Remember how we were all, oh, Summer… where are you? We miss you and want you to visit! We will cook fresh vegetables every night in your honor! And feed the kids watermelon everyday! And have BBQs with our friends in the lovely evenings!
Yeah, well, I'm over it.
It's fucking hot, you guys. That's not even swearing anymore – it's the actual temperature on Weather.com.
Austin, TX = Fucking Hot.
Like epic, eyeball bursting hot. The kids and I stay inside all day and just run laps around the house while we scream. Periodically, one brave child will go run laps around the backyard, and then come inside, drenched with sweat, and lay comatose on the couch for an hour or so. I can't really complain about that, except for the fearing heat stroke part.
I haven't been posting a lot because there isn't much to report. Shocking, I know! We have an impending dental drama on our hands, where Ike-a-saurus will have to go to the hospital and get knocked out to have several teeth fixed, but I have decided it's too hot to think about, so I've pressed that worry back into the gentle recesses of what's left of my brain.
We did have some excitement last week when MEAN DUMB THEIVES broke into my husband's car and stole his wallet. Actually, they stole his whole work bag. This not only included his wallet, it also contained our brand new salad spinner. Bastards! They managed to rent several movies from Redbox before the bank axed the cards, too. So, wherever you are, MEAN DUMB THEIVES, I hope you are enjoying your movies while you eat expertly spun salads.
Also, I've been having a bit of a writing confidence crisis lately, so that's another reason I haven't been blogging. I don't want to – and can't, really – fill the blog with angsty authorly posts. I just sort of have to suck it up and keep writing. That's hard to do, though, when you just want to whine about your woes to anyone who will listen. So I've been keeping the woes quiet; trying to tuck them back in the quiet recesses of my brain where the dental surgery woes go.
The problem is, this type of thing causes me to have bad dreams, including one wherein I beat the shit out of Anthony Bourdain for no good reason at all. And, in the dream, when I'm done punching him in the face repeatedly, I force his arms around himself into the most arm-breaking self hug ever. Sorry, Anthony. I didn't mean to get you involved. I would offer you an expertly spun salad as an apology, but the MEAN DUMB THEIVES stole the salad spinner.
So that's the summer in a nutshell for you. Fucking hot, impending OR visit, suffering artist bullshit, missing salad spinner, pummeling Anthony Bourdain.
At least it's never dull.