So, you all are probably like, 'Sam! Shut up about your new apartment!'
But this one is sort of amusing! I swear!
Lets start with a little geographical history about the city of Chicago. First of all, Chicago and the area surrounding it is supposed to be a wetland. And the Chicago River, which we reversed to convenience us, is supposed to flow into the lake, but it now flows southwest and out of the city.
We also dye it green on Saint Patrick's Day, but that's neither here nor there.
So, the point is, Chicago is in what is called a HUMID Continental Climatic Zone. Meaning, yeah there are four distinct seasons. We have some really cold, windy and snowy winters and our falls and springs are pretty chilly by comparison to other regions with relatively low humidity. But the summers?
The summers get hot. Really freakin' hot. Like... 'melt your skin off your face' hot. And it's definitely *not* a dry heat. It's a sticky, gross humid heat and the lake very rarely 'cools' you unless you're like... within a quarter mile of the beach.
Not to mention Chicago is *urban* and we have heat islands. Not as bad as some cities, as Chicago does have it's fair share of green space, but it's there and it's brutal.
Also, there are a lot of sweaty, gross people walking around. I know we they can't help it but... it's not making me feel any cooler!
So recap? Chicago is a beast of a region and it *does* get hot. I'm telling you this because people never believe me when I say that Chicago is a sauna in the summer. Chicago gets a rap for snowpocalypses and being windy and gray and possibly the Chicago Cubs, if you're into baseball. My own parents thought I was making this up until they came and helped me move three summers ago in August.
Yesterday we had a heat index of 102 degrees. Same deal for today and it looks like the heat wave is going to last until the weekend.
Recently I moved into a bigger space. When I moved, which granted was only about twenty days ago, summer had just started. I mean, the week before I moved in, I'm pretty sure I was still wearing thick sweaters and wool socks. I'm not even joking a little bit.
I over estimated my ability to deal with the Chicago heat - as I do every year.
When I moved in, I had some man-friends help me install the AC in the living room, thinking that would be sufficient. Against my better judgement, I decided that buying a second window-unit AC wasn't worth the 200 bucks and higher energy bill. I was on the second floor now! My apartment wouldn't be the easy-bake oven that my last one was, no way-no how.
Needless to say I have only spent one night in my new bedroom, opting instead to sleep on the couch in my sort-of air-conditioned living room.
This hasn't stopped my cat, Dexter, from sleeping on the bed - claiming it as his own.
Every time I walk by to use the bathroom, or head to the kitchen, I pace the door and there he is, sleeping in the middle of the white bed. Not a freakin' care in the world.
On Mondays I have to work late, which means I don't have to be in work until 2 or 3pm. Generally, I wake up around 8am, do some chores and then take an hour nap at 11 and then head to work. My room is pretty cool (relatively speaking, of course) in the morning/early afternoon because the window faces the west so it stays relatively shady. Perfect for my little pre-work siesta.
Except, in the last twenty or so days, my cat has decided that the bedroom is actually *his* now. And that I shouldn't be allowed in there. Because the *second* I laid down, he started to bite my feet.
Whatever, he's a cat. I pushed him off the bed with my foot and closed my eyes. But he did it again, that little shit!
This went on for about ten minutes, before I made my retreat to the sofa in the living room. I surrendered to the cat because... well, he was biting my feet and it hurt and because he would alternatively sit my face if he got no response. And he's seventeen pounds and high hairy. In 95 degree weather, I could not stand for his cuddle-bites.
Whatever, I slept on the couch again and then I left for the train at 1:15 and he was still snoring on the bed where I had tried to sleep.
So, I'm pretty sure that my cat thinks that I bought him a bigger apartment so he could have a bedroom.
Edited: Now with photographic evidence
Lets start with a little geographical history about the city of Chicago. First of all, Chicago and the area surrounding it is supposed to be a wetland. And the Chicago River, which we reversed to convenience us, is supposed to flow into the lake, but it now flows southwest and out of the city.
We also dye it green on Saint Patrick's Day, but that's neither here nor there.
So, the point is, Chicago is in what is called a HUMID Continental Climatic Zone. Meaning, yeah there are four distinct seasons. We have some really cold, windy and snowy winters and our falls and springs are pretty chilly by comparison to other regions with relatively low humidity. But the summers?
The summers get hot. Really freakin' hot. Like... 'melt your skin off your face' hot. And it's definitely *not* a dry heat. It's a sticky, gross humid heat and the lake very rarely 'cools' you unless you're like... within a quarter mile of the beach.
Not to mention Chicago is *urban* and we have heat islands. Not as bad as some cities, as Chicago does have it's fair share of green space, but it's there and it's brutal.
Also, there are a lot of sweaty, gross people walking around. I know we they can't help it but... it's not making me feel any cooler!
So recap? Chicago is a beast of a region and it *does* get hot. I'm telling you this because people never believe me when I say that Chicago is a sauna in the summer. Chicago gets a rap for snowpocalypses and being windy and gray and possibly the Chicago Cubs, if you're into baseball. My own parents thought I was making this up until they came and helped me move three summers ago in August.
Yesterday we had a heat index of 102 degrees. Same deal for today and it looks like the heat wave is going to last until the weekend.
Recently I moved into a bigger space. When I moved, which granted was only about twenty days ago, summer had just started. I mean, the week before I moved in, I'm pretty sure I was still wearing thick sweaters and wool socks. I'm not even joking a little bit.
I over estimated my ability to deal with the Chicago heat - as I do every year.
When I moved in, I had some man-friends help me install the AC in the living room, thinking that would be sufficient. Against my better judgement, I decided that buying a second window-unit AC wasn't worth the 200 bucks and higher energy bill. I was on the second floor now! My apartment wouldn't be the easy-bake oven that my last one was, no way-no how.
Needless to say I have only spent one night in my new bedroom, opting instead to sleep on the couch in my sort-of air-conditioned living room.
This hasn't stopped my cat, Dexter, from sleeping on the bed - claiming it as his own.
Every time I walk by to use the bathroom, or head to the kitchen, I pace the door and there he is, sleeping in the middle of the white bed. Not a freakin' care in the world.
On Mondays I have to work late, which means I don't have to be in work until 2 or 3pm. Generally, I wake up around 8am, do some chores and then take an hour nap at 11 and then head to work. My room is pretty cool (relatively speaking, of course) in the morning/early afternoon because the window faces the west so it stays relatively shady. Perfect for my little pre-work siesta.
Except, in the last twenty or so days, my cat has decided that the bedroom is actually *his* now. And that I shouldn't be allowed in there. Because the *second* I laid down, he started to bite my feet.
Whatever, he's a cat. I pushed him off the bed with my foot and closed my eyes. But he did it again, that little shit!
This went on for about ten minutes, before I made my retreat to the sofa in the living room. I surrendered to the cat because... well, he was biting my feet and it hurt and because he would alternatively sit my face if he got no response. And he's seventeen pounds and high hairy. In 95 degree weather, I could not stand for his cuddle-bites.
Whatever, I slept on the couch again and then I left for the train at 1:15 and he was still snoring on the bed where I had tried to sleep.
So, I'm pretty sure that my cat thinks that I bought him a bigger apartment so he could have a bedroom.
Edited: Now with photographic evidence