Flotsam: August 2009 Archives

Goodbye, summer. You sucked, by and large.

You presented very little in the way of good weather or vacations (haven't seen one of those since 2005). There was no grand summer romance. I was not filled with joy and mischief. I didn't lose weight. Quite the opposite in fact.

You rained and stormed and made me ill for the entire first month of you.

You sent me what I asked for, a playmate who'd want nothing more, and I wasn't at all sure, once I had it, that it was enough. I'm still not sure. I think it is what I want, but I want him to want me more often than he does.

You gave me some work when I desperately needed it, and I do appreciate that part.

But you didn't really feel like summer at all. I kept waiting and waiting for you to start, in earnest, and all you offered was a burst of hot weather and humidity, like a pressure cooker. And then rain. And now it's September, and I have knitted the rim of a little wool hat. I've an inch of ribbing already. And that means you're done. Gone.

Sure, I may have one last day to ride to the beach with one or the other boy (preferably the older one; he's more handsome, and I've never seen him in beach clothes). I may wear my tie-dyes a few more weeks.

I might want to smell like Delirium a ways into fall, and I might cut off a few more pairs of jeans - but they'll really be for the cold weather to come. It's going to rain again, and this time it'll be cold, and it'll be harder to leave the house. It'll snow, and I'll have to figure out how to seal these windows up. I'll think about having a friend over to bake bread, but it won't happen. He'll make jokes about it; bread will be an innuendo for the rising of other passions. And that won't happen either.

The leaves will fall and I'll wish I had an apple tree.

So here's what you do when it's so hot out that your brain turns to a rancid sort of pudding:

a) Two showers, every day. The second one with Dr. Bronner's Peppermint Castile Soap.
b) Water, Gatorade, lemonade, iced tea, aloe vera drink. If you can find it, green coconut water, so I'm told.
c) Carry an extra T-shirt, pair of underwear, socks.
d) Mooch air conditioning from cafes, shops, restaurants, etc.
e) Greet friends with kisses on the cheek, not hugs.
f) Ice cream. Lots of ice cream.
g) Salty and/or spicy food. But be careful, because much of the time food is going to make you feel a bit ill afterwards.
h) Douse head and face with cold water in every bathroom you come to.
g) Buy new bike helmet, one of those higher-end ones with big air vents.
h) Dispense with bike shorts - too heavy for a second layer.
i) Exception to h) = wear short dresses whenever possible, in which case one must wear bike shorts underneath because one is not a tart.
j) Dispense with raingear. If it rains, one will be too busy praising the gods to worry about getting wet. And anyway, how much wetter would one get from being rained on than from sweating through every garment one has on?
k) Cold coffee.
l) The cat would like a second water dish. Because sometimes the kitchen is too far.
m) Shave your legs. That applies to boys, too. Bare skin radiates heat better.
n) Can I please have another haircut? Pleeeeeassse?
o) Open freezer. Insert face.
p) Nakedness is next to godliness.
q) Always carry a bandana. For the dabbing. And the covering of head in sun.
r) Surround self with the prettiest boys you can find. (Okay, that's just my general rule.)
s) Dream a little dream of October.

The vampire says to the werewolf: "Maybe we need a bit of risky."

The werewolf says to the vamp: "We need to set some ground rules about guests. Like don't kill them."

Snicker.

So. In no particular order:

I cooked some chickpeas. I wore my Oscar T-shirt and, walking down the street, a guy stops me and in friendly manner requests a high-five because I am "Rockin' the Grouch."

I rode into town and back at approximately a million miles an hour. I helped a friend hang some blinds and picked up some T-shirts I'd tie-dyed with her a few days ago. I got back on the bike and raced over to the restaurant where I was meeting this cute boy. Sigh. Cute boy.

Cute boy and I ate food and then cupcakes in rapid succession and then hopped on our bikes. He said I could come stay if I wanted, though he'd just moved that day and his apt was a mess. I declined. Not because I didn't want him, but because I was all sweaty, and I feel that a person's first night in a new apt should be spent solo. For the human-apartment bonding. I didn't explain my reasoning, I just called "good night" as I turned left, away from him.

Then of course I regretted it, because, you know - cute boy.

PS. Those lines of dialogue come from Being Human, which is effing brilliant, like so much of what's on BBC America.

My nominees for best and worst commercials currently airing:

Worst: All ads for "male enhancement" products. Also: eHarmony.

Best: The new ad for Pedigree dog food, which shows a Chihuahua telling viewers that his food makes him not only a good pooper, but an optimum pooper.

Just thought I'd throw those out there.

Well, my weekend sucked.

Including but not limited to watching a friend get doored by a taxi and then treated abominably by the cops he called to take the accident report, having to call the cops myself - thrice - because of truly outrageous noise levels (hint: stadium-sized speaker stacks belong in a stadium), losing all possible sleep in the universe, and having my favorite cell phone of all time destroyed in a cat-related water accident.

I know. You wish you were me, don't you?