Hot. Too Hot. Way, Way Too Frickin' Hot.

Holy crap it's sweatier than a goat's butthole in July. And it is July so it's fitting. My super cute little apartment that I've been so sad about leaving is now reminding me very much of the depths of hell. (I visit on a semi-regular basis, it's where my roots are don't you know). But without the hijinx. So yeah. Hot. Sweaty hot. Sitting around in my underpants hot. Oh my god, I should be wearing my sparkly devil horns! Where are they?! Oh shit. I packed them already. Damn. What I wouldn't give right about now for some matching sparkly red underpants. Then at least I could feel stylish while sitting in front of the tv in my...yep...UNDERPANTS! Speaking of underpants (which I just was), there's this girl that I work with who cracks me up (but that's not actually my point) who just hates the word panties. Seriously. Panties. It grosses her right out. Probably not as much as me sitting around in my super hot granny panties would (I'm kidding, I don't actually have granny panties - no really, I don't, I got rid of them in my quest to become foxier - foxiness comes from within you know. You've gotta feel the fox. Which kind of sounds like weird porno speak for the girly parts and now I've grossed myself out. Not an easy thing to do either). Yikes. Of course having said that I have no granny panties I should add that I am possessed of a vast array of comfy cotton underpants. Not the peak of sexiness but not of the granny either. Why am I telling you this? Good question. Best not to dwell.

So I'm moving in 26 days. I think. And that's freaking me out now that I've actually thought about it because I still have a whole buttload of stuff to do. That sounds kind of dirty too. Damn. I must buckle down! Buckle down! But not tonight. It's too late to buckle down tonight. I'll commence the buckling tomorrow after work. Oh and after I have brunch with my friend. And walk the doglet. Then I will commence with the buckling. And some fine buckling it will be. The bucklingest of all the buckling. I don't even know what that means. I think I'm losing my mind. It melted and dripped out my ear. And the doglet ate it. Which sadly didn't make her any smarter either because she has a brain the size of a walnut herself. And she exhibits this on a regular basis by alternately killing and humping her plush doghouse. She prefers to sleep in a cardboard box. I think she may have emotional issues. Perhaps she should seek therapy of some sort. Yep. Therapy. With the biting and the humping and the sleeping in cardboard boxes and the whatnot. I smell garbage. Why do I smell garbage?