On feeling like Hell is about to break loose.

It's mid-February, and I'm living in Miami at the moment, so that means that I'm officially beginning to dread the impending summer. Especially now that the cold front has passed and it's already been as cold as it will be for a long time. FFFFFFUUUUUUU. I'm still trying to hang onto it by wearing sweaters and boots but this only results in my having to take two showers per day and deal with a Denali-sized heap of laundry.

Summer in Miami is like being trapped in the warm and salivating mouth of a salt-and-pepper-fur-chested old Cuban man drinking a hot cafe con leche, with a bad case of halitosis. The best relief could be found either in A)stores in open-air malls blasting arctic waves of conditioned air, or B)at the beach. Too bad I hate shopping, and too bad I hate sand. I especially hate prepping to go to the beach, making sure I look like moderately decent white trash because most people at the beach look like inbred morons from a Louisiana trailer park when drinking beer surfside(i.e., Going to the beach is the only time it's accepted to wear unbuttoned cut-off jean shorts and a neon bikini top, even Britney can't get away with this), only to arrive and have my view of the splendiferous Atlantic Ocean be littered with the likes of people engaging in this heinous activity:



Seriously. I don't know what they call this "sport", but when I see men who would probably call themselves a "finely chiseled Adonis" and women who look like they're training to be Miss Hawaiian Tropic, because surely this is an event in the competition, propped up on their surfboards looking slightly uncomfortable in their unreliable balance but confident in the knowledge that they are high above the other beach denizens both literally and in their hot air balloon heads; all I want to do is lob balls of raw meat at them 'til they teeter off their high horses, at which point them bloody steaks would have hopefully attracted a few hungry sharks who will have luckily found more than they bargained for.

There is not one single thing that is pleasant about summertime in Miami. Brooklyn has its free concerts and rooftop barbeques. Paris has its numerous fountains to cool off by and its shaded parks. Miami has perpetual swamp-ass.