As many of you are keenly aware by now, I loathe summertime...the sweltering heat, endless sunshine, and the numbered ways of attempting to escape these things with as little effort as possible. Summertime is the bane of my existence, and every year it’s becoming harder and harder to "beat the living pulp" out of the summer heat. As a born, raised, and "lived just about everywhere" in the Pacific Northwest individual, I usually pride myself in the (sometimes ingenious) ways I survive these four months. So, as a treat, I thought I might share how the beginning of summer is going in this household and how everyone is coping with both myself and this excessively stupid weather we are starting to have. I’m also going to rate these on a scale from 1 (did not help the blistering thoughts of summer) to 5 (cool as a frozen cucumber before bringing it into the bedroom).
My partner, being from "Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada," has never had the luxury of camping in Oregon. Camping in Oregon, for me, usually entails a small propane grill to roast your 99-cent Bar S hotdogs on, some marshmallows, a sleeping bag, an air mattress (because everywhere in Oregon has knife-shaped rocks that are unapologetically trying to murder you), and a tent. The tent is usually big enough for an air mattress and three people (those three people usually being me, another person, and a dog).
Well, we had half of these things, thanks to REI. My partner smartly already had a tent that he claimed was big enough for him, our dog, and me. I will tell you now that it was not. Air mattress? What air mattress could you possibly need? REI has a handy, self-inflating...thing that inflates to 1/10 of an inch and will really make you feel like you’re a true camper by "roughing it" on the death rocks. Food? Grill? Who needs them when you have 9-dollar, dry-ass meat sandwiches from Safeway just up the road? My partner also claimed he would be "catching us dinner," but this is where the 9-dollar sandwiches came in.
We also learned our dog is lightly claustrophobic, so this trip was filled with bumps in the night at all angles. We left promptly at 5:30 a.m. the next morning, unsure of the success of the whole venture.
Rating: 2
Although the camping experience itself was a bust, and we didn’t escape the heat being in The Dalles, there was a wonderful breeze and river with a temp of 30 degrees that we had the option of dying in if we so chose.
I’m not much for day drinking. I’m more of a night creature by trade, so this was a little out of my element as it was. Couple that with the excessive heat wave at a sweltering 92 degrees, and you have yourself a proper, ripe Hannah. Fresh for the picking and ready for more alcohol. I can honestly say that my friend and I were trying to play it safe by having a large glass of water for each drink we had and eating a chili dog from Roake’s. (Side note: if you don’t like Roake’s, then don’t bother day drinking with me.) Although our efforts were valiant, they could not compete with the sweat leaving our bodies and the excessive sun shining on our heads. My partner, thankfully, was our sober driver and drove us home. But not without me saying, "Wait, hang on," and vomiting outside the car window in traffic. Sorry, whoever was behind us that night. I was told we made day drinking look hard, to which I responded, "That’s why I’m not a very good alcoholic."
Rating: 3
Yes, I got sick, and yes, my friend and I completely wasted the next day on the couch. But we truly did stay hydrated and had a good time while doing so. It might have been crispy outside, but our bodies were perfectly toasted—inside. Also, wasting time on the couch meant we stayed nice and cool inside the house with the AC running and our blankets over our bodies—like adults.
Along with day drinking a couple of weeks prior, my friend and I decided to finally get tat-toes done in Seattle, where they live. Yes, that is tat-toes. Your toes. Tattooed. You call it tat-toes (per another great friend behind the counter of Joe’s in Seattle). We already had the idea planned out for what we would be getting, and we were finally able to go through with it. Before getting these done, however, we were to meet the artist at Joe’s, where I was greeted by several people who I had never mentioned I was coming to Seattle. The whole thing felt like an odd, surprise homecoming to my home away from home. After having a quick alcohol and hugs at the bar, we speed-walked down to the tattoo parlor, where we both had our toes done—typical spa day.
Rating: 5
It was perfectly rainy weather in Seattle, the temperature a wonderful 64 degrees, and I got to have drinks without worrying about the gallon of water I had to ingest. And I got a tattoo with my swamp kitty. Win-win-win.
It was my dad’s birthday this last month, and I visited him at his home in Roseburg, where he sits on top of a mountain peak, away from civilization—just how he likes it. My dad is ingenious, to put it nicely. Sometimes he comes up with an idea and puts the plan into motion before considering the actual possible outcomes. I give you the "mound of dirt" garden implementation:
His laziness the day his dirt was delivered and his ingenuity have granted him the ability to start and hold successful gardens on mounds of loose dirt. It’s all very scientific and based on when the sun gods are hitting a specific patch of the dirt. Hence the exceptionally large and incredibly happy...er...special tomato plants you see growing.
This trip was filled with an air-conditioned pizza restaurant and a smooth breeze outside the front door of his house, overlooking his pile of fruitful land and three stupid dogs.
Rating: 4
I would say 5; however, part of this trip included me discovering that roaches were a real thing in Oregon. I’ve lived here my whole life and never come across one, but now I know, and so do you. They are disgusting and run away from you faster than your hand with a ceramic mug can bash it down to kill it.
And that, my sexy readers, is how the beginning of summer is going for me so far, as well as the ratings I give to these things on how successful it was at helping forget about global warming for a minute. I also wanted to give a quick shout-out to this publication since 30 years old is almost as old as I am, and for it to still be considered relevant to readers/viewers makes my black heart giggle. Thanks for enjoying our beautiful people and entertaining reads for this long. I’m glad to have entertained you all for the few years I have so far.
Hannah One Cup can be found nowhere. They are in a cellar they found hidden, watching TV in the dark and drinking tequila while she and her dog beat the heat in a Batcave, waiting for Fabulous Las Vegas man to come feed us free food from his work. Find her on Facebook by her name or TikTok @thursdaynight_depression.
