Sing it, Bob Seager.
OH MY GOD HOW IS IT ALREADY THE LAST DAY OF AUGUST?
You know what that means, right yo?
Jimmy turns 4o next month.
This sweet face!
But it also means my favorite time of year is about to come to one sharp startling cold musty conclusion (save for what will likely be a glorious three-day, 90-degree spit of time at some point in October, when all the Facebookers of the world will whine with epic sadness and post photos of their in-dash thermometers reading 91 and text saying “WTF MOTHER NATURE” followed weeks later with a -21 and “WTF MOTHER NATURE” because no one is happy and Facebook makes us think that you and only you know how to read AND feel the temperature).
I don’t hate fall. I just love summer.
Seriously. How do you not love a season that you spend like this? Or, in my younger days, like this:
Could I BE any cuter? The cigarette is a nice touch. My friend Mannino calls fall “fat guy weather,” and I’ll give him that. Because I’ll also give him that no one is really comfortable with that drip of sweat rolling down your back, clearly headed for your crack and beyond, and you are powerless to stop it.
But I do get positively ragey over the oozy glee of the fall lovers. People who say things like “ooohhh I just LUURRVEEE my new COAT! I *TOTES LOVE* being able to put on my LEATHER BOOTS and WOOL SWEATERS!”
Who the hell loves a coat and boots and sweaters? Paraphiliacs, that’s who. Just call it a fetish and be done with it, don’t blame it on autumn, you freaks.
That’s right, I put a link there. You clicked it, didn’t you.
Anyway, summer has come to a hot, sweaty, swift conclusion, and everyone is pleased with themselves for the time being, even though they’ll be complaining about the cold and snow soon enough.
I did have a productive summer. I hung out with a few friends:
We totes fit in the frame.
I passed my new expertise of fine fashion on to James:
There was Lucky Banana’s visit to the Cup.
And of course, time with the boys.
This summer, I learned several things.
I learned that I can be in a room in several naked women, all who have fake boobs, and I can put my hands all over these women, and in the end, it was not even the slightest bit exciting.
I learned that there is a lot of ugly behind the pretty. I cannot stress that hard enough.
I learned that women who are 6 feet tall, even when they are slender, are still 200 pounds, because they are 6 feet tall, and a 200 pound woman will crush the hell out of your toe when she steps on it.
I learned that Atlanta is in fierce competition with Baton Rouge for the actual portal to hell. But not to worry, I will make a kick ass zombie:
I learned that giving me a stimulant will in fact make me drop 23 pounds (just say YES!).
I learned that models are my besties.
I learned that stitches between brothers are a competitive sport.
I learned that I have to keep the a/c on, because my sons have allergies simply too bad to cope with the great outdoors.
I learned that I am a legit fashion blogger.
I learned that I can still make new friends.
Alight, already. I’m ready for September. Technically, we still have a few more weeks of summer. So sorry, fat guys, let’s have a few more sweaty days. You can celebrate your fetish momentarily!
Happy last few weeks of summer, y’all!