Sweaty pits and hairy eyeballs; stickin it to the MAN

UMMMM, I told you so. At least, I think I told you. I told some of you, at least.

But then, you likely already knew...because your underarms are suspiciously damp...

Summer begins today. Unofficially, of course. But still. The weather lady said it will be 90 degrees, which in my opinion is HOT.

Wait, you say. Spring just sprung! The vernal equinox was just last Thursday!

Well, people, this desert doesn't obey calendars. There is no law in the Old West. We've been springing since January, and now begins the long, hot summer.

I think we should have a moment of silence for the 80 degree days, which are gone forever. Or, maybe not forever, but until the end of October, if we are very lucky.

I think the government should fix our weather. It seems to be required to tend to all our other complaints and ailments. Why not this? Maybe Washington should pay for our air con bills, if it can't figure a way to shade the whole state. If I get skin cancer, I'll know it is George Bush's fault, and I'm totally suing.

As a symbol of my discontent, I might be joining the other hot and grumpy aging bourgeois revolutionaries, who wear dolphin shorts and tank tops with horrifyingly large arm holes to Costco. In this way, we can gross you and THE MAN (Feds) out with all kinds white and pasty, flabby and veiny thighs, and sometimes worse, in protest, until somebody fixes this weather. It is a diabolical plan, and we all know that diabolical plans almost always work.

In other news, big landslides closed the Beeline Highway in both directions, so we had to come home from the cabin in Payson via Globe and the many, many Renaissance Fair-goers. This took lots of time. Kids were very whiny and so I became very whiny. I got home and ran to Wal-Mart to buy food for Easter dinner (Beesons came here; thanks for doing all the dishes, ladies!) but the shelves were nearly bare. I grabbed the last bag of frozen hash browns and turned around to see a pinched-faced lady giving me and my frozen potatoes the hairy eyeball. I felt rather smug and happy that I'd gotten my hash browns, until I realized it was Easter and Jesus would totally have given the hairy eyeball lady his hash browns and gone without funeral potatoes (which is easily my favorite part of the meal), even on his big day. I guess I have a long way to go. I'm not so much like Jesus yet.

So now that I have gorged myself on potatoes and kept the party going with carrot cake for breakfast, I would like to make an announcement:

My rear end and I are going back to the gym! (No, I'm serious. April fool's is next week, and I was going to pretend to be pregnant, not pretend to exercise.) Do you wanna go with me? Ross is selling 3 month passes (little league fundraiser) to Fitnessworks (Baseline and Higley) for 20 bucks. Like, you slip Ross a Jackson, you go to the gym for three months. If you don't know Fitnessworks, they have the best classes in town. Seriously, they all are so entertaining I occasionally forget that I am exercising and that I actually hate it. Except for the spinning class, which was taught by my friend Marci. Even though she did an admirable job, I was wholly miserable and thought I might die a little bit.

If you are interested, leave me a comment or call me if you've got my #. The last day is Thursday.