This morning, I thought, "Well, if it doesn't rain by this afternoon, I'll wash the car when I get home from work, and then I'll write an entry complaining about the heat."
Works every time.
(You may have to click on the photo to get the full effect. Just sayin'.)
I do love Albuquerque's summer storms. One minute it's clear and sunny, the next minute the mountains have disappeared behind an angry black cloud and the parking lot's flooded. Tempremental. Hell, just getting from the office to my car was interesting. In the space between the entrance and the first row of cars, the rain switched from the gentle pitter-patter setting to firehose. By the time I got to Bucky, I was soaked. And I don't mean "oooooh, look at me, I'm a delicate spun sugar flower of girlie-ness and can't handle the damp" soaked. I mean, I was more of the "it doesn't matter that I left my windows rolled down for two hours, what's a little extra water at this point" soaked.
I was still squishing when I got home, which delighted Adam. I think he may have even dubbed me "soggy pants," but I was so busy trying to get upstairs and change into dry clothes, I might have heard wrong.
The storm moved from the east to west, which I am told is the pattern of a traditional Duke City monsoon system. About a half-hour after I got home, the rain caught up. Adam dragged me outside to admire it, but at that point I was done, thank you very much. I'm glad the rain's returned, I'm glad it broke the heat, but in my heart of hearts, I was ready to be dry.
He really did call me a soggy pants, then. I know, I'm no fun.
The rain stopped about a half-hour ago. It's hot upstairs, but not as hot as it has been the last several days. I have the fan on and the window open. From where I am, I can hear the sound of wet tires on wet pavement as cars go through the puddles in the nearby intersection. The whole house is asleep except for me, and here I am, wrapped up in a cotton blanket from Target, typing in the dark. I don't know why I'm up, really. There are some minor apprehensions and my mind won't stop looping a Jenny Lewis song, but nothing that should prevent me from crashing. I'm just up, talking about the rain.
Works every time.
(You may have to click on the photo to get the full effect. Just sayin'.)
I do love Albuquerque's summer storms. One minute it's clear and sunny, the next minute the mountains have disappeared behind an angry black cloud and the parking lot's flooded. Tempremental. Hell, just getting from the office to my car was interesting. In the space between the entrance and the first row of cars, the rain switched from the gentle pitter-patter setting to firehose. By the time I got to Bucky, I was soaked. And I don't mean "oooooh, look at me, I'm a delicate spun sugar flower of girlie-ness and can't handle the damp" soaked. I mean, I was more of the "it doesn't matter that I left my windows rolled down for two hours, what's a little extra water at this point" soaked.
I was still squishing when I got home, which delighted Adam. I think he may have even dubbed me "soggy pants," but I was so busy trying to get upstairs and change into dry clothes, I might have heard wrong.
The storm moved from the east to west, which I am told is the pattern of a traditional Duke City monsoon system. About a half-hour after I got home, the rain caught up. Adam dragged me outside to admire it, but at that point I was done, thank you very much. I'm glad the rain's returned, I'm glad it broke the heat, but in my heart of hearts, I was ready to be dry.
He really did call me a soggy pants, then. I know, I'm no fun.
The rain stopped about a half-hour ago. It's hot upstairs, but not as hot as it has been the last several days. I have the fan on and the window open. From where I am, I can hear the sound of wet tires on wet pavement as cars go through the puddles in the nearby intersection. The whole house is asleep except for me, and here I am, wrapped up in a cotton blanket from Target, typing in the dark. I don't know why I'm up, really. There are some minor apprehensions and my mind won't stop looping a Jenny Lewis song, but nothing that should prevent me from crashing. I'm just up, talking about the rain.
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