Summer Love-In: Vacations. And men running shirtless.

And now we go from from someone who doesn't blog at all, to someone who has been blogging for years and years (since way before I even know what a blog was) and who is not too bad at it either.


Today I am VERY excited to bring you a guest post from Lauren of I'm Better in Real Life, a.k.a. Assistant Editor Lauren of A Practical Wedding fame. (I know, a bit of a coup for a wee little blog like mine, right? I couldn't believe it either. I may have bribed her with promises of alcohol and undying appreciation...) She's also an actual, proper, has-already-written-a-whole-book writer, as well as an editor, bride-to-be and ace scrambled-eggs-maker. I like Lauren for lots of reasons, not least of which is the fact that she has an entire category of posts on her blog tagged What The Fuck. Man, I really need to up my game on the tagging front.


Take it away, lady:

So here's the deal. Summer is not my favorite season. It just isn't. You know what happened to me all the time, from when I was 14 until I was 23? Every spring the boy I was dating would break up with me (sometimes he waited until it was a little into the summer) and I would spend the rest of the summer, bored, with a random summer job, doing my darndest to forget his obnoxious, selfish ass (who I just happened to be totally crushed by... not really his ass, more like... well, you get the idea. Crushed). 

And all of the movies that would come out in the summer were all about summer love. And all of the songs leading up to the summer were all about summer love. And I must have watched Grease a thousand times, literally, from ages 12-14, and every time I would stare, mesmerized, at the beginning portion where they would explain Summer Lovin' and how they met at the beach. Can you imagine? MEETING someone at the beach? And then seeing them there day after day? This kind of fortune does not exist in my world. 

I always had this fantasy of meeting someone on a plane. Every time I would go somewhere, I would scope out the other people waiting in line at the southwest terminal (I flew southwest a lot). I would find the hot guy around my age, try to make flirty glances in his direction, and then watch for him once I got in my seat. I would see him coming down the aisle towards me, and wait, expectantly, for him to sit down in my row next to me. It never happened. I never met anyone on a plane. But this has nothing to do with summer, really. Just Lauren's pathetic love life. (As I sit here writing this Kamel just got a cramp from video game play... yup, winners.)

So. Back to summer. There was no love, there were no magic movie moments. You know what there was a lot of though? Burning. Yes, that's right. I am white as snow, a lily, porcelain, all of those beautiful descriptions that just mean, "I can see your veins pulsing through your see-through skin. And I bet your mother is English." Ding ding, someone get this person a prize! I was totally the kid in the pool that had to wear one of their over sized sleep shirts because I had gotten a bad sunburn the week before. I was also the kid who thought that I didn't need sunscreen in the water because the light would reflect off. Bad, bad thinking.

"Female short pants" from the Life Magazine archives via Miss Moss

I also hate shorts. Shorts are the devil. I've seen the girls who are capable of wearings shorts and tennis shoes all summer long, their beautiful tan legs prancing around, all comfortable in the heat. I do not, and will not, ever understand those girls. Who do they think they are? With their FORTUNATE LEGS? First of all... shorts and tennis shoes? I am trapped in shorts and flip flops at best... why? Because if you cut me off at the ankle all anyone can see are my giant caves. And shorts? All by themselves? Cut into my thighs, my lily white, veiny thighs, and make me hate living. When I was in grad school (and I'm so going to totally repeat this story on my own blog, so when I do, just pretend like you've never heard it... and while we're at it, that you also think it's the most clever, insightful thing you've ever heard. Deal? Ok) ... when I was in grad school I had summer meetings with my adviser and one day I was bitching about needing shorts... and she said, "no you don't. there is no need for shorts. Just wear skirts and dresses.... you never ever have to wear shorts ever again if you don't want to." And I thought: Mother effing genius, and about 15 years too late. I could have avoided all of those mom shorts I had to buy and wear in high school because I have mom hips and mom thighs and don't fit into the Juniors' section. So. Much. Mental. Anguish. 

But you know what? Summer is good for one thing. Vacations. And men running shirtless... let's be honest. And if they can oogle the girls in bikinis and high heels at the beach (what IS that, btw?), then I'm going to oogle right back at them. While I'm covered head to toe in Zinc, and with a giant hat to cover my face, and my prescription sun glasses on. Oh dear.