Why I should never be a weather girl

I packed up all my thick winter sweaters a week ago. I pushed my tall leather boots to the deep dark innards of my bloated closet. Since the first of the seasonal shipments at the Summit have arrived, I have obtained approximately 5 new sundresses. THIS is my time. My moment. I feel like I'm coming out of hibernation. So, a couple of days ago, my optimistic roomie, Shelly, and I got ballsy, and decided to turn OFF the heat. It was Friday. It was sunny and 70 degrees. We were high on that groovy weekend feeling. And I'll be DAMNED if we will turn that heat back on again until fall rears its fugly head. No matter that my room feels like a cabin on the Titanic as it was sinking to the floor of the ocean. I have a down comforter. I'll survive. I was feeling particularly unsinkable this morning when I woke up and ventured outside of the fluffy marshmallow blanket that keeps me from succumbing to hypothermia each night. I swung open the squeaky door to my closet, and went straight for my cheeriest, gauziest, floraliest new sundress and my yellow, pearl embellished cardigan.

YES. I KNOW. I heard it was going to be cold today. I heard it would be dreary and drizzly and 40 something degrees, but I view my wardrobe choices during this obnoxious, wishy washy season as a big "eff you" to Mother Nature for screwing with my sunshine. And really, how bad could it be? I donned my adorable new khaki trench coat, feeling like Lois Lane, and slipped into some golden open toe flats. Soon, I was boppin' out the door and down the sidewalk to my car. Within seconds, I was accepting the possibility that I would lose my left pinky toe to frostbite.

DANG.

I need SUMMER. I need LAKE. BEACH. Let me bask in the sun.

Give me a day where it's so oppressively hot it feels like someone had thrown a wet washcloth over your face every time you open the door. I'll take it. I'll take it and I'll like it. Give me a margarita on the patio. Give me a lazy afternoon at the bow of the boat. Really, I'm an excellent hood ornament.

Anyway, enough whining. Here's some design porn for you:

how great is this kitchen?

saw it on design*sponge and fell in lurrrrve. Great light. Buttery yellow walls. Original cabinets from the 1930's. And that fridge. Mama mia. Plus, the countertops? They're stained maple. How sexy is that. You thought they were raven black granite, didn't you? Puh-lease.

If I lived in Miami, I would have a room like this:

So Golden Girls. I'm Blanche. Shelly is Rose. Josie is Sophia. I think maybe George the Cat is Dorothy.