96 Degrees In The Shade
It happens in a blink of an eye; one moment you are enjoying a cold beer at my favorite bar, reveling and frolicking in the cool night air. And without warning, the blistering summer descends upon you.
This, dearest of diaries, is the case here in my desert oasis as summer has slapped me across the face faster and harder than an all too easily offended mormon virgin.
From my drinking binge saturday night, to my bed time beer this past eve, the night temprature has increased by at least 10 degrees pushing past the envelope of what even my heat loving ass considers comfortable. Metal, asphalt and plastic alike are no longer cool to the touch at 10 PM. Household air conditioning units city wide are bing fired up, tested and in some cases serviced and the smell of freon permeates the air as vechiclular cooling units are recharged to maximum capacity. Tire pressure is adjusted, sun screens are dusted off and put back on household windows and backyard swimming pools are doused with chemicals in preperation for the coming months. The number of out of state liscense plates have slowly diwndled to a trickle and those that are left are either college co-eds studying for finals or the truly insane that picked the wrong time of year to move.
For me personally, several oddities arise. The tan on my left arm (the one that hangs out the window when I drive) will soon acheive a strangely mismatched golden brown compared to my normally pasty white anaturaul body color. The tattoos that grace my back now heat up in one or two seconds, compared to a minute or so when kissed by the shining sun. Doctor Shols are replaced all around and such things as flannel boxers, shirts and sheets are banished to the depths of a hall closet. Fans are dusted off, incense and glade plugins replace candles for odorific emanations and even one acclimated to the heat such as me is forced to finally break down and dip into my stash of...god forbid...shorts.
It is usually this time of year that I make the swtich from thick, hoppy brew to lighter beers with less taste. And the bottles of rum come off the shelf much faster in the summer time and no one complains that there is "too much ice" in anything we drink. The best part though, is the lack of clothing that is worn by the fairer sex; shorts get shorter and scraps of fabric are tied about the torso and called 'shirts'. Bathing beauties in bikinis rub each other with oil and I'll be damned if every backyard pool has the chance of being transformed into a cheesy pornographic movie by merely tugging loose a couple of strings.
This is only the begining, I tell you! It's like this for five full months out of the year; May-October (no foolin) and the best part, dearest of diaries? It hasn't even hit 100 degrees...yet...
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