So what do you do when you can't trim the budget anymore, and gas is off the hizinge? You do without A/C. Somewhere deep inside I know this is making me more of a woman than the next chickadee. That and the 75mph jaunt home with all four cranked down and 6 cranked up with Ray Scott singing "She don't like to play my kind of music" and my dark brown shoulder-length tresses flying about like Medusa's snakes sometimes obstructing my view. Live on the edge, I say. Remember when we lived in that trailer in deep south Alabama? We'd come back from the bay, and the thick palpable stench of fried softshells, shrimp and french fries, fan-swirled furiously between those aluminum walls and cheap studs that we called home. Yeah, a little like that.