Humidity & Me


Humidity: the state or quality of being humid. A quantity representing the amount of water vapor in the atmosphere or a gas.

NOTE: Every * is a substitute for a curse word. THE curse word. The mother of curse words. I can paint a tapestry with * but I chose to shield you from a total obliteration of your faculties because it would make Jesus happy.

Let’s talk about humidity. I *ing hate humidity. Heat I can handle, but *ing humidity, literally makes me angry.

To give you some idea of my acclimation, I work in an office where the a/c is set at 72’ *ing degrees all the time. I spend a good 8 hours absorbing moisture-free, cold air, and generally exhibit “chicken skin” from being cold. This is what my body is adjusted to for the majority of my day.

My main environment leads me to believe I live in a humid-free world, and I happily buy into that. Some days, my acclimation back to reality are better than others. The worst *ing day this summer thus far was last week. I opened the door at 5 pm to walk to my SUV, and my glasses fog up. “What the *?! Seriously?! My glasses are fogging up!”

I drive to Albertsons. I open my car door and begin walking to the automatic doors. Glasses. Fog. You get the idea. “*****!”

I curse inside my head from the automatic doors to my SUV. The Dollar Tree is next. Lord knows Dollar Tree doesn’t even have what can be in any way defined as “air conditioning” in their stores. Standing in line behind a woman with 56 *ing items for a baby shower, the *ing sweat begins at my bra strap and slowing slides down into my *ing jeans. I HAVE THREE *ING ITEMS AND I AM ABOUT TO SHANK A BITCH!”

From Dollar Tree to my SUV. SUV to my front door.

I swear, I was ready to commit a *ing homicide by that time. This is the part of the story where you think I am able to go inside my apartment and chill. You would be wrong. Sophie has to pee. Back outside I go and today she decides to screw the * around. My hair is literally growing to what seems to be *ing epic proportions. I can feel it absorbing the moisture and expanding. I wore it down. It’s not even pulled back off of my face.

It is *ing ludicrous that I live in this atmosphere. My hair is completely *ed up constantly and “humid homeless” isn’t as *ing attractive as one might think.

We won’t even touch on the fact that I have oily skin… not getting wrinkles as I grow old isn’t really the “bonus” it would seem to be in *ing humid conditions.

A. heard this rant this past weekend. She thought it might be therapeutic to write it down. Based on the use of asterisks, I curse much LESS when I write than I do when I am verbalizing.

My retirement needs to be spent in a dry *ing climate. My hair has done fabulous things in Flagstaff, AZ. North CA makes for great hair as well. My hair was very full in Shanghai, China.  And in Chicago in the winter. Jamee suggested Colorado. A. didn’t give her input on a state or country. Florida is out of the question for obvious reasons.

I see where that paragraph could go for days.

To sum it up, I *ing hate humidity. I honestly try to keep the bitching inside and just curse in my head. Sometimes it comes out, but the majority of the time, unless I am with my girlfriends, it remains inside eating away at my soul. You are welcome. I might need psychiatric help in a few years.

Damn it. Sophie needs to go to pee. It’s humid outside. **************************!!!


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