I always have such a hard time saying goodbye to summer. I know. According to the calendar, summer is long past. I just always want to hang on a little longer than I should.
I’ve learned a lot this summer.
I’ve learned that John Lithgow has a fig tree in his front yard… and if I jump high enough, I can nab one. Thank you Mr. Lithgow.
I’ve learned that having a summer ‘maj’ (aka a best lady friend) is pretty wonderful.
Also… some iPhone filters make you look pink-tan. Let’s just go with it.
I’ve come to learn that Tracy and I text each other A LOT… about everything from Magic Mike and sisterly relationships, to cheeseburger strong-arm patriotism.
I’ve learned that Tracy and I also have a weird weird weird guilty pleasure. We watch this Joy the Baker book tour video to analyze the various facial expressions of Joy and Tucker Taylor.
It’s a hobby. So what?
This summer I’ve learned that only your good (and hilarious) friends will make fun of you (in doodle form) while you’re giving a stiff speech about blogging.
You’ll see down the left side of the doodle that I referred to my blog as a ‘mess of typos’. At least I’m truthful and self-aware. Thank you Helen Jane.
I’ve learned that the only thing that matters in Palm Springs is cold beer and sunscreen.
This summer I’ve learned that Momofuku ramen noodles followed by gin after gin after gin after… gin (really!?), means that you have made… very liberal choices in beverage.
NYC is straight steamy in the summer. I’m not talking sexy steam. Hair wilting, mascara running, why-is-you-face-melting steam.
This summer I stumbled across this picture of my family. I learned that I was a little terror as a youth. I always imagined myself being an angel child. No? I’m throwing a fit and trying to shove my mother off a San Francisco trolley? That can’t be right….
Ugh. Sorry Mom. Sincerely.
I think I’ve posted this picture before… but really, it needs revisiting.
I’ve also learned that dads live forever. Isn’t that cool?
Gah! Love this man.
I’ve learned that I will never ever tire of this book. I’ve had it since I was sixteen and it has gone nearly everywhere with me.
Bukowski’s words are so flawed and human (and drunk and real and raw and heartbreaking and hilarious and poetic and utterly beautiful).
I wrote my very first boyfriend’s name in that book. His name was Larry and really… it was doomed from the start. I was into reading, volleyball, and making money at my first job. He was into making out.
Should I call the number? I should… right? I really should.
I learned that if a man wants to grill, you let him grill.
(That butt joke was really just for my own amusement. Apologies.)
Ok fine… enough is enough! I’m ready to say goodbye to summer. Almost.
Maybe just one more hot dog. One more glass of rose? This farewell is rather half-hearted seeing as Los Angeles has been exactly one bazillion degrees lately.
No pumpkins yet. Too soon. I can barely handle soup. Don’t make me carve anything.
I love you. I’m going to go make doughnuts and stick my face in them.