Just call me Homer

Yeah, you know what that means. It was entirely too hot today for a lot of clothes; it was over 90 and tomorrow is going to be at least 95. The house was well over 80 inside before I cooked dinner and really heated up the house. After eating dinner and washing the dishes I thought I would just sit down and put my hideously swollen feet up. Way too hot. I headed into the bedroom and put on a plain white t and headed into the living room. (By the way, the Plain White Ts is a great band - check out their song "Delilah"). I rounded the corner into the living room to present myself to Ryan to make sure he was cool with me hanging out - pun intended - in my T-shirt and undies. He laughed and said he didn't care. What do you know? Wearing as little as a lady can get away with (who is slowly becoming uncivilized and very un-lady like) worked! I cooled down enough that I had to get up and put on more clothes.

That was last night. Today is a little hotter and by a little I mean a lot; 7 degrees makes a big difference. Sure those of you reading this in Georgia or Okla -gag- homa - I can't even write it without shuddering- may be poo-poohing my complaints about the heat because you are in searing heat with humidity to match. Well, that sucks for you that you have to live in the South. We in the majestic Northwest are accustomed to pleasant 70 degree summers (and wet, wet, wet winters but that is what gives us our glorious greenery and it is not pertinent to my whining of the extreme heat we are having) and when the mercury - or whatever they use in thermometers these days - rises above 80 we wither and retreat to the air-conditioned spaces like Starbucks with their burnt coffee and pleasant atmosphere while the younger crowd has a different way to beat the heat. Scantily clad hoochie mamas head to Alki beach to entice the gang-bangin' wannabes trying to get their 'wazzup' on to yell all sorts of 'flattering' comments at them from their low-riding cars that match their low riding pants in an effort to hook up and swap diseases transmitted through bodily fluids. Then there are the super young kids (junior high) who look up to the hoochie mamas and gang-bangin' wannabes in their rituals of courtship and learn how to relate to the opposite sex. Scary. Their parents really should keep a better eye on them.

In other news from Van Row - Red Van Man is now Red Station Wagon man. Last week I saw him across the street sitting on the grass under the shade of a young tree eating lunch. A woman and gaggle of kids walking on the sidewalk passed him and crossed the grassy strip to the van. She had opened the passenger door and the gaggle of kids filed in. She walked around, looked at me - not a look to concern me - just looked, and climbed into the drivers seat. That's the last I've seen of the red van but not the last I've seen of Red Van man, now Red Station Wagon Man. His comings and goings are less regular since the red van was whisked away by the woman and gaggle of kids but he's still a familiar site. I must say I prefer the van. He was not at eye level when I was getting in and out of my car. It kind of makes me feel like a dog that I don't like making eye contact with him. When Kea has been a naughty dog (which she frequently is) she will not make eye contact and when she does it is fleeting - as if she is testing the water. Well, I digress yet again. There's actually not much more to say about Station Wagon man. He showed up at 4 am today and was gone when I got up but was back at his post when I left for work. At lunch time when I went home his car was there, minus him, with the drivers side window rolled down. I guess he didn't want to hang out in a car that was baking in the sun all day - maybe he was lying down in the back.

Stay cool and stay tuned for a story about my insurance company that will make your blood boil - or at least sympathize with my state of boiling blood. : )