MONDAY, 17 AUGUST 2015 —
It was super humid once again today. I wish I had one day this summer where I didn’t worry if I smelled like boy and my scrotum didn’t stick to my leg in these underwear. I know that’s graphic, but oh my fucking god, the way women talk about boob sweat is how we men feel about ball sweat. It’s annoying. It’s gross. It’s uncomfortable. It’s incredibly inconvenient to stop, pause, pull your underwear out of some crazy wrinkle you didn’t even know you had until you begin to chafe. Enough talk of ball sweat, you know what I mean! I am incredibly inconvenienced and uncomfortable and can’t wait for 75 and sunny weather and cute jeans and comfortable chonies. I wish Fall would get here sooner.
Next to ball sweat this summer, I have had moments of fatness this season I haven’t had to deal with in a long fucking time. I was told by someone that I’m probably dehydrated and that my body retains moisture so I don’t dehydrate. There’s another reason I can’t wait for 75 degrees. I was telling Chris yesterday that wearing Armani jeans felt good on Sunday (even at stupid Pueblo Pride). I love to dress up for work, have my concealer perfectly patted down and my hair on point and walk down the street to the salon in the morning. For six whole minutes, I feel like Carrie Bradshaw walking in Manhattan, then I see a rundown antique storefront and reach to adjust myself in the 99 degree humid weather and it all goes to shit. I am so over summer.
I am convinced that last week between feeling gross and fat and sweaty that I was on my “man period”. I cried like six times and got angry at Chris on Friday night because I had to make a cold chicken sandwich instead of going out for Shabbat. On Saturday, I sweat like a fat kid eating cake while I was blow drying, rolled my eyes at my assistant, my guests and Chris and felt like I was going to burst into sighs and moans of utter distain. As Chris and I walked home, I was angry that he wanted to go home and shower before went to dinner. That was the most awkward silence. I played victim while Chris stayed silent because he had to walk next to crazy-face Cooley. I’m sure he wanted to push me into on-coming traffic! I was a REAL BITCH.
This sweaty summer can kiss my ass. I apologized to Chris yesterday and told him I had my “man period”. “You had SOMETHING”, he said with his eyes bugged out. Today, I told my friend I was over-reacting as I was blogging last night and felt as though I had been suffering from a “man period” while writing. She said, “Yeah… you were suffering from SOMETHING.”
I hate summer. I hate ball sweat and I hate man periods.
Can it please be 75 already? I need central air in my Armani Jeans if this weather continues…