Soaked 'til I Nearly Croaked

           Folks, I nearly melted yesterday. First, I was wearing an oil-based lotion. Then I STUPIDLY decided this would be a good day to try on bras. That’s right, bras.

          First, I went to Nordstrom’s. I walked in and saw the cutest pair of  Max Mara striped pants. They looked perfect for this hot weather. I turned over the price tag. $1,135.00.  Yep, over a thousand dollars. I stopped. Had I suddenly stepped through a time warp to the future, when pants cost more than my first car?

          I looked at the bras. They were also several times as expensive as I was willing to go. Got back in my car and drove around the mall to the other side where I entered J.C. Penneys.

          A huge bra department, but right through it—RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE—a ten-foot wide pathway to the returns and purchases counter! This means that I am scrounging for the right size bra while a crowd of beer-bellied, unshaven men are watching me as they stand in line to return a pair of jeans. PLEASE!  Did they have to put the bra department right here?

          I grabbed an armful, went into the dressing room, and began the excruciating process of trying on bras that are too tight, too pinchy, too big, too everything. Few things in this world will make you sweatier than this endeavor, especially if there is not one employee to help.

          Finally, DRIPPING WET, I took the one bra I found that fit, and stood in line for purchasing. At the counter I asked the cashier if she possibly had any Kleenex back there, and she got me two. I mopped my face, the back of my neck, basically every surface I could.

          I wiped my eyes and realized my eyelashes had peeled off from the heat and moisture. I made a beeline for my car, and a nice postal worker opened the door for this soaking wet rhinoceros. “Thank you so much,” I said. “I’m so sorry you have to work outside in this heat.” (It was 104 degrees).

          The cheery guy just shrugged and said, “Oh, it’s okay-- I hum Christmas songs.” I could have thrown my arms around him (but he would’ve gagged).

          And I decided to share this brilliant tip with all of you, so you can pretend it’s cold out, even when people are baking cookies on their car hoods, so that you can survive the scorching weather.

          I should have hummed “White Christmas” while I was trying on those bras.

AND… quick life hacks are all yours as you stay inside with the air conditioner on.  Just visit my Youtube Mom website!

 

Beat This Heat

           This is the hottest California summer any of us can recall. So I’m going to take you on a virtual visit to the coldest spot on the map, where I lived for three years: Iowa. When you finish reading, I hope you’ll feel at least ten degrees cooler.

          Now, you may think Antarctica is the coldest, but the average temperature there is only -36 F.  In Iowa, it would hit -40, but really -70 with the wind chill. I kid you not. And remember, this is 102 degrees BELOW FREEZING, which is 32.

         Apparently a jet stream passes over Minnesota, then swoops down over Iowa to dump a fresh load of snow and ice before rising again and heading out over Illinois. 

          You can literally freeze to death as you’re walking along. Seriously, a woman did this coming home from a high school football game. They routinely cancel Winterfest, hockey games, ice skating, basically everything outdoors. TV newscasts show piles of dead livestock, and they tell you how long it’s safe to be outside before flesh freezes.  Why the penguin is not the Iowa state bird escapes me.

          Our dog’s water bowl, inside the house, would freeze solid because icy wind blew through the doggie door. Snow plows would pile up all our freshly shoveled snow into a mountain blocking our driveway, big enough to go sledding on. I began wearing thermals in September and kept wearing them into May.

          So now, when you see temperatures in the 90s—and higher—just sit down, close your eyes, meditate, and repeat this mantra: Iowa, Iowa, Iowa…

Or, you can sit and watch my Youtube Mom videos, full of clever life hacks, including ones about how to cool off!

 

The Day I Tried to Clean the Oven

           Since we’re all wilting in this blistering heat (triple digits all week), I decided to organize and clean. Inside. Where it’s cool. I clipped my hair up and organized the pots and pans. I organized the silverware, knives, and spatulas.  Then I decided to clean the oven.  Why not? It’s definitely not a day when I’m going to bake something, right?

I was already sweaty, but not to be deterred. First I sprayed oven cleaner throughout the oven. Then I remembered we have a self-cleaning oven.

So I used a million billion paper towels, and wiped off all the oven cleaner. Next I started the oven, which immediately locked and chose its own time of 3 ½ hours. 

