If this is Friday, I must be Fried
I used to live in Tucson. I remember enjoying the heat.
Of course, I also remember thinking that those poor folks in Phoenix must be
DYING, since it was always so much hotter there - not only that, but it didn't
cool down as much at night. All that asphalt and all those lakes, no doubt.
When it came time to move to Phoenix, I decided that my attitudes about the
heat in Phoenix were simply regional, provincial Tucson-type pride, and that,
of course, Phoenix wouldn't be bad at all.
I've been here for two weeks.
I'm ready to admit it. I was wrong about being wrong. I was right before, when
I was thinking that those poor folks in Phoenix must be dying; now I'm one of
'em :)
My Achilles Tendonitis has acted up again; I'm also waking up with bags under
my
eyes. I've been told that these are symptoms of dehydration; anyone who knows
me
will know how hard it is to dehydrate me. I sleep with the Big Blue BubbaKeg,
for
Pete's sake. How could I be dehydrated?
Easy. Take a piece of beef. Put it in the oven. When you pour water on it, it's
not called "hydrating" - it's called "basting". I'm not HYDRATED - I'm BASTED.
Won't be long now before I start looking like beef jerkey - withered, gnarled,
tough as old leather, and all peppery. I hope that no tourists start chewing on
me - that would be the pits. Especially since I probably won't have enough
energy
to fight them off - I'll just have to moan while they chew. Heck, they may even
start thinking that that means that I like it.
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