Dangers

Sitting here waiting for the thunder to come. Well, we'd settle for the rain.

The cat has been lying on the floor looking like a wrung-out dishtowel. Or a flat noodle. She seems to be under the impression that striving for two-dimensionality will cool her off.

I gave her ice cubes. Not interested. I tried to introduce her to the wonders of the icepack. She was vaguely frightened.

Myself I'm so dehydrated that my brain isn't working well enough to remember to buy the Gatorade that sent me to the grocery store in the first place. I'd get it at the bodega, but I spent my very last cash pennies on ice cream in town. I meant to go look for a new bikini (Old Navy's having a sale, and the bottoms of my old one are too big for me even before they get wet), but I forgot.

I have no money; it's all credit cards. Sigh. Let's not even go there.

I ran into my sometimes-playmate randomly on the street yesterday, and nearly got run over because I wasn't paying attention to traffic. I was distracted by the proximity of the handsomeness. He smells so good. Cardinal rule #1: Don't look at the boys. It will get you smushed by large objects with four wheels.

Today I found myself staring at a skateboarder who was gliding by in the opposite direction and had to remind myself, verbally. DON'T LOOK AT THE BOYS! You are on a big street with rush-hour traffic and four firetrucks blocking the entire right lane, and there's a little black Accord with out-of-state plates diving out in front of you and nearly ramming itself into the bus that is also in front of you, and now you have to maneuver around four lanes of mess with oncoming traffic coming at you and the bus and the out-of-stater, plus firetrucks. DO NOT LOOK AT THE BOYS.

Yeah, right. I think I need to move apts soon. Maybe I can find one where there's a third tap in the kitchen, marked "Gatorade."