Heat-inspired Hatorade
Summer sucks.
Heat sucks.
Sweating sucks.
Humidity just adds insult to injury.
Not being able to exert the smallest amount of energy, like bending your pinky, without feeling faint sucks.
Watching your poor kitties slump to the floor in a limp, comatose pool of fur sucks. I ask you Mayor Daley, where are the kitty cooling centers?
Not being able to make a toast or boil an egg without the kitchen transforming into an oven sucks.
Not being able to enjoy an iced drink before it becomes a disgusting watered down drink sucks.
Not being able to remove your clothing due to heat-related stickiness sucks. And is possibly dangerous, depending on bladder status.
Having reason to spend great amounts of time in a darkened theater rocks.
Having an excuse to not clean the house sort of rocks. But in the end, the house will reach new astronomical levels of filth, which will suck when cleaning resumes.
In the end, I guess I am just a fair-weather friend. Weather extremes are total b.s. My aversion to heat over 80 degrees, high tolerance for rain, an inexplicable love of herd animals and an irrational fear of the state of Florida are the exact reasons I believe my past lives have been spent in temperate climates, where everything is green and lush all year round. The Pacific Northwest? Ireland? Scotland? Ah, my people. But I digress. I guess I am just trying to get my aggressions out before I leave this meat locker called work and go directly into the frying pan of Midwestern humanity. I believe Kate suggested a very zen-like approach, that one should try to become one with the heat. I say I become one with the Mr. Freeze pops in our freezer and call it a day. In fact, today I caught myself thinking of a new business venture… Kitty Popsicles! Pawsicles! Refreshing Pawsicles in Tuna, Chicken and Salmon flavors provide crucial hydration and pure kitty enjoyment. Why don’t they exist already?! I’m a genius! I guess maybe the heat has produced one good thing today. Hmm. That’s a firm maybe.
Update: It’s 11:30 and the wordsmifs handy dandy weather tracker says it’s still 89° in Chicago. Why the weather hate me?
Snickeriphyllis
Have you seen Snickers new ad campaign? I almost hit the bumper in front of me on Assland Ave. when I read a giant billboard which I thought said “Hungerection”. When I got closer I realized it said “Hungerectomy”. It still didn’t want to make me eat a Snickers. It made me want to take care of my body so I don’t wind up in the hospital have to get something removed.
Peanutopolis?…yes, this headline was draped across the length of a CTA bus. Reminds me of a Greek candy bar.
Satisfectellent?…this candy bar is okay, but not great.
Substantialicious?…a tongue-twister…try and say it, 3 times…NOW…at your desk…in your cube…people will think you are crazy…no go get a Milky Way!
It not even real.
This, paired with the news of The Hoff’s upcoming autobiographical musical unexpectedly entitled, David Hasselhoff: The Musical, is just too much. Too, too much for this poor, world weary brain to handle. I mean, where does The Hoff get off (don’t answer that) thinking his life is deserving of a Lifetime drama, let alone putting his often ridiculed career to the music of Teddy Pendergrass? I blame the Germans for this one. Their unnatural love of Baywatch has clearly given the green light to a production such as this. The only saving grace, and the reason the masochist in me will most likely have to go see this show, is that The Hoff himself has promised it to be “totally campy.” So, apparently the moral of the story is, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. And if you can’t seem to shake the bad joke that is your acting career, use it to your advantage. The frightening thing is, it’s sort of working on me. In a brilliant career maneuver, he’s actually got me feeling bad about making fun of him. He’s so delusional and untouched by all the ridicule and mockery that surrounds the very mention of his name, that I find myself actually rooting for him in a way. Like, don’t scoff at The Hoff. *coff*
Believe me, I second that emotion.
Separated at birth?
Guy Smiley.
Me.
Pleasesaynopleasesaynopleasesaynopleasesaynoplease. say no.
No bones about it
I just received an email from Collarbone. Collarbone apparently has a hot stock tip for me. Tell me, does one trust a clavicle for stock information? I mean, I usually go to my tibia for that, but I guess I shouldn’t generalize. I suppose when I really think about it, any one of the 206 bones in the human skeleton has the potential to be very successful in the stock market when they put their marrow to it.
