Summer is a Dirty Whore (whom I love, just not this week)

“Ugh. My thighs are really rubbing together like nobody’s business. It’s like they’re red, and raw, and burning hot. It feels like an epic f***fest with a ghost. I just wish I had a wheelchair for June and July.”  -Jessa (GIRLS)

Minnesota is rated one of the happiest/nicest states in the nation.  My theory is that this is due to the extreme amounts of sex everyone and their mothers must be having.  Because frankly, there’s only about four months out of the year where you can be outdoors comfortably.  And when you’re stuck inside almost all year, well, certain activities ensue.  In the winter, one can conclude that the term “depression” originated here.  You can’t go outside without wearing a portable sleeping bag and boots that researchers in the Arctic have to wear for work.  It’s awesome…if you have no soul.  Not to mention the fact that it stretches out so fucking long that you come to accept that the apocalypse has arrived and it will never ever peak beyond 40 degrees, tops.

And then you have the summers.  For the first month and a half, it’s incredible.  The population seems to triple, people are going to endless baseball games and soaking up the sun in kayaks and taking weekends to travel to the land known as “up north” and fishing and hiking and doing all that other outdoorsy shit that some people find “appealing.” I mostly just sit at a semi-sandy beach with a six pack of summer shandy.  And I’ll occasionally lift my arm to reapply sunscreen.  But it’s GLORIOUS.  So many possibilities!  The world is your oyster!  This is what makes living here worth it!

And then mid-summer hits.  And suddenly, that positive outlook you’ve waited so long to express goes flying right back into hibernation.  Your mantra becomes: “HOLY GOD I’M DYING,”  and your only goal is to survive.

It’s so mother effing hot outside right now that I sweat doing literally NOTHING.  I don’t have central AC because my building was built in the early 1900’s or some shit, so all I have to remedy the situation is a precariously shaky ceiling fan, a box fan on a table across the room, and my window unit that probably hasn’t had a freon refresh in five years (Isn’t that what you’re supposed to use? Hell, I have no clue).  I call it the “trifecta effect,” except usually an effect is supposed to yield results.  There’s one spot on my bed that stays cool and it’s located at the left corner of the foot of my queen, right in front of my pansy AC.  So there’s absolutely no room for movement or shifting of position because the second you do that, sweat starts to form.  And then me being the brilliant minded human being that I am put in place a rule that I cannot turn my little AC on until at least 9pm so I’m not forced into homelessness by my next electric bill.  I made a sandwich the other night and as I lifted the knife from the mayo jar, I started dripping.  My dog fell down the stairs yesterday because it was so fucking hot that his muscles just sort of stopped working.  As he slid on his side towards the bottom, he just looked up at me with this pathetic expression, completely helpless as to what was going to happen in the next few seconds. I fully believe his life flashed before his eyes.

I’m trying my hardest to stay happy (we’re already discussing holiday shizz at work, so that’s a whole ‘nother level of Prozak diagnosis need), but it’s a beast to do so.  I’m physically melting.  And it’s #theworst.

Let’s analyze…

Perks to summers in the city:

  • Concrete bubble (no tornadoes)
  • Rooftop/patio happy hours
  • Music/movies in the parks
  • Walk errrrywhere (buh-bye taxis)

Fucking annoying aspects of summers in the city:

  • Concrete bubble (CONSTANT SUN ABSORPTION = DEATH)
  • Lack of bodies of swimmable water
  • Garbage on a hot Tuesday morning

As you can see, list #2 trumps (less is more, no?).  So instead of forcing happiness, I’m going to do an inventory of all the places to stay cool in our happiest of happy fucking states in the nation.  And then I’m going to stick my head in a freezer.

  • Loring Park Pool – This pool is roughly the size of a large hot tub and is surrounded by a fence that my five year old cousin could climb.  Accompanied by the general awesomeness it promotes, there’s a very large and very clear sign that states “THERE IS NEVER EVER GOING TO BE A LIFEGUARD ON DUTY SO IF YOU DROWN IT’S YOUR OWN DAMN FAULT.”  Very encouraging.  And really, considering the fact that after about 11pm the park becomes a giant sleepover for all the city’s bums, I’m sure the water is a magical breeding ground of any STD imaginable.  But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine.  Chlorine kills that shit, right?
  • Lake Calhoun – Great view of the city, no doubt.  And it’s a beautiful place to be – lots of good looking people running around showing off their shiny glistening 6 packs (I’m on a payment plan at my gym – don’t worry, I’ll catch up soon), dogs roaming around on colorful leashes, people BBQing and playing volleyball.  But then you get to the actual beach.  It stretches for a whopping 1/2 block and its sand just barely covers the rock hard (probably concrete) ground beneath it.  But it’s okay because Minnesotans don’t give a shit.  We have exactly 3 months to enjoy the sunshine until it goes back into never-ending hibernation (BURN BABY BURN).  So every child from age 11-18 is there ALL DAY LONG because they’re not in school and it’s super cool to chill at the “beach” and pretend they’re in an episode of the OC.  If you find a single square foot of space to sort of scrunch your towel down on, DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE LEAVE UNTIL THE SUN SETS.  Oh yeah, and urban lakes are filled with really fun stuff like bacteria that drains from the city’s totally sanitary streets.  Yum.
  • Hidden Beach – It may take you awhile to find this gem tucked away between the trees, but fear not for when you arrive, there are PLENTY of hippies to spare.  It was at one point a nude beach after all!  Look to your left and – oh! – how wonderful! – a bicycle with a basket!  Short on tie dye?  No problem!  The man over by that giant oak tree is selling tshirts!  Look to your right – it’s a man! – oh God wait…nope, that’s definitely a woman.  HOLY SHIT I HAVEN’T SEEN THAT MUCH LEG HAIR SINCE BORAT.  And what the hell is she applying on her skin?  Oh yes, it’s an all natural element of protection (that probably won’t work).  Meh.  Imma slather on a quick layer of Banana Boat and open up that box of processed twinkies I brought with me.  Cheers.
  • The Mall of America – This dreaded collection of wandering human souls nomming on a Tollhouse cookie while simultaneously slurping a big ICEE and trying not to puke on their next Nickelodeon Universe rollercoaster has got it right in the summertime.  Why?  Well aside from that magical thing known as ULTRA HIGH-POWERED WONDERFUL GOD-GIVEN AIR CONDITIONING, the MOA’s got everything: the perfect storm of shopping opportunities to ensure bankruptcy, bathrooms that can never quite get clean because of the nonstop traffic, and a parking garage that has levels with names like “Florida” and “California” to pretend you’re “on vacation.”  What more could a girl ask for?
  • Any movie theater – 2 hours in a freezing cold room immersed in an action/spy movie or even a cartoon?  2 hours to somehow make you believe being cold isn’t just a figment of your imagination?  I’ll take it.  Plus, there’s nothing like the movies to feed your denial that a tub of buttered popcorn with a side of Jr. Mints is perfectly healthy (see above perks of the MOA).
  • Any restaurant – Again, I emphasize the glories of central AC.  Plus, if you’ve got nothing to do all day, what better way to revisit your glory days of college and just drink yourself silly?  Tra-la-la-la-la (skips off into the sunset with smile slapped across face).

And if all else fails, fill up a bath with ice cold water and just sit there.

*Lifts hand to face and wipes newly formed droplets of perspiration.*

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2 thoughts on “Summer is a Dirty Whore (whom I love, just not this week)

  1. My week is looking rather nice…we’ve finally had some breaks from triple digit days…and by triple digit I don’t mean 100…I mean 117.

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