Dear Blog,
It feels like my face is melting off.
Wait, let me start over: so, yesterday I had a real bitch of a day and when I finally stumbled through my apartment door (or, 'The Gateway to Hades" as I like to call it), I was nearly knocked over by the smell of fumes. I began scanning the place for the family of graffiti artists that I assumed must have recently taken up residence in our dining room. When no such artists were immediately apparent, I started to panic. I mean, I don't know about you, but when I come home to weird, toxic fumes and there aren't a bunch of punk kids spray painting on the walls, my next thought is "OHMYGOD, A GAS LEAK! THIS PLACE IS GONNA BLOW!!" Then I remembered that everything in our apartment is electric and panic subsided, due in large part to the fact that, thanks to all my speculating and huffing around looking for the source of the smell, my head was beginning to feel a bit light.
Cut to 3 hours later when Jame-o finally gets home to find me half unconscious on the couch watching the pre-finale to SYTYCD.
Jame-o: Buddy, what is that smell? This is terrible, how are you even sitting in here?!
me: ...............uh............hmmm..............um.............what?
Jame-o: come on, let's go sit on the porch while I call maintenance.
me: *eyes rolling back in skull*
He drags me outside and calls maintenance and as we sit in the suffocating 197 degree Atlanta evening air, I begin to regain control of my motor skills. After maintenance provided little more than a shrug in our general direction, we climbed into bed with the windows open, the fan full blast and fell asleep around 1:45am.
I was a little bit loopy at work today.
When I arrived home this afternoon and flung open the door, the smell was gone. Probably because it had been vaporized by the heat of the kiln that we once knew as our apartment. Apparently, we'd blown or shorted or exploded some precious part of the air conditioner and I am not shitting you when I say that it is hot in here. And not in the Nelly "I'm gonna take my clothes off" club jam kind of way.
It's sauna hot.
It's tank top sticking to your skin, sweating on the backs of your knees hot.
It's Johnny Depp before he got all old and turned into Keith Richards hot.
It's Paris Hilton "that's hot" circa 2002 hot.
It's nature channel African safari where flies are getting stuck in hyena eyeballs hot.
James called our old pal Mr. Maintenance Man again.
This was his solution:
Temperature regulation fail.
Yes, that my friends is a 4' tall & unforgivably noisy window-unit air conditioner. I think that the true beauty of this machine, aside from the deafening racket and the fact that it might as well be spooning with me since it's positioned so close to the bed, is that it only cools the air in the 5" or so immediately surrounding the vents. Step away from the air conditioner and you are likely to spontaneously combust.
I'm not happy.
I'm hot.
Goodnight.
Love,
k8
Omgosh kind of funny though, right? I'm surprised you stayed in there after you smelled something funny, but hey if sytycd was on I would have probably done the same thing.
ReplyDeleteSo that little hot problem is going to be fixed before I get there right? How is the apt besides that?
ReplyDeleteAmy, by the time you get here this apartment will be a thing of the past. A bad dream. A fleeting memory. A hot flash.
ReplyDeleteThat picture looks like a little robot is fixing the curtains. Also, that may or may not be your knee in that other picture, but I think that really is my forearm.
ReplyDelete