Waiting for the heat to break

I don't know who authorized this heat wave, but it sure as hell wasn't me. I do not do well in the heat. Not at all. Even if I do spend the majority of my day in an air conditioned office, the heat affects me in big bad ways.

Witness today. I was exhausted most of the day. Shouldn't have been. Mr. Zips and I went to bed early and, with the AC on weren't even awakened by the totally awesome college kids that live (to party and party to live) next door.

I left work early to go to my farm. It was pick-up day and even though it would have been a lot easier to ask one of my neighboring CSA members to pick up my share, there were lots of U Picks today. And, well, I've never picked strawberries before. YUM! MESSY!

But there I was, in the 90 degree heat, in the middle of a farm, wearing the wrong clothes and the wrong shoes, my hair in my face, my glasses fogging over (and don't EVEN get me started on the horror show that is the lack of delivery from VisionDirect contacts!!!!!!!!!!), my fingers stained with red juice and dirt.

Getting home was even worse. My AC is shot in my car and traffic was not moving. So I sat there, windows down to no avail. And I sweated. And sweated. And all the sugar from those strawberries that made it directly from vine to mouth fermented in my tummy. Not yummy.

Suffice to say, I didn't work out today. I came home and made straight for a cold shower. I feel bad about it, but Mr. Zips is teaching me (altho I protest) that it's entirely OK not to be a workout freak every day of my life. I will not (okay, I might not) blow up like a ginormous balloon.

But, the heat is supposed to break with a huge, ferocious thunderstorm. I can't wait. I can smell rain in the air and there was thunder rumbling earlier. But, where, oh where, is the relief?

People wanna know why I'm an Earth nazi? Because if global warming really really happens, I'm gonna be a complete and total bitch.

Home Again Home Again

Had to go back to NJ this weekend for a funeral. It was my dad's sister's husband and I didn't know him very well. So, to be perfectly honest, I wasn't really too sad about it. I mean, I'd only met the guy twice. Still, we used to be very close to my Aunt (until she got really weird and started sporting a fake British accent which, apparently, is par for the course in Morristown, NJ...) and now she's twice widowed.

One comforting thing was that the church was packed. (Yes, I said church. I was in a church for three hours and nothing burned down and no one melted.) By all accounts, this guy was really quiet and although he did a lot of volunteering, he wasn't very social. But the church was literally standing room only. It gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, actions do speak louder than words.

On the up side, I did get to see my best friend and her daughter, who is now gainfully employed at the local Taco Bell. We amused ourselves by calling her "Ma Bell" and making goofy faces at her all night. It was so great to see her - both of them - and catch up. Really makes me realize how lonely I am for a friend who's close by, someone I can ask to coffee or a beer and not have to drive an hour or five to do it.

So basically, the entire weekend confirms for me that I really need to get out and make some friends. And whether that's volunteering, taking a class, or actually speaking to the people I see every week in yoga, well, I've gotta do something.

File it under eye openers and growth experiences.

Dubious Distinction

My hometown got a shoutout on the radio this a.m.

Well, kinda sorta.

When I tell people where I'm from, I usually say "It's an itty bitty town on the Delaware River, just across from Easton, PA. You might have heard of Bethlehem, PA? Or Allentown, in the Billy Joel song? Lafayette College, Lehigh University?"

Notice I don't say anything about the town itself. One, because no one's really heard of it. Two, because we're really only famous for one thing.

The BoxCar.

The BoxCar no longer exists. But back in the day, it was a strip club, conveniently located adjacent to a bridge, with all the law enforcement avoidance that suggests. It was not a nice place. They did not serve alcohol, you had to BYOB. They didn't have many famous dancers, most came from the ranks of my high school. But it was famous.

About ten years ago, the BoxCar showed up in the Darwin Awards. Apparently, a patron was enjoying the, um, nectar of the gods, and choked on a pastie. Brilliantly done.

Today, "'Lil Jimmie Norton" referenced the BoxCar as the worst ever venue for a comic, ever. At least no one died in that version.

In case you're wondering, I've never been there. But it's where my ex-husband had his bachelor party.

Is it any wonder I don't go home very often?

Marriage is Safe

Yesterday, Massachussets did the right thing.

It's a good day when sanity and compassion trumps fear. There's all sorts of reasons I have problems with people who are against gay marriage - political, historical, personal reasons.

But the soft and squishy reason that I support the right for gays to marry is this -- the world is in desperate DESPERATE need of more love. However, whoever, whenever, wherever people try to express that love.

Compassionate. Christian. Conservative. REALLY?

The other night, I was listening to (gulp) Bill O'Reilly's radio program. (I'd already heard that day's OnPoint and Mitt Romney managed to get AirAmerica off the air in Boston....)

The topic was the immigration bill and whether or not it can hold onto its rapidly faltering support. A caller from southern Texas weighed in:

"I was in my truck, parked in a rest stop, and some illegal came up to my window looking for some water. Well, I didn't give him any water, but I sure as heck called immigration services on him."

Wow.