Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden #%&*#@! Sun

Warning: I'm a bit of a potty mouth in this post.

For a very brief 15 minutes this afternoon I saw blue sky.

No, I'm not kidding.

For those of you readers who aren't Pacific Northwesterners (Which might be just Meghann, Rachel, Timmy and the occasional random outsider who might, maybe, perchance stumble across my blog), you don't know how incredibly awesome seeing blue sky was.

We had just finished our weekly Friday lunch time meeting (Which actually sorta sucked because my sandwich -- we always get lunch purchased for us on Fridays, courtesy of a department in the company -- was slathered in gut-wrenching cream cheese so I was forced to buy my own lunch) and were back in our cave of an office when our boss came to talk with us, the messaging team. He was in the midst of explaining how we need to really hammer down on perfecting the narration aspect of our Impact Movies (since our writing and graphics are already pretty bomb) when I, gazing past him, blurted out:

"Holy shit, that's blue sky!"

I was obviously mortified; embarrassed by my foul-mouthed word vomit and apparent inability to pay full attention to what my boss was saying at the time and scared because I interrupted the flow of creative reconstruction of a major step in our scriptwriting process.

I was indeed the new girl who wasn't paying attention to the man who signed her paychecks.

Shit.

It wasn't even that...I mean, it mostly was, but there's also the factor that the big boss intimidates me. I'm pretty sure he is indeed a genius and because of that, I find myself super hesitant when speaking around or directly to him. I don't want to sound like an idiot, which doesn't actually happen to me often (I swear I'm smart and articulate...Jacob would call that smarticulate). However, I've found myself sounding like a total ditzy airhead (or perhaps the platinum blonde I've made myself to be) in front of him (I was actually surprised I landed the full-time position here, considering that I've never had such a bad and awkward interview as I did when I spoke with him prior to being hired). So, to blurt out something so remedially obtuse was really, the icing on the idiot cake.

Especially because my interruption didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" My boss asked.

"Oh...uh...there's...uhm. A break. In the clouds. And...uh...yeah...the sky...the sky is blue. Blue sky."

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

"You don't say? Well there it is. It's about fucking time."

Phew. Crisis averted.

But yes, there was a teeny, tiny sliver of blue sky this afternoon. After a month's worth of rain in the first four days of June, the third wettest May in history and a record-breaking 25 days of measurable rain in April, the slice of blue sky was a slice of hope for better, warmer and drier days to come.

Honestly though, they can't come soon enough. I'm ready to let these pasty white legs see some sunlight for a change; to not wear hooded jackets when I walk from car to apartment; to be able to wear sandals without having soggy toes afterwards.

Not that I'm complaining; I'm well aware I've established residence in Portland where we're as famous for rain as we are for great coffee, great beer and a great abundance of homeless people. And that's okay...sometimes a good rain is cleansing and soothing (Also like coffee and beer, though not really like homeless people).

But, after three months of rain with just a teaser of warm weather, I think we Portlanders (and all Pacific Northwesterners, for that matter) deserve a little big of Mr. Sunshine love.

It's about fucking time, after all.