It's Even Hotter In Hell, You'll See

More short ones-

This might come as a shock to everyone, but it gets hot in DC every August. I know that sounds crazy, but it's true. And sometimes, it gets really hot. Other times not so much. And we measure the temperature through something called an average. See, actual temperatures fluctuate around the average. So some days we're above, some days we're below. When it's ten degrees hotter than usual, that's not an emergency. They don't cut into the Simpsons with Breaking! News! Updates! when it's 68 in April. So they probably shouldn't do it when it's 98 in August. I appreciate that you're sweating, and you're pissed. I hope it gets worse and you fucking move. Because if I see one more fatty on TV bitching about the unbearable heat I'm going to scream. We all feel really sorry for you, because you're braving the oppressive elements to make your daily slouch from your McMansion in Fairfax to your SUV in the driveway, and the trek from your covered parking garage in Reston to the 68 degree mausoleum-styled nuclear missile building defense contractor's factory of death where you earn your six figure income defrauding decent Americans of their freedom and liberating Iraqis of their lives. Fuck off. Sweat with the rest of us.

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I got stuck in the elevator in my office at about 8am on Monday. When I was younger I suffered from acute agoraphobia. I can safely say I don't any more. We were probably only stuck for about a half hour, but there was no ventilation and the two women in there with me were handling it with varying degrees of insanity. One woman kept drinking her hot tea from Starbuck's to stay 'hydrated.' The other kept calling the emergency help desk on the elevator phone thing. Each time the operator said, "Help is on the way, call back in 3 to 5 minutes to check in." Each time the lady waited 90 seconds and called again. I stripped down to my tshirt to try to cool off and called Baby to curse my luck. We were finally 'rescued' when a repairman, without warning, made the elevator drop a floor and a half and let us out. I thought for sure we were plummeting to our deaths. But alas we lived. Once we got our he informed us that due to security measures, we couldn't use the stairs to go UP to our offices. We had no choice but to get back on the elevator. Awesome. I finally got to our office and passed a VP in the hallway. I was covered in sweat and wearing a tshirt. A hour later HR sent an email to all staff members reminding us we must stick to our business casual dress code even in the heat. I hit Reply All but quickly hit Delete. I'm telling you, it was close though.

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Baby is leaving for Lollapalooza this afternoon, and she won't be back until Monday. I literally have no idea what to do with myself. I don't know what I'm going to eat. I don't know where I'm going to go. I don't know what I'm allowed to watch on television. I don't know where the following things are: cat food, cleaning products, stove, dignity. She's actually going back to Chicago again next weekend. If I don't die of scurvy it will be a miracle.

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Twice now in the past month or so I have been on a Metro train with a guy holding a bag of rotting fish. The first time was before a Nats game, when I picked up Baby at Federal Triangle. The smell of fish was overpowering on the platform, but we figured it was something at the station and we could escape it when we got on the train. The combination of rush hour and the Nats crowd made it hard to tell where the smell was coming from, so we just jumped in the first car of the first train that came by. We were packed in, but I was positive that I could still smell it. Baby tried to convince me that it was just still in our noses from the platform, but I could still smell it over the general reek of rush hour Metro. Sure enough, when we finally got to RFK a guy got off the train carrying a plastic shopping back that must have been the source. This is not a fishy smell as if he'd spent the day fishing and had his catch in his bag, mind you. This was at least a day old, and rancid. Same situation (different guy) happened a week or so later, this time between L'Enfant and Convention Center. Same plastic bag. What the fuck is going on here? Can you imagine what would possess you to bring rancid fish on a Metro train? Was this an act of terrorism or something?