... and I can't stands no more!
Yes, I am a puss, especially compared to my hearty brethren from places like Idaho or Minnesota, but there's a reason I moved to the desert... TO BE WARM!
When I came home from work this morning, it was 36 degrees and windy, giving us a chill factor of 28 frickin' degrees. That's just too damn cold. When I came home, I jumped right into bed, under my comforter and flannel sleeping bag, yet my hands and face were still chilled. I heard Rob banging around in the kitchen, so I got up and went out to talk to him.
Basically, I did my best impersonation of Kramer-from-'The Contest'-episode--
I'm out, Jerry!
Actually, I said something along the lines of Dude, I don't care what the utility bills are next month, it's too damn cold in this house. How's about we give in and turn on the heat?
His response? Ok--I had it on earlier already.
That bastard, making me think this whole time that he hasn't been cold in this weather! I don't care where you're from, 28 degrees is freezing cold. So we said the hell with it and cranked up the furnace. I'm not quite toasty warm yet, but I'm getting there. At least my fingertips aren't frozen as I type this.
Oh, and I checked the weekend forecast for Henderson-- Saturday's high is 46, and the low is 28! Good grief!
At least I finally got my nifty new fleece jacket to keep me warm when I go to and from work, (and sit outside with the smokers to get away from the loud-ass Spanish TV in the break room. I swear every Mexican that works in the casino must be deaf). It's long enough that it stays put when I bend over, not exposing any skin to the elements, and the sleeves are wonderfully too long, coming just to the base of my thumbs when I'm hanging my arms down at my sides. (One of the problems I have when shopping for clothes is that my arm length is close to 38 inches, and most standard men's clothes have sleeve lengths of 36 inches--so long sleeves are iffy when it's not an oxford dress shirt where you can specify sleeve length).
Anyhow, this jacket is comfortably big on me, and it's perfect for sailing too, if I ever get my ass back out on a boat. I remember a sailing trip that Derek, Ed, and I took back in April of 2002, and it was cold, windy, and gray out there on the ocean off the coast of Southern California. A fleece jacket under a rain suit would've been perfect at the time, when all I had was a sweatshirt and a windbreaker. Now I am properly equipped to take on the elements.
But not today!
I'm gonna hibernate here in my bed until around noon or so, then get up and run back to the alteration shop over by the airport. If I don't pick up my pants by 3:00 pm, I can't get 'em back until after New Year's--my tailor is apparently heading back to the Old Country for the holidays. And I have to go--I'm down to wearing the most raggedy of my still-functional black pants. At first glance they look ok, but I can just tell that if I make one sudden move, they'll fall off of me and disintegrate like the Bluesmobile in front of the Cook County Assessor's Office.
And nobody wants to see me standing there in the middle of the pit in just my drawers and an apron.
But if there's anybody out there sexy enough to pull it off, it's me!
Mikey
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