the secret world of sweaty broads

this is a sign outside a church on monitor street.

surviving new york city as a thoroughbred californian can be daunting, but most of the time I'm fairly calm about it while doing my best to mask how baffled I am. yesterday night jen came over and I offered to cook for her using the kitchen of my neighbor for whom I am catsitting rufus' new girlfriend, LK. (short for Little Kitty. don't look at me. I didn't name her.) I was completely jazzed at the opportunity to bust out my culinary prowess that often goes to waste as there's no kitchen in my basement studio, just a sink and a hot plate that can fry up a mean runny egg in a pinch.

I went upstairs with my produce to set up a little spread before jen biked over, and when I opened the door I was hit with a wall of heat, and the pungent smell of stale, nuked cat food. the apartment felt as if beelzebub had shown up for supper sans invitation. LK looked at me expectantly and then at the inedible pile of warm chicken 'n liver bits in her bowl and I obligingly opened a new can while holding my breath. I wouldn't even have to turn on the broiler to cook the damn salmon. it was well over 100 degrees in the kitchen already, so I decided it was time to finally bite the bullet and purchase myself a nice, practical oscillating fan. I huffed and puffed to the ABC dollar store by the train station and picked up their deluxe model for $28.99 (dollar my ass.) and jen and I lugged it back to home base. as it turned out, the fan made it just bearable to be in alex's apartment that I dubbed "the seventh level of hell", and ten minutes into its maiden ventilation, the engine burned out beyond any shadow of hope for repair. the broiler was on and the fish only halfway cooked. jen took off her pants and I pinned up my hair and we couldn't tell if we were getting drunk off of crane lake chardonnay or having a double heat stroke in our underwear.

as we were eating our delicious salmon, mother nature decided to spice up her already miserable feat of a climate by throwing a lightning storm into the mix. I watched out the window as the jagged white bolts slashed through the post-sunset sky over the BQE as the cats ran around pell mell, knocking anything over that wasn't bolted down. jen was totally unfazed having grown up in florida, but I was having a bonafide california attack. I was as freaked out as the felines when the sheets of rain started to fall and the booming thunder shook the walls. on the way out later to meet up with kimi, I caught my reflection and saw that my chest had broken out in a heat rash. cute. turns out that's not something that happens only in kenyan jungles.

today, I've decided to hide out in the cave for as long as I can and avoid having any other unfavorable reactions to the weather, like melting into a puddle of shimmery goo like alex mack. I'm going to start living solely off of popsicles and emergen-c packets and research bargain airfares to alaska. it's starting to look as if I were ever stranded on a desert island that I shouldn't even try to survive while awaiting rescue, and that I should just employ the nearest cliff as a jumping point. I'm a wuss. I'm also willing to compensate a willing party to fan me with palm fronds and feed me frozen seedless grapes with free giggles and ha-ha's and access to my closet. not a bad deal?