Most of you that read this blog have never met me in person. There aren’t very many people that I know that read this blog. At least, I don’t think so. Every once in a while, someone I know will say something to me like “so, I read on your blog that…” and it never fails to make me go whaaat? Ex-squeeze me? (Hi, pop culture reference from 1994). It’s not that I mind anyone reading this or have any delusions about it being in any way a private venue for idle insane rantings or anything like that. It just throws me a little. It’s like, you guys are my blog friends and then there are my in-person friends and having you all at the same party is cool but strange. Do you have different groups of friends like that? Like, if they were to meet, it would wig you out just a little?
Anyhow, for those of you out there who DO know me in person, especially the local ones here in Seattle, I have a little message to send to all of you. Rather than telling each of you individually, let me lay it on you here, announcement-style, and call it covered. Kay?
I am really sorry that I am ridiculously, deliriously, maddeningly happy in hot weather. The girl can’t help it now.
I know that I am generally a happy sort anyhow, and that in and of itself may be slightly annoying, but my usual brand of happiness is, at least, quiet. Understated. It’s right there, under the surface, but I try to keep it low key, because there is nothing worse than an overly pepped up happy person, tooting their own glee every chance they get.
But in hot weather? It all comes out. I don’t know what it is. Perhaps it’s the fact that I only get, all-told, maybe one full week a year when I get this much sun, and it makes my brain go a little haywire. And so, in weather that makes most people slow down and want to melt into a puddle, I am perfectly comfortable and ready to rock. And it causes awkward moments with all ya’ll that are miserable because you’re dehydrating up like a piece of human jerky.
So…sorry. Just, sorry.
In other news, you know what that crazy Nordic Boy has been up to lately? Tearing off the roof. I don’t mean that in some slangy 90s way. Raise the roof! The roof is on fire! Not like that. I mean literally. He is re-roofing the house. Because on a 90-degree day, what could be better than wrestling with roofing material and melty tar? Ah, refreshing.
I am excited about the new roofing we are getting, which will be eco-whatever (that’s a technical term) and reflect the sun and save us some Benjamins on the heating bill come winter. What I am not so excited about, however, is that right now? During the tearing out old roof phase? He is piling up the roofing discards in the front yard. As I sit in my living room right now, I look out the window and every few minutes a black, tar-filled, gooey mess flies down past my window. And I know we have to keep it there so that we can haul it to the recycling place all at once, but dang.
And was going to move on to the next part, near the house. But I am glad I didn’t now, because the front yard is jacked. And smells like tar. And is kind of scary looking. It looks like the Blob is eating our house.
Nothing can phase me though, not even a hideous, trash-filled yard. If the temperature dips though, I will have to go apeshit.