Dry Heat

If I ever meet the asshole who coined that phrase, he's in for a serious beating.  I don't know how this became the popular term for describing the weather in the desert.  I could think several, more accurate, ways of describing the Arizona heat.  oppressive.  Brutal.  Depressing.  The high today was 104.  As I type this, it's after midnight and it's 90.  90 fucking degrees at midnight!
It's so hot here that you don't even want to go outside.  I left the house for all of 30 seconds this weekend.  Total.  I went to the mailbox, and I took the cat litter to the dumpster.  That was all I need to convince me to stay inside and watch Bug Juice on the Disney Channel for the rest of the fucking weekend. 

I'll wake up some days determined to be a go getter.  To run those errands I've been meaning to get to.  To get a lot of writing done.  To work out.  Then the heat just envelopes  you and saps all of the will from your body.  Tasha and I have decided that Tucson should have been built entirely underground.  Or, at the very least should have a system of underground walkways and bike paths so that those of us who don't have some sick, twisted sexual heat stroke fetish can try to go about our daily lives in some sort of comfort. 
Hmmm.   That's actually a great idea.  Now, all I need is an engineering degree and a contract with the city and I could make that happen.