broken record

I hate to grouse about the heat in Our Fair City, but...

Jesus Christ on a cracker: it is fucking hot.

Since Friday it has been nothing but blinding, searing heat with absolutely no relief. 80 degrees in the dead of night. No breeze. No rain. Nada. Honestly, I'm not even inclined to leave the house.

On Saturday, I had to walk over to the President and First Lady's house to retrieve my vehicle and I thought I'd have a heart attack. On the way over there I passed by the Park Tavern, a restaurant that rests on the corner of Piedmont Park and is popular for its outdoor space. What did I see going on there? A wedding. A FUCKING WEDDING. There had to be at least two hundred chairs set up OUTSIDE, awaiting the hundreds of people who would come in suits and dresses to sit there. I'd hate to be that bride: it would be tough to maintain one's composure in the hateful glare of two hundred people, all of whom were simultaneously thinking, "Fuck you, bitch, for making me come to your stupid ass outdoor formal wedding in June. Bitch." When will they learn to have their outdoor weddings in April or May in Atlanta - you know, when the weather is picture perfect and the flowers are in bloom?

Oh, and while I'm just feeling a little bitchy, lemme add another little komment about the heat. This gay obsession with avoiding sweat is wearing me out. I swear, if one more person makes a komment about the fact that I've broken a sweat while standing outdoors in 95 degree heat, I will go apeshit on them. "Hey, ever hear of anti-perspirant? Heh heh heh..." Anti-perspirant? I hadn't heard of that! Oh my god...where can I get some?

Other events this weekend included a lot of QT with the OSW. And a lot of drinks. And some good food. No sex (not that I'd tell you about that if I did). To be perfectly honest, I can't even think of sex in this heat.

I think I'll go to Provincetown. Yeah...that's it. I gotta get outta here for a while.