Uh?
By Citronella on Wednesday, July 2 2008, 21:32 - Permalink
Hi all, Citronella here.
In a whiz. Passing by, swiftly, through the air.
To dust the bubbles, sort of. Busying myself with an old rag in hand, creating big clouds of dust, coughing and sneezing through the process, and making very little difference in the end.
I thought that with summer (think beach, cocktails by the pool, lazy readings, and if you're French, diabolo grenadine[1] or demi-pêche[2] at a café terrace) I would have more time to blog.
Wrong!
When I am not busy with my teaching assistant duties (preparing discussions, solving the homework, answering mostly stupid questions ten times in a row, grading), I focus my energy on this paper that might eventually be coming together after eight months of nothingness. I run a few extra experiment (with the added trick that I haven't run any of those in over a year and I get easily confused), and I fret over figures. Oh, figures! The gap between a good, interpretable, significant figure and a publishable figure with the axis and the contrast between the colors and the respective sizes of all the components just right is a world of sorrow I have a hard time crossing.
So less blogging. And less reading. And less relaxing.
But still the time to wonder, after a Sunday spent at the Fabulous Feline's new place: how many couples break up over air conditioners? How many women end up throwing dishes around because, really, having to wrap yourself in a blanket in summer is getting absolutely unbearable? How many men wake up in the middle of the night, astonished to see that the woman who usually never does it simply stole all the covers of him ‒ and sleeps with a blissful smile of revenge on her face? How many women simply get the hell out of here because it is at the very least warm over there? How many men have to face with increasing irritation the shrilling voices of their otherwise reasonable and affectionate sweetheart, repeating in an higher and higher pitched loop that bloody 75F is not a fucking acceptable temperature when one wears the goddamn short skirt and freaking light tank top one is damn well entitled to wear without a blasted extra sweater when it is sodding blazing hot outside?
Being cold because of a bloody air-conditioner might make me a little cranky, you see.
Oh, you noticed?
Comments
Leaving the rant about air conditioning alone for now ...
I LOVE diabolo grenadine. It's my favourite drink in the entire world - I adore it.
There goes my thought that we could be great friends. 75 is too hot for me in the summer. My house is kept at a brisk 68 or 70 and I'm quite comfortable. But temperature battles between couples are always tricky - I hope you end up finding a suitable compromise (or break his AC so you can have your way).
Amy > I have lots of sweet memories associated with diabolo genadine, even though sometimes I was changing flavors (mint or lemon)...
Katie > If it's 68 or 70, I need to wear jeans and a T-shirt. If it's 90-something outside and I need to walk 15 minutes, take the bus, then walk another 15 minutes to go to your place, clearly I'm going to need a shower and a change of clothes by the time I arrive... or maybe I would only visit you in winter? Or do you keep it even colder in winter? (The Fabulous Feline's brother keeps the house at 60-62 in winter. I found it quite cold, even when wearing my warmer clothes.)
I still have several options to make things better: refuse to get out of the bedroom (it gets more sun and gets to 77 or 78 which is way better), discretely up the temperature on the controller by a few degrees and see if he even notices it, or wait until he is fed up with me arriving in summer clothes and changing into a pair of jeans and a sweater when I arrive ;-)
I'm perpetually cold, so I totally sympathize. No matter what the temperature outside, I always wear jeans and end up putting on a sweatshirt at work!
UR > I figured that with a real sweater (and not a slim jacket that's closer to a shirt than to a jacket) I could stand the cold air blowing on me.
But why it has to blow on me is something I still don't fully get.
(Especially in the bathroom! I'm just getting out of the shower! I'm naked! Stop blowing cold air on me, you evil thing!)