Do you know that the song with the lyrics, "I'm Hot, You're Hot, He's Hot," mentioned in my post title is sung by a guy named Buster Poindexter? Buster Poindexter! Some reason his name really tickles my funny bone. I just picture a little kid with glasses getting picked last for kickball, not a guy who sang a song that I always picture the Chiquita Banana Lady dancing to every time I hear it. Why do I picture the Chiquita Banana Lady dancing when I hear that song (and lets face it I only hear that song at weddings)? I have no effin clue. By the way, I only discovered that the song was by Buster Poindexter because I googled the lyrics because I wanted to make sure I got the lyrics 100% correct. This is who I am, I stress over the lyrics to the Chiquita Banana song. I'm so neurotic.
Believe it or not, I did not start this post to talk about the Chiquita Banana Lady (although she is worthy of a post). I wanted to tell you I'm sitting here and I'm extremely hot. And not the "bikini model sexy" type of hot. No, I'm the "I want to dive into a pool full of ice cubes naked" type of hot. We are smack dab in the middle of a heat wave in Southern California. We have had a particularly mild summer so far. A huge, huge blessing since we have no air-conditioning.
The other day I remarked to Adam that it had been a really cool summer, and I thought we had gotten off scottsfree. Later that day, I got some Chinese take-out and when I opened my fortune cookie, it said in a very cryptic way, "Don't count your blessings before they have hatched. Or you are apt to lose them." When I read that, I knew I was in for it because I am an avid believer in the wisdom of fortune cookies. Except once I got one that said I would soon be in a "family way." What kind of cruel joke is that?
When I woke up the next morning, the air felt stuffy. And that was a red flag that it was going to be a hot day. And it was. It was hotter than the devil's toe jam (as my Southern grandmother would say). The type of hot where you sweat wherever your skin touches the couch. Even the back of my knees were sweating. Yes, I just told you about the sweat on the back of my knees. I have no shame. And if there is one thing in the world I hate, it is sweating. I'm such a girl when it comes to sweating. I whine. I wither. I fade. Like a sensitive dandelion. And poor Sarah is so hot she has taken to sleeping wedged between the toilet and the sink, making it really hard to get into the bathroom. It is like trying to leap frog a killer whale.
It has continued to be just as hot every single day since. Worse of all, it is usually too hot for me to nap! I love to nap. In college, me and my roommate used to take naps at the same time and plan our days around our nap. Not that I nap everyday, but I nap often. (On a side note, I actually did manage to take a nap this weekend. And I told my wonderful husband to wake me up at 3 and he thought I said 5. He claims this is due to the noisiness of the fans we have going 24/7 lately. To his credit, it does kind of sound like a 747 taking off in our living room. So I woke up from the nap 10 minutes till 5, out of the deepest sleep in my life. I had pillow marks on my face, and I'm surprised I wasn't drooling. Only to find I had slept 3 and a half hours! I felt like the energizer bunny and didn't sleep a wink last night. THANKS ADAM).
The last thing I want to say is weather.com is absolutely evil. I can't resist checking their site everyday, and every-time I see the temperature the house automatically feels hotter. And weather.com is also a total tease because when I check the ten day forecast it always makes me hopeful that we only have a few days left of the torture left until it drops again. But when I check back the following day, the day of relief keeps being pushed back. This isn't even the first time weather.com has told me tales. It also told me it was going to storm on my wedding day. BUT IT DIDN'T. Oh wait, that was a good lie. But a lie none the less!