, partially clothed strangers in here to make it look like a true sauna.
I have learned one thing because of the heat, though, and that is: I am not yet a Californian (despite paying our above the national average gas prices [oh, look! We're beating the rest of the nation at something! Good job, California.] like the rest of you suckers. No. I realized that not having a sun shade for my car's windshield makes me a little late to the "common sense" party. (Those are typically not fun, but you do come away with some great life tips.)
You'd think searing the backs of my thighs on black leather seats, while branding the steering wheel seams into my palms would have gotten me right on that little errand. Hasn't happened yet. I must enjoy the challenge of maneuvering in my car so that I'm hovering over the seat while trying to steer the car with mind power until the air conditioning cools everything off. And fortunately, my car has excellent air conditioning. Which is much more than I can say for my apartment's air conditioning....
My air conditioner is basically an additional fan. It works great if your face is so close to the vent that you can see the freon in there. That leaves my and my roommate's rooms to fend for themselves. And mine's definitely given up. If you closed your eyes and thought really happy thoughts upon entering my room, you might think you were on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland during the part where you're supposed to be in hell. Which, by the way....how is that appropriate for a kids' ride? I feel like somebody didn't think that one through.
So, since my room is clearly not trying to help me out, and since the fan in my room is mediocre at best, I've had to get creative and come up with alternate ways to keep cool at night. Here are a few:
1. I tried putting a frozen bag of peas on my neck (that's supposedly one of the spots that cools you down the quickest), and promptly thawed them. (Tomorrow's dinner now has its side dish.)
2. I tried putting a wet washcloth behind my neck, but that didn't work. Nothing more to say about that. It just doesn't work. Save yourself the hassle.
3. I've taken cold showers in the hopes that I'll shock myself into leaping out of the shower and away from the frigid temperature, but I just end up feeling like I'm in an upright swimming pool with nice, relaxing tepid water, which makes me want to stay right where I am.
4. And, in what may be my most pathetic attempt, I lost it in the middle of the night and grabbed an ice pack (most often used for keeping things cool on the go) from the freezer, and, yes......slept with it. Now, before you judge, just come over to my apartment and soak in the heat until your head feels all hot and melty on the inside. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I tried to keep the thing on my neck, but that required holding it there, which required doing a job while I slept. So, I just put it on my sheets and then laid in the spot where it was. (Such shame, such pity.)
I'm hoping this heat ends nice and soon because I'm running out of ideas. And those ice packs are not soft.
My apartment in particular has been a bit of death trap. I've tried calling it a sauna and convincing myself that my pores are being cleansed each time I step inside my little heat box, but there aren't enough sweaty, partially clothed strangers in here to make it look like a true sauna.
I have learned one thing because of the heat, though, and that is: I am not yet a Californian (despite paying our above the national average gas prices [oh, look! We're beating the rest of the nation at something! Good job, California.] like the rest of you suckers. No. I realized that not having a sun shade for my car's windshield makes me a little late to the "common sense" party. (Those are typically not fun, but you do come away with some great life tips.)
You'd think searing the backs of my thighs on black leather seats, while branding the steering wheel seams into my palms would have gotten me right on that little errand. Hasn't happened yet. I must enjoy the challenge of maneuvering in my car so that I'm hovering over the seat while trying to steer the car with mind power until the air conditioning cools everything off. And fortunately, my car has excellent air conditioning. Which is much more than I can say for my apartment's air conditioning....
My air conditioner is basically an additional fan. It works great if your face is so close to the vent that you can see the freon in there. That leaves my and my roommate's rooms to fend for themselves. And mine's definitely given up. If you closed your eyes and thought really happy thoughts upon entering my room, you might think you were on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland during the part where you're supposed to be in hell. Which, by the way....how is that appropriate for a kids' ride? I feel like somebody didn't think that one through.
So, since my room is clearly not trying to help me out, and since the fan in my room is mediocre at best, I've had to get creative and come up with alternate ways to keep cool at night. Here are a few:
1. I tried putting a frozen bag of peas on my neck (that's supposedly one of the spots that cools you down the quickest), and promptly thawed them. (Tomorrow's dinner now has its side dish.)
2. I tried putting a wet washcloth behind my neck, but that didn't work. Nothing more to say about that. It just doesn't work. Save yourself the hassle.
3. I've taken cold showers in the hopes that I'll shock myself into leaping out of the shower and away from the frigid temperature, but I just end up feeling like I'm in an upright swimming pool with nice, relaxing tepid water, which makes me want to stay right where I am.
4. And, in what may be my most pathetic attempt, I lost it in the middle of the night and grabbed an ice pack (most often used for keeping things cool on the go) from the freezer, and, yes......slept with it. Now, before you judge, just come over to my apartment and soak in the heat until your head feels all hot and melty on the inside. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I tried to keep the thing on my neck, but that required holding it there, which required doing a job while I slept. So, I just put it on my sheets and then laid in the spot where it was. (Such shame, such pity.)
I'm hoping this heat ends nice and soon because I'm running out of ideas. And those ice packs are not soft.
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