BOB

That is what my husband calls the sun. "BRIGHT ORANGE BALL". We've been seeing a lot of BOB here in these parts. SO much in fact that every night since Sunday I've been retreating to the parents house, wherein there lies... a pool. Tee hee.

Even with my air conditioning full bore in the car, my back sweats against the hot black seat. I love that moment, all sweaty and gross, when the tip of my toe just touches the water, and glorious relief floods through my body as I'm now ankle deep in cooling, mood altering, goodness. A floaty and a coffee cup full of pink panty droppers ice water and I'm a new woman, every care just floats away.

What I'm trying to say is that I get a bit cranky when hot.

I've taken to carrying my swimsuit around in my car and shaving my bikini line daily...just in case the heat gets so unbearable it is necessary that I dip myself.

Some of you that live in the South think we're wussies up here, but we're used to a "mild" climate... not steaming hot weather like Vegas in the summer! We live here because we don't like our clothes to stick to us an we prefer a cool ocean breeze to stagnant heavy humidity any day. So I really think we are not wussies. We just aren't used to what you consider normal. So stop telling us its not that bad!

The husband turned 30 this weekend. I almost want to stop calling him hubs and start calling him husband now that he's older, wiser, and more mature. My sister and her boyfriend... the jokesters that they are, showered him in lovely gifts of Goodwill purchased "old man clothes". See evidence below.



(Please note that his hat says, "If you find my hair, please call the tips hotline!")

There were some other shenanigans at the party. There may or may not have been jell-o shots consumed by hilarious grandparents. Or...me droppin' like its hot. I tend to think its okay to dance like the world is going to end when I have had a few adult beverages. My friends wouldn't know what a party at my house would be without Aimee drinking slightly over her limit and dancing inappropriately until the last guest leaves. (At which point, she realizes she has hardly eaten a thing and gives up dancing for a new party... a party in her mouth.)

CJ got his own cake that Dayna made special just for him:



and shortly thereafter ripped into it like a one-year-old:

We spent Sunday recouperating from the pink panty droppers and death cake in my parents pool. It was really terrible. I wouldn't suggest it to anyone.

How was your weekend?