Title Inspired by Scylla the Man’s Man.
Friends, is there anything more miserable than waking up from a lovely dream where you were making christmas cookies with a group of German guys and your mom and the snow was falling and some little black beetles were crawling into the kitchen…
only to remember that it’s July, Christmas is ages away, and that the minute you open the door to your bedroom, it’s possible that a small thunderstorm will brew in the doorway from the combo of 65 degree airconditioned air, and the stale, horrid, humid 10,000 degree air from the rest of the house.
We don’t have central air at the Jarbaby Haus of Pain, just fans, and the fans aren’t doing the trick. To add to the gross, sticky, I-haven’t-showered-yet-and-I-smell heat was Mr. jarbaby’s request for “good luck french toast” before his audition this morning.
Fantastico. Picture me, if you will, flushed, sweating, still a little smoky and sticky from last night’s karaoke venture, standing over a fucking GRIDDLE, while simultaneously making hot hot hot hot starbucks coffee and keeping the oven on to keep the french toast warm.
I’m a big, gross, hot, aching crabby ball of humidity.
IS NOT THIS CITY POSITIONED ON A LAKE FOR THE LOVE OF PETE?