Melting

When people talk about Seattle it's all about the rain. Ugly gray drizzle, rain rain rain. Rain. More rain. But today? It is 92 degrees. NINETY-TWO DEGREES. That's six degrees short of a boy band. Ha ha, I am so funny.

But really, this is RIDICULOUS. You go to Arizona if you want 92 degrees. Maybe Miami. And Dallas. I've been to Dallas. Leaving the airport is like stepping into a blast furnace.

Seattle is Pleasant. We break out the shorts once the weather warms up to, oh, 65, 66 degrees. That's summer! Take a walk through the UW campus on a late spring day with temperatures in the high 60s low 70s. People are NAKED.

But today it is too hot to breathe in my apartment, let alone prepare the grilled hamburgers and a pitcher of hard lemonade like we PLANNED. No one is going to want to sit in our zillion degree oven on the second floor. We've got two fans going, but the plastic is melting as I type.

I think when everyone gets here we'll take them out to an air conditioned dinner. If it sounds like I'm complaining, I am. Not that I don't appreciate every sunny day I get, but this is bordering on the 9th level of hell. I know it's, like, super duper boring to talk about the weather, but that's all we can talk about. How hot we are. And how we are DYING.

Tomorrow I am attending an outdoor concert. It is supposed to be four or five degrees warmer tomorrow. I will let you know if I survive.