Ok sun gods, let's make a deal. I moved to Southern California for sandy beaches, a general lack of snow and a killer tan.
Two out of three isn't bad, but I am shocked at the lack of sunshine in the golden state.
I leave the pleasant peninsulas with the gas on the pedal and one finger out the window only to get a persistant marine layer. Translation: gloomy skies and cold winds.
Starting to wonder if there isn't some curse of the goat in the Peach family. Some great-great-grandfather probably screwed someone out of a killer parcel of land or one hot house maid and now I get to deal with wind chill.
Maybe some Peach cut done a bunch of trees and a quiet but powerful shaman decided to teach that unassuming chap a lesson.
I mean I did knock over a small palm tree once. But it was a total accident involving a lot of alcohol and some poorly placed landscaping.
We do this wherever we go, but it's normally only vacation. And it's normally Florida.
Torrential rains after three month of drought. Fires plaguing the countryside causing the sky to turn black as night.
Or my favorite, record breaking temperatures causing sister to vomit in the Disney World topiaries. She got wheeled out in a fervor of employees dreading a lawsuit.
So I get to Los Angeles only to find that the tales spun of sunlight for eons and bathing beauties as far as the eye can see is disappointingly overcast.
Must be the same feeling of tourists that come to glitzy Hollywood and only see all the tranny hookers around the Manns Chinese Theater. Or end up in the Valley with all the porn stars and airports.
I hear Michigan summer is going to be one of the hottest in recent memory. I don't miss streams of sweat bursting from every pore or walking through a blanket of humidity. It's just not for me.
Yet if I hear that these gloomy Santa Monica skies or chilling wind that is making even my toes grow hair is just so "unseasonable" one more time, I'm moving back to the Lake Effect mitten.
