"Thugs and the Women who Love Them."

It's hot. Hotter than hot. So hot that I've been extremely cranky, prompting my roommate to cautiously ask what was wrong.

Jane: "In the three years I have known you, I've never see you in this bad a mood."

Me: "No really, it's just the heat. Well, and PMS too."

It's a deadly combination, I thought.

Wednesday's high was 92 F and though it's cooled down a bit, it's still not pleasant. Having suffered though the worst of it, I finally went to K-Mart to buy a fan. It looked like the rest of Manhattan had the same idea since there were a lot of ransacked and bare shelves. Cue the sound of crying children and you kind of get the idea of the level of horror I was faced with.

I had my choice of a $30 standing fan and some industrial strength wind-tunnel maker. Though the wind-tunnel was tempting, the size of the box immediately ruled it out as a choice -- no way I was carrying it back to Brooklyn. I chose the least mangled looking box for the standing fan, paid for it, and carried the fucker home to Bushwick.

If the heat keeps up, my next purchase will be an inflatable kiddie pool.

So now that June is feeling suspiciously like July, I've got plans to go to the beach with Holly. Oh no! Can I make my thighs and ass look smaller before tomorrow?