Little secret for you. I’m not a fan of summer. My innards are about five degrees hotter than your average bear, and I really hate sweating (especially with no hair). When folks that don’t live in this state ask me how I like the weather (because the weather and the Mall of America are the only things anyone knows about Minnesota) and how I tolerate the winters, I’m not lying when I say I LOVE IT – snow, cold, frozen, all of it. So, dearest Mother Nature, when my calendar says October, I can usually verify that by two things – the Twins are done playing baseball and I don’t have to worry about seeing the temperature above 90.
Should the first on that list change, I would accept it gladly and move on without bitching one single bit. But, c’mon. You know I have to turn the air on if it gets above 85 degrees, and that means shutting all the windows, and generally driving my dog bat shit because he can’t go outside and guard our balcony like the bloodthirsty savage he is.
My usual solution? MOVIE TIME! But the only movie I really had any notion of wanting to see was Mr. Woodcock. How can you not want to see a movie called Mr. Woodcock? And, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Angelina Jolie boned Billy Bob Thornton for years.
Wouldn’t you know that it’s not playing anywhere in the Minneapolis-St. Paul metro area? Why do I always miss see the sure-classics the first time they’re in the theater? Never mind. Yahoo! Movies just sucks, and it’s actually playing at 5:50 somewhere near me, but seriously, that’s three hours away.
Riley and I played America’s Next Top Model this morning. While I’ve only seen two of the seasons (shut up), I really think Ms. Tyra Banks need to invest in making those underfed hoochies do a photo-shoot with a dog. I would beat their asses any day.