Soon the house was filled with fog or smoke or smog-- take your pick-- and the smoke alarms went off.  Shrill beeping all the neighbors can hear.

 

I opened the front and back doors, so now it’s not only smoky, but HOT.  What a crazy day to choose for oven cleaning! Now I’m even more sweaty.

St. Bob sees my frustration and kisses me on the back of the neck. “Aaugh!” I say, “Don’t kiss my sweaty neck—it’s gross!”

But I am too late. He doesn’t say anything, but the poor man’s lips have to be covered with salty sweat. Now I’m even more upset.

  THIS is why people eat too much ice cream.  There. Like how I did that?

You can stay inside without opening any doors if you busy yourself watching my Youtube Mom videos.

10 Signs it's Just TOO HOT!

    We are in the triple digits all this week, in Sacramento. Here's how you know it's time to drive up to Tahoe, or West to the beaches:

1-       Your makeup slides down so far that your eyebrows now look like a mustache.

2-      You buy two bottles of water—one to drink, and one to pour over your head.

3-   Your pantyhose ignite from your legs rubbing together.

4-      You need pot holders to open the car door.

5-      You stick to the fabric lawn chairs.

6-      Your hair is so wet, people think you dyed it a darker color.

7-      You spend your lunch hour standing in front of a fan display at a department store.

8-      Your postage stamps melt into one solid glob.

9-      You’re so sweaty that your shoes make squishing sounds when you walk.

10-     You realize no kids will be born nine months from now.

Stay inside and enjoy the life hacks on my Youtube Mom channel.

The Heat's On

        Well, we slammed into the triple digits this week.  If we were made of cookie dough, we’d all be crispy by now (and this proves you are NOT what you eat, apparently).

          So I thought I’d let you know that it could be much worse.  Here are some hot-time-in-the-old town temperatures to consider:

          The hottest temperature ever recorded on earth was 136 F. in Libya, but California is a close second, with 134 F. (56 C.) in Furnace Creek Ranch in—you guessed it—Death Valley.  Aptly named locations, I might add.

          People know that lightning bolts are a major jolt of electricity, but they don’t always know how hot they are: 50,000 degrees F., five times hotter than the surface of the sun.

          A welding torch can be 6,000 degrees hot, enough to melt steel. Yes, gloves and a mask are a good idea.

          Heading to Hawaii to cool off?  Just as long as you avoid the 2200 degrees F. lava, you should be fine.

          Last, diamonds will melt at 1650 degrees F., another reason to stay in where it’s air conditioned.

          And while you’re inside, watch some of my life hacks right here. (Including how to make ice cream in a baggie)

Guess Where it's Not Cold

         I’ve been seeing numerous social media posts about huge snowfalls. 

          Everyone seems to be layering, sniffling, shivering, and turning up the heater.

          Everyone except me.  I am still battling hot flashes, which makes 30 years of them now, thank you. If anyone from the Guinness Book of World Records is reading, you are welcome to come by and document my achievement.         

Masks trigger them. Within 15 minutes of putting one on, I am peeling off my jacket. 

          Last time I went through airport security, the TSA agent said she needed to pat me down. “Okay," I said, "but you’re going to get wet.” I felt like one of those signs at the waterpark whale show, where they warn you not to sit in the front row.

          So yes, if you guessed the one square foot of space wherever I am standing, you guessed correctly. Your prize is knowing you are waaay more comfy than Joni is.  Oh—and that you can enjoy my Youtube Mom videos right here.

Beating the Heat-- Not

           I have discovered that I do not do well in extreme heat.  Thanks to the 100+ temperatures we’ve had, for MORE THAN A WEEK WITH MORE TO COME, my already meager supply of patience has completely evaporated.

          Running errands with St. Bob, who truly earns his sainthood in this weather, I was whining about the face mask elastic that snapped me in the cheek, the seat belt that wouldn’t uncoil, the sunscreen that has melted down onto  my chest, the wind that feels like someone is holding a blow dryer--  on high and  on hot— right at my face, and a few other choice complaints.

Finally he said, “I need to take you home, strip you naked, and--” We all know how this sentence is supposed to end, right?  Only mine ends, “And put you in a tub of ice water.”

This is like the time he said, “If I hadn’t married you…” which was supposed to end, “I’d be the most miserable man on earth,” but which actually ended, “You’d be one of those women with forty cats.”

