Satan, Please Help

When I first moved to Southern California I was infatuated with the notion of very little rain and mild temperatures all year long. Prior to my move, I imagined wearing shorts and tank tops all year long, and laying out on the beach, eating my Thanksgiving turkey in a festive cranberry colored bikini. My daydream quickly faded once my mom and I arrived in sunny California, only to find ourselves surrounded by the thickest, soupy fog that “May gray” has to offer. The summers on this coast go as follows, May gray gives way to June gloom, July is absolutely perfect with temperatures in the 70s and bright blue skies, but this quickly disappears into the furnace like months of August and September.

Since I have returned from vacation the temperature has not gone below about 75 degrees, even in the evenings. This creates a pretty dismal scene in the air conditioner-less startup house. The poor dogs can never get cool and spend their days frantically panting, most likely silently swearing to their creator for not giving them the ability to sweat. There are fans in the house, but no number of fans is going to cool you off when the core temperature is in the triple digits. We sit lazily around the house with hot air blowing on us, hoping that an ice truck crashes into the house, or a glacier melts on one of the poles, drifts down the Pacific, and comes inland to find its final melting place at our humble abode.

The extreme heat poses a major problem when it comes time to try to lay down and catch some zzz’s. In case you missed one of my previous posts, I possess a superhuman ability to produce heat while I rest. This is a great trait in the dead of winter when your furnace breaks or you are trying to survive a harsh winter on the Oregon trail, but during Aughot and Helltember it prevents you from being able to go to sleep, and it is an absolute impossibility to stay asleep. I have been searing holes in the bed at an astronomical rate, and Butterfinger has been keeping his distance for fear of being burned.

Satan, if you could please help us out and take your temperatures back to the underworld I would really appreciate it. My body is sick of sweating, my beloved dogs are never comfortable, my co-workers are sick of my crankiness, and I would really like to be able to sleep next to my fiance. In return for your kindness I will give you nothing, but I will put in a good word for you with that other dude when my day comes. Maybe you could get in touch with some of your colleagues in the rain department and start to do something about this brown and charred landscape, only if it is not too much trouble.

A final word for those of you that are living in other areas of the world and think that Southern California is the place to be, think again. Yeah, we have palm trees, beautiful beaches, eye pleasing architecture, the Terminator as governor, and beautiful people, but we also have earth-hating monster trucks, higher taxes, inflated housing prices, and flesh melting heat waves. I really miss rain.