Do you HEAR me, Don?!

Yes, it has been hot here in Austin. Horribly horribly hot, reltentlessly sweltering, and so so SO dry. But right now, out in the Gulf of Mexico, there is a storm named Don a-brewin'. And as of earlier today, this was Don's projected path:

If there is a God, and if that God doesn't hate Texas, we will be getting some rain from this storm and maybe, just maybe, a day or two where it DOESN'T get to 100 degrees or higher. If we DON'T get any rain and relief from this godawful summer, I cannot be held responsible for my actions which may or may not include, yelling, screaming, crying, ripping out hair at the roots, punching kittens in the face, spitting at preachers, littering, and farting on the elderly. Seriously. This rain NEEDS to happen, or your poor Pine Curtain Refugee may have to go to the loony bin and/or county jail.

Clearly I posted too early yesterday.

At post time, only ONE of my childhood icons had passed away and it had only gotten up to one-oh-two.

By the time I'd left work, Michael Jackson was dead, and it was one-oh-seven outside.

I have been listening to Michael's (pre-"Bad" only) music--as a solo artist and with his brothers--almost non-stop since yesterday afternoon. My personal song fest/dance party has sparked many MJ-related memories (to come in a future post...probably tomorrow).

But for now, I'm going to rest up for the Big Garage Clean Out, Part One that's starting tomorrow. That's right people: I'm spending most of my Saturday working in a garage that promises to get into the triple digits, heat-wise. So try not to be too jealous.

Until tomorrow...

Oh lordy. What have I done?

Y'all I just registered for a 3-day Basic Motorcycle Riding Skills class that will take place the first weekend in October. Holy crap. I'm already scared.

In other news, The Geej and I got to hang out with my friend Kristen and her son Graham last night. I think the Geej may have met her match in Mr. Graham. She's usually the bossiest boss in the room--especially when it comes to younger kids. However, Mr. Graham held his own and let hew know who was boss in HIS house. Too funny, really.

While we were there, Kristen showed us this amazing tray she found at a thrift store. It's called "Beach Bunnies" in case you were wondering, and it was on sale for half-off of 95 cents. SCORE! I am very jealous.

Then when I got home, THIS was happening:Just laying there, showing off his creamy twinkie-like center. Of course I buried my face in there and snorgled him mercilessly.

That's pretty much all that's happened around here lately. That, and lots and lots of sweating because it's been BRUTALLY hot. That tropical storm "Eduoard" that the news channels got so excited about was supposed to bring us some rain and some relief, but all it brought was some wicked humidity, which is SO pleasant when it's 102 outside. Blech.

Speaking of "blech," I must say how horribly disappointed I am in John Edwards. I really liked him and thought he was a smart guy. I can't believe he couldn't keep it in his pants. Shame on him. And what does it say about the state of the world that this career-ending story was broken by The National Enquirer? Pitiful.

Enough!

Y’all, it’s hot. I’m talking pit stains before 9:00am hot. I’m talking sweat down your butt crack hot. I’m talking sticky, unpleasant, relentless, late-August HOT! And I don’t know about the rest of you, but it is making me cranky as Hell. If you’ll recall, this time last year, Central Texas was reveling in a wetter-than-normal cooler-than-normal spring filled with gorgeous wildflowers. I don’t think we even hit 100 but a couple of times last year, and it was way later in the summer. But now? The rivers are quickly receding, we’re already on water rationing per the City, and the grass is crispy beneath our feet. To the east of Austin, it’s not quite as bad. To the west, it’s worse. I’m a Texan. I understand “hot,” and normally I can tolerate it. But to have it be so brutal so early in the year (Hell, it’s not even “officially” summer yet), is enough to turn even the toughest Texan into a sweaty, miserable grump.

Now that I’ve gotten THAT out of the way, how was your Father’s Day? Ours was good. BH’s boys were in town with one of their friends. The Geej and I skeedaddled for Saturday and Saturday night so that they could do “dude stuff” without us getting in the way. They fished. They skateboarded. They swam. They grilled. They had a nice time, and BH was a happy guy. I tried to get BH a new grill to replace our crappy one, but the jerks at Lowe’s weren’t helpful (i.e., I couldn’t get anyone to help me lift the huge box the grill I wanted comes in), so he ended up getting a Lowe’s gift card (designated for a grill purchase) instead. Totally unoriginal, I realize, but I know he—and the rest of us—will enjoy it.

Speaking of fathers, I had a funny memory of mine today: I remember when I was about 6-ish—skinny, with a light blonde and VERY unflattering chili bowl haircut—I would go visit my dad at his “Singles Only” swinging 70s apartment complex. His unit was on the ground floor, right in front of the pool. So of course I spent every waking moment of the summer days I was over there swimming. Daddy would lay out by the pool with a cooler of cold Coors and a portable radio next to him and doze all day while I yelled, “Watch this! Watch this! Watch this! Daddy! Watch!” at him about a gazillion times. (As if he might actually be interested in my canon balls or water ballet moves.) But the thing I remembered today was how annoying I was when he’d dare to bring something poolside to read. He’d be checking out the newspaper or a magazine, and I would splash him from the pool, getting whatever he was reading all wet. If THAT didn’t work, then I’d actually get out of the pool and come punch the back of the paper or magazine. And if I still wasn’t getting what I thought was adequate attention from him, I would administer a karate chop to the spine of the reading material that was often times fatal (since whatever it was probably already wet). God, what a brat, right? He would just sigh, light another cigarette and pop open another beer, and watch me for a while until he fell asleep. Those were the days…

And speaking of getting attention: I’m auditioning for a GAME SHOW on Thursday. Seriously, if there were ever a game show a) made for me that b) I might actually have a shot at winning some money on, it’s this one. I’ve never actually WATCHED the show, mind you, but I know the premise, and it taps straight into my special gift/curse, which is remembering a ridiculous amount of song lyrics in my tiny little brain. Remember my aunt’s birthday? No chance. Remember every word to “Right Down the Line” by Gerry Rafferty? I’m you’re gal. I’m actually taking a day off of work and going to the auditions, which are from like 7am to 7pm. If I don't get on the show, at least I’ll have some good people-watching story to tell with you freaks.