At the risk of making an obvious observation in Houston, Texas in August; it’s hot.  Actually, that may be generous.  It’s more like the pits of hell have opened up and let loose the biggest rinadad morgue scorpion chile pepper belch the Earth has ever experienced and blew it over a hot lake of steaming lava.  [Note: thanks Google for confirming the hottest pepper ever found, circa 2013.]

When I came to Houston from California a couple of years ago, I showed up just in time for the summer weather festivities.  This is a place where one air conditioner is just amusing.  [“Oh, aren’t you cute!  One little air conditioner to keep your left toe cool – you’re such a dear.”]  People have two, TWO full-sized air conditioners just in case anything happens to one of them.  Now I’m not an engineering expert, but I’m pretty sure if we need that much help making the air work for us for half of the year, there’s something wrong.  On the other hand, it gives me great confidence in our exploration of Mars.  Yes, I’m quite certain that Houston is a testing ground for inhabiting spaces in which we just shouldn’t be breathing things.

Let’s also take note of necessary grooming modifications this time of year.  I’m currently looking for a support group for long hair.  Texans have a reputation for “big hair” and I’m pretty sure it’s not their fault.  In our defense, spraying our hair so that it could double as a a roll of bubble-wrap is really the only way to look halfway normal until you get to the car.  After that, all bets are off.  Folks, this is a town where they actually have a “haircast”  (for those of you who aren’t familiar, it’s a forecast just for your hair) every morning so you know if you’re about to have a good hair day or a bad hair day.  While this is amusing, it’s also useless.  If it’s June, July, August, September, or early October, you’re going to have a bad hair day.  In my support group, we’ll discuss up-dos that don’t require an advanced underwater basket weaving degree.

For now, I’m rolling up my hair into a lackluster bun and dreaming about the day in October when I’ll let my hair down, Rapunzel-style to find out how long it’s gotten so that I can dry it, curl it, spray it, and find a hot date to pop the crap out of it, bubble-wrap style.