I have hated August for as long as I can remember. And just so we are clear, I’m talking about August as in the month of August and not ‘August, ’ a 1983 novel by Judith Rossner (whom I’ve never heard of, though I’m sure her novel is lovely) or August Spies, the American anarchist (whom I’ve also never heard of but who doesn’t love a good anarchist?). No, I’m talking August – the butt side book end of summer.
When I was a kid, my August hatred was pretty obvious. August meant that summer vacation was drawing to a close. Even though school didn’t start until the first week of September, you know my mom was in the driveway with the engine revving the minute the 1st of August hit.
“C’MON! GET IN THE CAR! We have to go to Target for school supplies!” (revvvvvvv)
“But it’s only August! School doesn’t start for another month!”
“Got to beat the rush! Early bird school supply sales! C’MON!” (revvvvvvv)
Besides the impending doom that was the start of the school year, August was pretty miserable anyhow. Anyone who has lived in a Midwestern state that borders the Mississippi River or one of the Great Lakes knows that in August the temperatures can reach up to 90 degrees. That isn’t so bad really. But couple 90 degrees with 90% humidity, and you’ve got yourself a problem. I like to think of humidity being similar to falling asleep at 4 in the morning under a big fluffy comforter after drinking entirely way too much booze and waking up 6 hours later covered in that horrible layer of sweat that is your body releasing booze toxins, feeling your internal temperature is running 300 billion degrees and you have the stupid heavy comforter on you that you can’t get off because your asshole boyfriend is passed out on top of it trapping you, trapping you in that hot sweaty 300 billion degrees OH JAYSUS GET OFF! OFF! OFF!! OOOOOOFFFFFFFFF!!!!!! Humidity in the Midwest is like that but worse because it doesn’t go away after 3 glasses of water and a fried egg sandwich.
Nowadays, I don’t like August because there doesn’t seem to be that much to do. Everyone has pretty much burned themselves out of holding BBQ’s. Not that it would matter – no one is around because they are squeezing in those last vacation days or afternoons down at the beach before it turns cold (and I snicker because in California, “cold” means 60 degrees). August Boredom has drove Andy and I to play mini golf and go to the movies last Saturday. Not that it wasn’t fun - it was, but that’s August for you. There are no crazy trips out to Catalina or some raging festival down at the peninsula or anything really. Earlier this week I was complaining to Andy that I had nothing to look forward to (which sounds horribly desolate and suicidal). I meant to say is that normally we have some sort of trip or adventure planned most months and this month…nothing. Looking at our social calendar there is nothing until the Charlatans show in mid-September. Basically, I don’t know quite what to do with myself, which depresses me to no end and makes me quite the pain in the ass to be around – until September rolls around that is.
Our mini-golf adventure where Andy tries to slice the ball back on the green.
So what is a girl to do? Whine on her blog and hope that someone can come up with a suggestion? Hmm…great idea, think I’ll give that a go.