I'm Sweating Just Standing Here...

As beads of salty water burst forth from the pores in my skin and run down my forehead into my mouth, I wonder why the fuck anyone is out in this weather, let alone, why I am out in it. For the past few days here in good 'ol metro Detroit, it has been fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk hot. And on top of the heat, we have had a crapload of humidity too; hell, I think I'll do a few laps using the backstroke through the air tonight.

This is the weather I like to call "Asshole weather" because the only people who should be out in this sweltering, sweat-while-you-stand-in-place heat are assholes.

Well, today, and possibly even yesterday, consider Jenny and I assholes. The end of the month is quickly coming, and with that is the the deadline to move my ass out of my apartment. Although I figure it would be easier and more satisfying to just light a match to the whole apartment and let it burn to the ground, saving myself the hassle of moving my things, I need to prep my house, while at the same time getting all of my stuff, accumulated pack-rat style, in my apartment either thrown away, or packed up and moved out. I am going to hate this.

Our new house, currently has no A/C, and therefore traps heat like a greenhouse. So, because I need to get my ass out, and into the new place by the 31st, and because there is soooo much to do to the new digs to get it ready, we have been working and sweating our asses off to get our house just right. Ripping out carpet, tack strips (which incidentally could be used as some sort of middle eastern torture device), installing ceiling fans, getting the floors re-finished, and taking out loads and loads of trash; just to name a few things.

Someday, this house will be ready. After days upon days of work, sweat and cash flying out of my wallet towards "home improvements", it will be worth it. I will be our own personal Taj Mahal, our perfect little house. I guess I'm becoming handy the hard way, figuring out things for myself, using knowledge my Dad passed down to me. I'm no Bob Vila, but I'm on my way.