Hot. So hot.
You know what sucks about Southern California? Right when everyone else in the country is gearing up for the end of summer and the onslaught of crisp nights and falling leaves, we get slammed with Santa Ana winds and temperatures shooting through the roof (Indian summer? More like Indian Heat Wave From Hell That Must Be A Curse On Us, Thanks To The Spaniards Who Invaded and Enslaved The Kumeyaay Indians). And then we all spend the months of August through October laying around panting and cursing that bright, bright SoCal sun.
Of course, most sane people in San Diego remember that this happens every year and have invested in things like central air or even one room air conditioners. But not us. No, we just plodded along through the (decidedly moreso than usual) mild summer and forgot completely that The Fires of Autumn were right around the corner.
And so, we spent the weekend draped across various pieces of furniture, trying to catch the slightest breeze that blew through the apartment. It was so hot that at one point Riley was literally sprawled across the floor while drinking some water. He just couldn't be bothered with the effort of standing up. (On the good side, when it's hot, he's quiet, so I've actually slept better this weekend than I had slept all week.) All I did today was go to the library, then come home and lay in bed between two fans and read Jennifer Weiner books. Now? Front door's wide o[en to try and get some air circulating and I'm walking around in a tank top and underwear and I do not care if anyone sees me. It is that damn hot.
The coolest room in the apartment right now is the bathroom. I'm considering sleeping in the bathtub to stay cool tonight, except our bathtub is one of those little skinny 1970's efficiency bathtubs that do not agree with my ass. And really, the heat makes me puff up like a blowfish, so do I really want to risk waking up all swollen and stuck in the bathtub?
So yeah. That was my weekend. It was hot. Oh, and my wedding shoes came in. Yay!
You know what sucks about Southern California? Right when everyone else in the country is gearing up for the end of summer and the onslaught of crisp nights and falling leaves, we get slammed with Santa Ana winds and temperatures shooting through the roof (Indian summer? More like Indian Heat Wave From Hell That Must Be A Curse On Us, Thanks To The Spaniards Who Invaded and Enslaved The Kumeyaay Indians). And then we all spend the months of August through October laying around panting and cursing that bright, bright SoCal sun.
Of course, most sane people in San Diego remember that this happens every year and have invested in things like central air or even one room air conditioners. But not us. No, we just plodded along through the (decidedly moreso than usual) mild summer and forgot completely that The Fires of Autumn were right around the corner.
And so, we spent the weekend draped across various pieces of furniture, trying to catch the slightest breeze that blew through the apartment. It was so hot that at one point Riley was literally sprawled across the floor while drinking some water. He just couldn't be bothered with the effort of standing up. (On the good side, when it's hot, he's quiet, so I've actually slept better this weekend than I had slept all week.) All I did today was go to the library, then come home and lay in bed between two fans and read Jennifer Weiner books. Now? Front door's wide o[en to try and get some air circulating and I'm walking around in a tank top and underwear and I do not care if anyone sees me. It is that damn hot.
The coolest room in the apartment right now is the bathroom. I'm considering sleeping in the bathtub to stay cool tonight, except our bathtub is one of those little skinny 1970's efficiency bathtubs that do not agree with my ass. And really, the heat makes me puff up like a blowfish, so do I really want to risk waking up all swollen and stuck in the bathtub?
So yeah. That was my weekend. It was hot. Oh, and my wedding shoes came in. Yay!
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