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How do you spell shvitzing, anyway?

Today reminds me of the one and only time I've been to Florida. I was 16, it was the Fourth of July, and I was going to the Bible Bowl national convention ... I'll have to explain that sometime because I am not a bible thumper, I'm not even a Christian, but I was trapped in the cult for a few years. I walked in on a Christian youth group meeting at school and was too embarrassed to walk out when I'd realized my mistake. It took nearly three years to gnaw through the restraints. Anyway, we left Colorado at a nice 67 degrees. When we landed in Orlando and the first drop of sweat raced down my nose like an exuberant child screaming his way down a waterslide, I believe the first words to escape me were "Would you please kill me. No really." Despite my obvious pain, my overly religious companions weren't willing to oblige me. What Would Jesus Do?? Assholes.

I had never felt humidity before, let alone god awful Florida humidity with 103 degree temperatures. It was so horrible, I set my luggage on the ground, curled up in a ball with my head resting on my bag, and panted on the floor in the middle of the airport luggage collection area - unable to breathe and convinced the angels were coming to get me.

I may be in New Jersey today, and it may be 8 years since that trip to Florida, but I still can't handle humidity. I left for work at 6am, and it was just as terribly hot and muggy then as it is here 12 hours later. I have about an hour commute to work, which wouldn't really bother me so much. However, in a fit of idiocy and terrible lack of self control, I bought a Honda Insight last winter. Now, don't get me wrong. It's a cool car. It's fun to drive. It's half electric so it gets 65-75 mpg. It's not big enough to hold an air conditioner. So, that hour is spent tooling down the highway and sweating like a fucking pig in my work clothes. To make it worse, the car is very noticeable, so people are constantly trying to talk to me at stoplights or generally just slowing down to ogle me. Since it's an electric car, it doesn't provide the 'get up' I need to hit the gas and escape these onlookers. Oh, sure it was fun for awhile, but most days I'm stuck in heavy, motionless traffic, and I'm in no mood to humor the slack jawed folk of Northern NJ.

I have a lot of strange habits when I drive, which I've been forced to recognize because of this new audience. First of all, I sing. I sing loudly, I sing off-key, and I sing with the windows rolled down on days like today. This morning I was singing along contentedly with Trent Reznor and Nine Inch Nails. I had just yelled out "I want to fuck you like an animal, I want to feel you from the inside" when I looked over and saw the expression of this 60 year old lady with grey hair and glasses. The look on her face turned from curious and friendly to horrified as she mentally stopped practicing the question she was planning to ask me long enough to process the words I was singing. What would my Bible Bowl Buddies think of me now?

I also pick my nose, clean out my ears, pretend like I'm telling off my boss (loudly), tell myself jokes I've already heard (obviously) but still think are hilarious, and I cup and use both hands to scoop farts out the window when the need arises. I'm thinking of just getting a bumper sticker that says, "Learning to cope one day at a time - St. Mary's Mental Institute." That way people will be too afraid to make eye contact in the first place.

But that's not the point. The point is, I was shvitzing. I can't believe I can't find shvitzing in the dictionary. Where's Linda Richmond when you need her?

The geniuses that own my office building like to turn the building air conditioner off on the weekends to save money. They unfortunately don't seem to realize that the money they save on Saturday and Sunday is eaten away by having to run it on high Monday and Tuesday to get the temperature back below 80 degrees. So, I'm sitting at my desk in a puddle of sweat all morning and praying that the air conditioner will kick in and offer some relief.

By the time I have to train this new guy after lunch, I smell absolutely ripe. I'm disgusted with myself, and I know he's disgusted with me, too. I tried to train him from across his office and felt guilty every time I had to approach him to point out something on the computer. As the only homo in my office, I feel it's my duty to be always well dressed, fastidiously clean, and smelling fresh. Today, I failed on all accounts - miserably.