San Francisco, You Cold, Miserable (Lovely) Beast.
I’ll admit it. I miss San Francisco weather. I MISS foggy summers and 50 degree days. You don’t even know how well you’ve got it over there, no sir.
In Baltimore, it’s 89 with a real feel of 106. Tomorrow the high is 100, Friday (just in time for Anders’ birthday!) the high is 103, and Accuweather is warning me of impending heat-related doom with miniature red thermometers scattered all over the forecast. There is a risk of weather-related migranes. Um, what? Huh? What IS that? All I know is that I am Dorothy and this is NOT Kansas.
Maybe it’s all of the Sherlock I’ve been watching, but lately I’ve been dreaming of wintertime (fuck, even Fall) when I’ll be able to wear jackets with scarves and lots and lots of socks. I’ll even be able to wear normal shoes again.
I’ve never lived in a place where the heat was so miserable that I didn’t like to wear clothing. Baltimore is that place. I’m pretty sure that my chocolate milk almost went bad during my 1/2 mile walk home from the grocery store yesterday. I’m going to have to start bringing insulated bags to the grocery store with me.
I would also like to point out that if my apartment had central air, most of this bitching would be unnecessary. But it doesn’t. That in itself is a horrible crime.
