I live with air conditioning. This may not sound like much, but it really really is. The house I grew up in - this groovy little place in this funky little town in... new jersey - has never been air conditioned. Having no basement and little attic space to speak of, it never seemed very conducive to conditioned air.
my father managed to pull it off. The Cool Air Boys (moniker by moe) showed up last week and crawled about our upper regions for three days in the boiling heat in order to install a state of the art central air system.
It was stuffy, the temperatures soaring to 90* (I think) and one of the dudes flat out fainted up in our attic. His foot went through the ceiling and we now have a nice sized hole in the dining room. They're patching it up for us.
As fate would have it, at the height of my father's excitement and bliss over an actual (gasp) air conditioning system, the temperatures dropped to about 70* the day the installation was finished. Bah!
He was so antsy to use the damn thing, that he used it anyway. I slept in my ski parka that night. The ice-blue one with the faux fir around the hood and a Molson's Canadian patch covering a rip on the left pocket. I wore my socks with toes (all twelve of them).
It was warm-ish last night. I got home from work around half past nine. The air was dripping with the remnants of... something wet and gross. It was muggy enough to make my glasses fog up anyhow.
I walked in the front door and... and... AND - it was cool. Wow. Pretty groovy. Something I've never experienced before. Quite literally.
I slept comfortably last night, without any ice packs to keep me company in my large, lonely bed. It was nice. I like air conditioning just fine.