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And, no, I am not referring to the Miami Heat. I am referring to the Arizona Heat.
You've never heard of it?
Well, let me be the first to enlighten you.
Most of the time I love living here with all my heart and soul, but Arizona, in the summer, is what I would imagine the temperature of Hell to be. And since I am doing my best not to go there, I can only wager a guess and/or opinion regarding Hell's temperature.
On Thursday morning, I loaded up the kids in the mommy mobile aka swagger wagon aka my baby to go to Costco and purchase my new computer, when my mother effing air conditioner decided to bite the dust. We've had some bad luck with cars this year. On this day at 9:30 am, it just so happened to only be a balmy 95 degrees in Phoenix. However, all my long skirts were dirty and I hadn't shaved my legs in a few, ahem, several days so I threw on a pair of jeans and a tank top for our morning errands. We were 15 minutes away from home when hot air started blowing from the vents. Within seconds, my ass was wet, sweat was pooling, I couldn't find a flipping rubber band and the leather seats were at least 200 degrees.
Then the boys started in with the whining.
"Mommmeeeeeee....I'm hot. Mommmmmeeeeee.....I sweaty."
"I know, I know, I'm hot too," I said, through gritted teeth.
I turned my minivan around and we headed towards Big O tires, which is where I had the air conditioning serviced about a month ago. At that time, it intermittently began blowing hot air. No rhyme nor reason and usually within a few minutes, it would start back up. Well, I took it in and the mechanic type people diagnosed her with a likely freon leak, charged it up and sent me on my merry way.
So when I showed up there on that balmy Thursday morning, a hot sweaty mess with hot sweaty messy children, they happily took a look at my car. While they cut her open and took a look at her insides, I dug through the warranty information I had stashed in the glove box. The boys were happily tearing through the joint, eating popcorn and donuts, touching tires and causing other sorts of havoc. Oh, and I scored a rubber band in the glove box too. Thank God. Seriously.
Anyhow, thank goodness I was able to locate the applicable warranty information. I gave them a ring-a-ling and came to find out that I had to take the damn van into Toyota in order for the warranty to pay for any repairs. I told the Big O people about the warranty and they told me it was a good thing I had that because the problem appeared to be with the compressor. Apparently, the compressor serves a pretty important duty in the functionality of air conditioning systems. Who knew?
So the boys and I piled back into the ridiculously hot van where my dashboard thermostat gleefully told me the temperature had already increased to 108. I drove our hot sweaty butts to Toyota where I had to rip out the car seats and put them in the shuttle. I inquired about a loaner car, but was told that until they knew what the problem was and how long it would take, I would not be granted the free rental car. The shuttle dropped us off at my mom's house. I took out the car seats AGAIN, put them in my mom's car, wrestled the boys away from their shenanigans, strapped them in, went through the McDonald's drive thru, and then STRAIGHT TO COSTCO where I bought my computer.
Ain't no broken air conditioner gonna bring me down.
Especially when its covered completely by warranty.
Especially when I get to drive a sweet ass twenty-twelve Toyota Camry until its repaired.
And DESPITE the fact that it is going to be 115 degrees this week.
Okay, that last one's a total lie. I will be mumbling and grumbling under my breath all week about the stinking heat. Because, I don't care if it's dry or not, 115 is HOTTTTTTTT and I will NOT be wearing denim!
Love and peace,