It's so hot I don't want to acknowledge that a world exists outside my front door. To prepare for living in Texas, one must sit in their bathroom with a hair dryer blowing in their face for at least 4 hours, increasing said exposure by 15 minute increments for at least 6 months. It's the only way. Trust me.
Why am I going THERE? Why am I sitting here bitching and moaning about being hot in August in Texas? Because I was in the middle of cropping pictures for my latest entry, all right in the world when suddenly it wasn't. The fan that I have heard reliably for the past two summers suddenly stopped whirring. I asked if anyone else heard that and nobody had words. I went outside to hear a buzzing where there used to be a whirr and a breeze. Instead of smelling outdoors, it smelled like burned metal.
A day of hell. It got to 95 degrees in this "house". Anyone who says the heat in Texas is "a different kind of heat" is friggen' correct.
The point is, I don't know what I was going to write about when I was doing these cards. I don't know how inspiring, witty or funny it was going to be. This insanity inducing hell heat robbed me of sanity and all I had left were these lousy Weight Watcher's cards.
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Let's hope for the sake of sakes, your "company" also includes people with the same severe dietary restrictions as you have. That would be awkward. |
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There's always a part two to these cards. These baby food balls neither sound like something I would eat, nor do they sound like something I would snub. However, the sauce is boss and it lost me. |
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That looks like just enough food to really piss me off. Nothing else. |
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Oh a Newburg. Yawn yay. I will say this Newburg has more sherry extract in it than the fake sangria I first posted. |
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Buckey. Who'd hurt this little fella? Can't skewer him and turn him into Basturma because he's infected. |
My head is cooled. I have prevailed. I hear the a/c fan running as it should. I will sleep with one ear open until
December.
