When Wednesday rolls around this week, this will be me.
I will be at a work conference at the Paws Up resort in Greenough, Montana. The vendor that holds this conference every year for its distributors likes to choose very nice destinations, but this is their first winter destination. I am afraid.
As someone, who has lived half a mile from the ocean for pretty much my whole life, I don’t do cold weather. The weather is currently double this here at home, and I’m already cold. Hopefully I don’t freeze.
I traveled inland for work today, two hours inland. I thought I was going to die. It is so ridiculously hot out there. Triple digit temperatures? That is uninhabitable land as far as I am concerned. Now I’m lying in my bed, thinking about how 75 degrees is too warm.
Can someone fan me while I fall asleep?
No, not the closet. I am currently sitting in my shower with all the lights off in my bathroom. Why? It’s fucking hot. This is the coolest place in the house with all the cool tiles. I admit it’s a bit creepy, but it’s so hot. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m contemplating not showing up for my birthday party tonight. Think anyone will miss me?
Why is it so damn cold? I have no idea how people live any further east than Los Angeles. Anytime the thermometer reads below 50 degrees, it is far too cold. This is what we, the males of the species, refer to as “Weenie Shrinking Temperature.”