Hotlanta Sweatfest 2011

It's going to be 100 degrees tomorrow. Literally. If this is a preview of summer, my water will break and I won't even know it since my pants will be perma-wet with sweat. I will also dress inappropriately and don't care.

The last nine days in Atlanta were an even earlier preview of what summer will feel like in a fatsuit. Seriously, that place is hot. HOT. My mom's A/C broke. Our condo's attic door fell off and poor Brett had to fix it. I packed full panel maternity jeans. HOT.

I spent our trip drinking water and peeing and waiting for moments to just walk around in underwear.

And taking too many kiddie pictures (it's like I see no adults).

And eating ice cream -- one of the South's charms is Mayfield, and if you haven't tried Extreme Moose Tracks, you're missing a sweet part of life.

Thanks to grandparent babysitters, I saw 3 movies and got a pedicure so thorough I fell asleep. I'm big enough to hear myself snore now but not care. And I dumped the rest of D's clothes. I am so severely addicted to purging this apartment, when City Opera comes here tomorrow to pick up seven (SEVEN) bags, I'll only be on a mission to gather enough for another donation. Brett says I've got problems. I say the real problem is that we've got stuff in this apartment like 5 bottles of insect repellent and a gifted kangaroo testicle bottle opener. Yes, a kangaroo testicle bottle opener (thanks brother-in-law.)