Woke up in a hot sweat . . .
There's nothing like a hot flash. Granted, this one wasn't caused by nature. It was caused by the AC deciding to take the day off — on my day off from the day job.
5:45 a.m., sweat was dripping all over my body. I opened my eyes and realized I was in bed alone and hot air was blowing over my body.
I walked over to the thermostat and that mother said 90 degrees. 90. . .fucking . . .degrees. On the inside part. I grabbed my phone and texted my homeboy -- why? Because I figured if I'm up at this ungodly hour, someone else needed to feel my pain.
He said, OMG. I hope you're naked.
Such a dude. But he was right. I was naked with an ice pack on my ass though. But there was no way I could relax and lounge in bed.
Then there was the thought of putting my laptop on my lap and writing. Hell no! More heat. And what if my thighs were wet and I shorted something out?
Umm, a cold shower though.
People always write about cold showers because someone's horny monster was showing. Man, this shower was amazing. It was like being caught in a rain storm on a July day. I will never view a cold shower the same way again. And it woke me all the way up. So, of course I wanted coffee. But how the hell do you brew and drink coffee in a 90 degree hot box? You don't. You pack your laptop and get the hell out of dodge.
With all the storm prep and me being super paranoid about Hurricane Florence pulling a Hurricane Hugo and shutting the city down for weeks. I decided that I was going to go some place where nobody can spell my name. I am in Starbucks.
After that shit in Philly, I stopped going to a place that was like my second home office. But I need AC, Wifi, coffee and an outlet. I'm sitting here waiting for Permit Patty to call CMPD, because she keeps eyeballing me like I stole her T*ump sign or some shit.
The coffee doesn't taste the same and the music sucks. Damn it, I left me Beats at home and Patty, or maybe her name is Karen, now looks like she wants to have a conversation. No. Ma'am. Have I lost my resting bitch face powers?
Obviously I have because she just asked me to watch her stuff. If John Quiñones walks up in here, I will not consent to filming!
5:45 a.m., sweat was dripping all over my body. I opened my eyes and realized I was in bed alone and hot air was blowing over my body.
I walked over to the thermostat and that mother said 90 degrees. 90. . .fucking . . .degrees. On the inside part. I grabbed my phone and texted my homeboy -- why? Because I figured if I'm up at this ungodly hour, someone else needed to feel my pain.
He said, OMG. I hope you're naked.
Such a dude. But he was right. I was naked with an ice pack on my ass though. But there was no way I could relax and lounge in bed.
Then there was the thought of putting my laptop on my lap and writing. Hell no! More heat. And what if my thighs were wet and I shorted something out?
Umm, a cold shower though.
People always write about cold showers because someone's horny monster was showing. Man, this shower was amazing. It was like being caught in a rain storm on a July day. I will never view a cold shower the same way again. And it woke me all the way up. So, of course I wanted coffee. But how the hell do you brew and drink coffee in a 90 degree hot box? You don't. You pack your laptop and get the hell out of dodge.
After that shit in Philly, I stopped going to a place that was like my second home office. But I need AC, Wifi, coffee and an outlet. I'm sitting here waiting for Permit Patty to call CMPD, because she keeps eyeballing me like I stole her T*ump sign or some shit.
The coffee doesn't taste the same and the music sucks. Damn it, I left me Beats at home and Patty, or maybe her name is Karen, now looks like she wants to have a conversation. No. Ma'am. Have I lost my resting bitch face powers?
Obviously I have because she just asked me to watch her stuff. If John Quiñones walks up in here, I will not consent to filming!
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