So yes. I’m having a bowl of ice cream.  Shut up.

Okay, once a year or so I’m in a testy mood. But you, wherever you are, can cheer me up by visiting my web site and buying my books!

Hot friends

          Do you have hot friends? How about hot in-laws? Well, try to top this. My brother-in-law’s truck burst into flames recently:

          A generator in the truck caught fire. Luckily he was nowhere near it. He and a hunting buddy had gone away for dinner, and noticed a giant plume of black smoke as they returned.  When they got there the flames were just reaching the huge stash of ammunition AND a propane tank.  They said it was like a war zone with one explosion after another.

          Then another friend of mine, who races cars (I am so jealous; you know that’s my spirit career), sent this shot of his car that also caught on fire. Luckily the driver wasn’t hurt.

          And then, at the same racetrack, ANOTHER truck burst into flames—and yep, it had a generator on board that caused the fire.

          Maybe it’s just as well that I became a mild-mannered (okay, a semi-mannered) writer who sits indoors, perfectly still, and stays out of the heat wave.

          But hot deals await you, my friend. Check out my books on my website here.

Ants Not in Your Pants

          I wish this weren’t true.  Something fell out of my pants in the middle of an intersection.  No, it wasn’t ants.  That would have been a blessing, right?  Plus ants are so small that no one would have noticed.

          Nope, it was something many times the size of an ant.  I will tell you what it is so you can stop guessing. It was these two GIGANTIC HEATING PADS that they put on my hips after injecting me with those two shots I told you about recently.

          Here’s the thing.  Those shots take a minute and a half each, so your rear end is a tad sore when all is done. Kindly, the nurse offers you a hot pad to place in your pants over the injection site.

          But I forgot that I’ve lost weight on this vegan diet and by the time I got outside and was CROSSING THE STREET, thank you, they slipped down my pantlegs and out the ankle.

          Mind you, I now have to stop in the middle of traffic, bend over, and pick up these suspicious items that have just fallen on the asphalt-- in front of everyone, especially others crossing the street and those in cars awaiting a green light. I can only imagine what they were thinking.

          But you can’t just leave them on the road—that would be littering, right?  So, humiliating though it may be, you must bend over (which now hurts to do because you just had the shots!) and pick them up.  Oh well.  At least it went from me to you in this last paragraph.  So there’s that.

          I can pretty much guarantee that my books will never fall out of your pantlegs. Buy them here and see if I’m right.

Having a Hot Birthday?

          St. Bob is having a birthday soon.  Very soon.  So, in an effort to plan festivities, we thought we’d check the forecast for that day. California is having a heat wave and the projected high for his special day is 103 degrees.  Yikes.

          “Hey,” I said, when we learned this, “that’s the very age you’re hoping to hit one day!”  Some time ago we both imagined our top age on this earth, and that was his prediction for himself.

          So, of course I began wondering, what if you live to be the temperature it is on your next birthday? Great news for summertime babies, right?  But not such hot (no pun intended) news for those born in the dead of winter.  In fact, what if it’s minus-something on your next birthday?

          When we lived in Iowa it was not only below zero through much of winter, but waaay below.  In fact, 70 below.  Granted, that was with the wind chill figured in, but it was still 40 below without wind chill.  This, my friends, is crazy.  Anyone who lives in cold like this should either be a penguin or a lunatic.  I think I’m the latter, although sometimes I feel a bit like both.

          And summertime birthdays, while great for projecting your ultimate age with my silly formula, can cause a few problems themselves.  One time the kids and I decided to surprise Bob by painting the garage walls for him.  But again, it was during triple digits and without air conditioning.  I also made his favorite meal of fried chicken on many of those birthdays, and standing before sizzling oil when it’s sizzling outside again qualifies me for the lunatic label.

          Probably the worst attempt at a birthday surprise was to take him to Yosemite to see the waterfalls, which that year had dried up entirely due to, you guessed it, hot weather.

          But however old Bob is or will be, I will always see him like this—movie star handsome as he hosted a TV game show. Even when he's 103.

          Bob’s birthday wish is for you to buy one of my books right here.  Okay, that’s a lie.  He has no idea I’m even writing this.  But it’s my birthday wish, and you can never start shopping too soon.