Summertime, and the Livin's Freaking Hot

Greetings from Death Valley, recently relocated to the back bedroom of Timpanogos Gateway apartment 309! I borrowed an area thermometer from a woman at work today. 89 degrees in my bedroom. And friends, it was only 67 outside today. I live in fear of the days when the outside temperature will surpass 100. My limited recollection of ratios tells me that when this happens my room will be 132 degrees. I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility that I could DIE OF HEATSTROKE IN MY OWN BEDROOM. This will not do. The way I see it, these are my options:

1. Start using the air conditioner. What's that? It's only April 22 and it snowed less than a week ago? TELL IT TO THE BOILER ROOM.

2. Make Adam buy a house TOMORROW, and move into it the day after that. I will gladly cede this territory to the Technology in favor of accommodations where paying for air conditioning actually means a decrease in temperature.

3. Replace the doorknob to Jenny's bedroom, and lock myself in her room every night before she gets home.

4. Buy a waterbed and fill it with ice cubes. This was actually the idea I thought of first. Which should give you some idea of what happens to the human brain when it is boiled alive.

Update

Since I haven't blogged in around two months, and since Adam is threatening to cut off all contact with me unless I blog (and Rebecca blogs -- thanks, sister), I thought I'd go out on a limb and write one of those "posts" that seem to be all the rage these days. Bear with me, I may have forgotten how to do this.

*It is roughly 1,000 degrees in my bedroom, thanks less to the beautiful 65 degree temperature outside and more to the 8,000 gigabytes of server storage humming away in my closet. In winter it was wonderful to wake up and huddle in my fifteen-degrees-warmer closet as I picked out my clothes for the day. Now I can't stand being in this room for more than ten consecutive minutes. But seriously, I think if I measured the temperature in here, it would easily be 85. We are not smiles times. (shout out to josh's slimy agent on 30 rock. now say five ways i'm better than you!)

*I'm on my way back to blonde, and I'm not too happy about it. Sigh.

*I am getting married in five months and eighteen days. Woooo!

*Adam gets home in four months and six days. Double wooooo!

*Adam and I are attempting to buy a house that we can live in while he finishes school (quadruple woooo x infinity, even if it means living in Provo a while longer, wooooOOO!!!) It feels a little strange house-hunting without Adam here, sort of like I'm picking out a house for him to buy me and he's just the wealthy benefactor. But it's still really fun. We have a realtor and everything. Grown-up alert! It reminds me of Freshman year when Ash, Bridget and went out with a realtor to see if we could find a place for Ashley's parents to buy, and how we had no idea what we were doing. I pretty much still feel like that.

This leads me to one observation that, no matter how much I think about it, still baffles me: the unfinished basement. Most houses in Utah have basements, and probably 90% of the ones I've seen fall somewhere on the scale of what one would call still showing insulation and floored with cement. So the stats on the house will say "Total square feet: 2,979; finished square feet: 1,532." Huh. So, basically, I'm buying an apartment with a really huge storage room? You're telling me the house has four bedrooms and three baths, but I have to finish three of those bedrooms and two baths myself? No deal. Why would I want a house that's only halfway done? Anyway, no matter how many ways I go about it, I don't see the logic behind selling a half-done house. It just seems lazy.

*I just noticed there's a new tab on the blogger console labeled "Monetize." I am intrigued. Is that a real word?