And the weather is supposed to be perfect this weekend: 85 and sunny.

In my world we call this hot. And ick.

In Missouri, this is mild and wonderful summer.

104 degrees and 99% humidity is when we start bitching.

Oh! I just checked, and my incomplete has been turned to an A! However, they lost my application for certification, and my $5 check, which I turned in in January.

I told the nice lady I would be happy to fill out the form again, but that I thought the fee should be waived since THOSE INCOMPETENT FUCKS LOST THE DAMN THING.

It's the last straw.

DC is expecting a 4th consecutive day of 90+ weather.

On Friday, we barely reached 60. By Sunday, it was in the 90s.

Spring? What's that?

We usually go from cool to blazing hot and gross, so this has really been a quite pleasant segue into summer.

Spring? What's that?

We didn't really have autumn either, now that I think about it. I remember that around New Years, I went from going outside without a jacket to wearing layers and a winter coat in a matter of days.

Yep. I can recall several 24 hour periods in which the weather has fluctuated by 40 degrees. Usually from pleasant to "Oh, my god, my tits just froze off and shattered at my feet!"

Heh, thank you for your support re: my crazy non-stair climbing relatives. I mean, I know that stairs can be tough for folks, but I don't think it needs to be the sole point of discussion whenever the house is broguht up. It's upsetting, and annoying.

Both houses we have owned are set up high on their respective lots, and there was no way in, but up a flight of stairs. My dad's health started to decline (but he was still pretty well) a bit after we bought our first house, and it was difficult for him to visit.

After dad had his first real health crisis, we heard about the stairs (from mum), every time they came over. I mostly felt bad, but I can also relate to how you're feeling. I know it's frustrating, there can be all sorts of guilt mixed with hey-I-love-my-new-house and how-often-would-you-visit-anyhow feelings. For me, there was no nice way to say, "I never thought about it when I bought the house, because I am 30," or "If you have 25 grand, I'll buy a more convenient house," so I just tried to accept what they had to say, understand it would mean they'd visit less frequently, but understand I did not have to do anything about it.

I think the last year or so of dad's life, he didn't come over, because he just couldn't negotiate the stairs without needing a long time to recover, after. It probably wasn't as big a deal for us/them as for you/your family, because we only live a couple of miles from our families, and we could just go there to visit.

Could this be a case where the family members who are commenting want to come visit, but are afraid they are not strong enough to make the stairs as many times as their bladders will need the bathroom, or some other health related thing? I don't know. I'm just thinking aloud, but I'm wondering if there's some way for you to just accept this is an issue for them (if it truly is, and isn't just criticism) and move forward.

Ooh, canoeing, fun! Glad the incomplete is done, and your school (UMKC?) is really not impressing me with its competence. That's an impressive string of fucking things up.

It's 85 (feels like 90) already (9:30 AM). It was really nice at 6:30 this morning - coolish and not yet muggy. WE'll have thunderstroms ecvery day for the next 9 days, apparently.

I guess I should have seen it coming when Billy Idol's website suddenly didn't have any dates past the end of July. I just checked the Utah State Fair's website, and unless they make some change, Billy's not in the lineup. So I won't get to see him in concert after all.

Fuck.

Carrot Top's coming. On the date that Billy was supposed to play they're doing Utah State Farm Bureau Talent Find. Kids who have been told they're cute and oh so talented and who simper at everyone and who probably can be counted on not to scream sexual nowhere-close-to-innuendos into a microphone. I'm not even really suprised, because I could picture the heart attacks spreading out from the stage as he let loose.

But dammit . . .