Don’t make me go back!




Photo on 7-30-14 at 7.00 PM

I feel like a third-grader that doesn’t want to come in from recess.

Guys, it’s July 30th. August is like, this week. It’s on Friday.

Which MEANS, for all of us that have spent our summer waving our Chicago flags high and mighty and proud…it’s almost fucking winter. Insert gif of a frowny-faced celebrity or a New Girl character being sad and mopey.


July 30th. And it’s almost winter. Let that sink into your humidity-muddled brain for a sec. “Summer just started!” We think this to ourselves in a fierce collective, and we’d be right. It did. Technically it started a month ago. And now it’s ending. Bye, bye!

Sure, maybe I’m overreacting. Being a Whiny Wilma. But then again, maybe not. Because, in about, eh, 40 days or so, we’ll start to notice that familiar crispness in the air. That welcoming twinge, something’s changing, look at those leaves! How pretty! It’s like a Thomas Kinkade painting! We’ll need a cardigan, so we’ll grab one as we rush out the door to a bonfire. Or maybe you’re the type that proclaims, it’s hoodie weather! We’ll start drinking hot toddys. (What the hell is a hot toddy, though) Pumpkin-spiced everything, ciders, costume parties, colorful leaves, spooky haunted houses. I know, I knowwwwww. Those things are cool.

But all of that lasts for about two.flipping.weeks.

And then it’s winter. Fall was just purgatory, so painfully temporary. Fall is mean. It’s there and then it isn’t. Why fall, why!, why must you leave us so abruptly every year, only serving as a gateway for that cruel horrible nastiness we call winter? Fall is that cool friend that moves away to Istanbul after graduation. Must be nice, FALL, to just pack up and go like that. See ya! Great, now winter’s here…for like 8 months. I’ll just lay over here, on the couch, hibernating and wallowing with a bag of Doritos until I can wear a romper again.

Okay, some of winter is fine: cuddling, Santa Claus (which is an umbrella term for everything Christmas), hot cocoa, […] wait, that’s it. That’s literally all I like about winter. I am a woman of reason. I prefer to walk out the door and not say, “shiver me rotten icy timbers, it’s cold as a popsicle out here!” Car problems become second nature, snow is slippery so we fall down and embarrass ourselves, we need to wear like 47 things just to go outside. God.

So I’m sitting here thinking: WHY AM I HERE. Should I move? Should I go somewhere? I could do it. Pack my backpack, bundle up my kitty cats and book it down to the Gulf. Hang out there for a bit on a beach towel, sippin’ that margarita. Maybe I’ll say to California: California, here I come! Or go to like Denver or something, where the winters are picturesque at the very least. But then I realize I’m poor. Problem numero dos.

Bottom line is that I want to sit and enjoy the summer while I can, light my tiki lamps and have rooftop drinks. But it’s fading, soon. And I know all you guys busy summer-lovin’ feel me.

I just don’t want to stop doing these things:

Exposing my legs.
Going to bars where there’s just one big window in front and it’s OPEN.
Running outside and getting chased by little dogs.
Riding my bike.
Enjoying the absence of shivering.
Seeing green things that are growing in the ground.
Hanging out at summer festivals.
Being asked if I’d rather sit inside or outside. OUTSIDE, always outside.
Listening to Ke$ha with the windows rolled down.

Sue me.