Hot and sweaty
The sun is blazing, the temperature rises into the mid-30s, the humidex makes it feel like the mid-40s, steam comes off of sidewalks, the air is thick and heavy, and smog hides the towering heights of downtown's skyscrapers.
It’s summer and it's fucking hot.
It’s not a dry, desert-like heat. The heat of the Greater Toronto Area (GTA) is a heat that leaves you feeling disgustingly gross, like you haven’t bathed in weeks. You want to take a shower every ½ hour to clean up, or skip work and go to the nearest pool to cool off.
You feel sticky and dirty. You are two seconds away from being naked, but can’t due to indecency laws. So, you end up lying around in your thinnest pair of shorts, getting all hot and sweaty and have nothing to show for it in the end.
If the incredible makeup artist, Pat McGrath, could describe this look backstage at the spring/summer Chloe collection (in her faultless British accent), she would call it dewey, with a little bit of shimmer.
I call it oily with a little bit of sweat.
And, don’t get me started on what the humidity does to your hair. I don’t have Orlando Pita tackling my tresses, and even if I did, he would be up shit creek without a paddle because of my mane of luxurious, curly locks turns into a fount of frizz.
On top of that, people with respiratory issues (like me) also go through hell on earth. Every gasp of breath feels like the last one. Planning for your funeral sounds like a novel idea since you can spend some time in an air-conditioned space for a couple of hours.
It’s bad enough people who live in the GTA only have two seasons – winter and construction – but why do they have to be polar opposites? Either it’s too cold or too hot; nothing lukewarm or middle-of-the-road, like Cheryl Crow.
I hate summer.
I hate winter, too.
Fuck, I'm screwed.
It’s summer and it's fucking hot.
It’s not a dry, desert-like heat. The heat of the Greater Toronto Area (GTA) is a heat that leaves you feeling disgustingly gross, like you haven’t bathed in weeks. You want to take a shower every ½ hour to clean up, or skip work and go to the nearest pool to cool off.
You feel sticky and dirty. You are two seconds away from being naked, but can’t due to indecency laws. So, you end up lying around in your thinnest pair of shorts, getting all hot and sweaty and have nothing to show for it in the end.
If the incredible makeup artist, Pat McGrath, could describe this look backstage at the spring/summer Chloe collection (in her faultless British accent), she would call it dewey, with a little bit of shimmer.
I call it oily with a little bit of sweat.
And, don’t get me started on what the humidity does to your hair. I don’t have Orlando Pita tackling my tresses, and even if I did, he would be up shit creek without a paddle because of my mane of luxurious, curly locks turns into a fount of frizz.
On top of that, people with respiratory issues (like me) also go through hell on earth. Every gasp of breath feels like the last one. Planning for your funeral sounds like a novel idea since you can spend some time in an air-conditioned space for a couple of hours.
It’s bad enough people who live in the GTA only have two seasons – winter and construction – but why do they have to be polar opposites? Either it’s too cold or too hot; nothing lukewarm or middle-of-the-road, like Cheryl Crow.
I hate summer.
I hate winter, too.
Fuck, I'm screwed.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
5 Comments:
I'd invite you to Florida for a little relief from the heat but it's like an oven down here too. I like it though!
Don't be hatin'!
Think of how refreshed your skin will be with all that humidity. It's like a free trip to the spa.
It's so hot that I saw a bird burst into flames mid-flight.
Ugh.
I loved and relate to the comment about people with respiratory issues. Laughed like crazy at the suggestion of planning your own funeral to have some time in A/C.
You make me smile. It was 44 degrees in Vegas when I was there, and I'll take that dry 44 over the humid 32 any day of the week.
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