Hungarian Hottie gets HOT!!!


First things first here. On all the other blogs I read, everyone seems to have some catchy phrase to use for thier significant other when they don’t wish to share their real name. It’s always something like DW for Dear Wife or MM for Pioneer Womans’ Marlboro Man.
Well, I’ve got one of those too. I’m going with HH for Hungarian Hottie.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Now I’m going to tell you what happens when HH gets hot. Not hot as in, “Oh, she’s so sexy”, but hot as in, “Oh my god, my skin is melting off.”

I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but there’s been a bit of a heat wave going through NYC these past few days. Like 95 degrees and over for the last 4 days and humid enough to make you think that you have taken up residence in Satan’s armpit and it’s NOT pretty. I’ll give her this: It’s fucking HOT out!

Now, I also have to say that we moved into a new apartment three months ago. It’s wonderful, huge, great old details and we love it. The house was built in 1902 and we are on the second floor. Our old apartment had A/C units built in. Needless to say, we did not own our own cooling units. Therefore, if the weather is 95 outside, it’s about 115 inside my apartment. My poor cats wearing thier little fur coats look like they have melded with the floor. They’re actually all 3 sleeping in the bathtub, cause that’s the coolest place. Like I said before, it’s fucking hot.

So now, here’s what goes down. HH and I go to the stupid Staten Island Pride parade on saturday, (which made me feel anything but proud, but that’s another story for another time) and stood in the street for two hours. We go through 3 industrial sized bottles of water. We have some shade to stand in, so HH is ok for the time being. This stupid parade ends off with everybody pouring into a closed building which is NOT air conditioned. Think about this, 300 sweaty gay people and 3 seven foot tall drag queens. We take a lap of the place and we’re out.

Now we go home. As we ascend the steps, HH begins her lamenting “Oh my god, it’s so hot up here, what are we going to do, why haven’t we bought an air conditioner yet?!?” Before I’ve had time to lock the door and follow her up the steps, she’s already stark naked and standing under the fan. (BTW, HH is the quickest strip known to man. I swear her clothes must all have velcro.) Sweat is pouring from her brow and she’s got a panicked look in her eye.
At this point, I won’t go so far as to say that I was comfortable, but I’m in far better shape than she is. I like the heat. Perhaps its the puerto rican coursing through my veins, but I can totally tolerate it.

She tells me, “Get dressed. We’re going to drive around in the van with the A/C on.”
I stare at her for a hot sec. I tell her, “You’re the naked one. Not me.”
HH – “Oh my god, whatever. How can you expect me to function like this?!?! I can’t answer questions like this. It’s too hot!!!”
Me – “But honey, I didn’t ask you anything.”
HH – “Well, you just think you’re so smart, don’t you?!?!”
Me – “Ok, honey. I’m not smart. Let’s go drive around in the van with the A/C on, OK?”
HH – “Good idea! Let’s go.”
Me – “Put some clothes on dear.”
HH – “Right. Ok.”

These are the times when I know it’s better to just go with what she’s saying because disagreeing will just be worse. These are the times when I know what a man feels like when dealing with a PMSing wife. Of course, 50% of the time, I’m that PMSing wife too, so I have pity.

So we go out and drive around for three hours with the A/C on full blast**. During this time, she has returnecd to the wonderful woman that I know and love. I’m shivering, but she’s normal again so I suck it up.

So we get tired of driving around, and really, we’re on Staten Island, there’s only so many places to go. So we head home. Thinking back, I really should have just waited in the van, because not five minutes upon entering the house, stripping, getting dressed again and refilling the water bottles, we’re back in the van.

So we came home at about 12:30am. It was still hot in the house, surprise, surprise.
So we decide to take a cold shower. And by cold I mean ONLY cold water. Not a drip of hot to take the edge off. So we’re in there, squealing like idiots cause it’s so damn cold, splashing each other and dying laughing at the faces we’re making from the extreme cold. I can only imagine what the landlord heard.

So at this point I was exhausted and just wanted to go to sleep. She decided that the bedroom was too hot and that she was sleeping in the living room. Fine, no problem.

I sleep through the night. Hungarian Hottie, apparently, did not.
She had an asthma attack. She couldn’t find her inhaler. What did you do with my inhaler?!? The cats were wanting to sleep with her and they made her hotter. Why did you have to get cats??!?
The couch material is too heavy. It made her hot. Where did you get this couch from anyway?!?!
The fan doesn’t go fast enough. It made her hot too.
Her skin, oh god, why does she have to have skin! Can’t she just take that off too??!? Why the HELL do I have to have skin!?!?!?!?

So, needless to say, after this barage of things that are not my fault, yet somehow are according to HH, I say, “One minute please.”
I dissapear into the computer room, look up air conditioners at PC Richard, jot down the model numbers that I want and go back into the living room.
She looks at me. I look back. “What?!??” she says. “Why are you looking at me?!?!? I’m hot. You’re making me HOT!!””
Me- “Ok, honey, get dressed. We’re going to drive around in the cold van again.”
HH – “Good idea! Let’s go.”

So off we go to PC Richard, and let me tell you, I have never been so glad to have done my research online before. The A/C section was mobbed. Thankfully, I was able to snag a salesperson, give him my model numbers, pay and get out of there in under 15 minutes.
We bring them home, lug them up the steps, which of course, makes HH even hotter. And now I’m hot and sweaty and annoyed as well. And now we have to work together to safely hang these things out of second story windows. Ha. Ha. Ha.
I’ll spare you the details of us nearly killing each other over whether or not the units should be on a 5 degree or 10 degree angle, but we eventually got them in, fired them up and were able to return to normal human beings.

Now she only complains when she has to walk into an un-air conditioned room, i.e. the kitchen. Lord knows we won’t be cooking till October!

** – For those of you wondering what on earth would possess us to drive a 15-passenger van around for 3 hours with the A/C blasting while gas prices in my nabe are about $4.19 a gallon, it’s this: It’s her company work van. They pay her crap for the work she does and don’t ever check the mileage. But they do pay for all the gas. We feel they owe it to us.

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