I don't know if you've heard, but it's fucking hot in New York. I don't know if you've seen everyone's screencaps of their iPhone weather app showing the temperatures. I don't know if you know that the pavement is literally melting and people are dying from falling into the sinkholes (I don't know if that last part is true). #Heatwave is trending.
I love the social implications and commentary of the weather. People pretty much always agree when it comes to the weather. It is what unites us. And if you ever come across someone who doesn't agree with you or who can't hold a simple conversation about it, you can be fairly certain that they are on the spectrum or a total asshole. People who are normally introspective and quiet become uncharacteristically expressive: "Wow, it's fucking HOT!" People who like to argue about everything finally agree with you: "Yeah, I know, I lost half my weight in water. But seriously, can we talk about your poor life decisions again?"
The thing is, people just can't accept it. It's really fucking hot, so we must vent about it. We will go out of our way to pretend it's not unbearable by continuing our regular routines. We still take showers, we put on clothes, some people even drink hot coffee, those fucking bastards. It's no fun to say "I am aware that I could fry an egg on my head right now, I accept this, and I will adjust my life accordingly." No, no. No adjustments will be made. Instead, let's talk about it.
I'll admit it... It wasn't until this week that I decided to just give in and let it be hot and stop trying to control anything about my life. Most notably, the way I look and smell. To say that I sweat like a whore in church is the understatement to end all understatements. I sweat like the filthiest, most sinful, disgusting whore in the Vatican while there's a #heatwave multiplied by 100. I wake up every morning with the shakes from dehydration. My bumbum is swampier than the Florida everglades. It's really awful and it's sloppy and it's wet and it's just plain, flat out gross. However, it is me. And I have come to accept this.
I have accepted that my hair will magically transform itself into a Jheri curl as soon as I leave the house. I have accepted that I will need to change underwear at least 3 times a day and I will have to wipe my bumbum when I pee. I have accepted no color or pattern can disguise my sweat and that it will always be visible. Quite happily, I have accepted that I can get drunk off half a sip of a wine cooler as a result of constantly being dehydrated. As if it's not clear already, I have accepted that I will not be or feel "cute" so long as the temperature is above 80 degrees.
One thing I've learned in this life is that you can't change the weather, even if Twister tried to make it seem like you could. And I am totally okay with whining about it to an extent. But let's be real. Take off your clothes. Stay inside. Drink lots of water and only tiny amounts of alcohol since that's all you'll need anyway. Tell your lover to stay the fuck away from you because you're fucking hot. And accept it already.
I love the social implications and commentary of the weather. People pretty much always agree when it comes to the weather. It is what unites us. And if you ever come across someone who doesn't agree with you or who can't hold a simple conversation about it, you can be fairly certain that they are on the spectrum or a total asshole. People who are normally introspective and quiet become uncharacteristically expressive: "Wow, it's fucking HOT!" People who like to argue about everything finally agree with you: "Yeah, I know, I lost half my weight in water. But seriously, can we talk about your poor life decisions again?"
The thing is, people just can't accept it. It's really fucking hot, so we must vent about it. We will go out of our way to pretend it's not unbearable by continuing our regular routines. We still take showers, we put on clothes, some people even drink hot coffee, those fucking bastards. It's no fun to say "I am aware that I could fry an egg on my head right now, I accept this, and I will adjust my life accordingly." No, no. No adjustments will be made. Instead, let's talk about it.
I'll admit it... It wasn't until this week that I decided to just give in and let it be hot and stop trying to control anything about my life. Most notably, the way I look and smell. To say that I sweat like a whore in church is the understatement to end all understatements. I sweat like the filthiest, most sinful, disgusting whore in the Vatican while there's a #heatwave multiplied by 100. I wake up every morning with the shakes from dehydration. My bumbum is swampier than the Florida everglades. It's really awful and it's sloppy and it's wet and it's just plain, flat out gross. However, it is me. And I have come to accept this.
I have accepted that my hair will magically transform itself into a Jheri curl as soon as I leave the house. I have accepted that I will need to change underwear at least 3 times a day and I will have to wipe my bumbum when I pee. I have accepted no color or pattern can disguise my sweat and that it will always be visible. Quite happily, I have accepted that I can get drunk off half a sip of a wine cooler as a result of constantly being dehydrated. As if it's not clear already, I have accepted that I will not be or feel "cute" so long as the temperature is above 80 degrees.
One thing I've learned in this life is that you can't change the weather, even if Twister tried to make it seem like you could. And I am totally okay with whining about it to an extent. But let's be real. Take off your clothes. Stay inside. Drink lots of water and only tiny amounts of alcohol since that's all you'll need anyway. Tell your lover to stay the fuck away from you because you're fucking hot. And accept it already.
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