Summertime, Psych, and Swimsuits

I love summer. Because there are cut-offs, popsicles, gardens, sprinklers, warm nights, nice smells, barbecues, beautiful evenings, Orange Crush, ice cold Coca Colas, camping, stars, sunshine, and reruns on TV (I love reruns. Especially of old Psych episodes. I LOVE OLD PSYCH EPISODES. Especially the first season).

 Plus summer TV shows! Like Suits, which is fabulous (if you don’t watch it you are probably in the majority, but you should watch it because it is cute and funny and hilarious, even if it is completely implausible) (it’s television. Okay? It is going to be implausible) (and sometimes cheesy, but who cares? I love cheesy television. I’m unashamed)(and it’s about lawyers! People. They argue for a living. It’s great) (yes I know that it is a very technical job and not as glamorous as they make it look on TV. It’s still fun to watch). 

 Plus also my birthday! I love having my birthday in summer, because guess what? I never had to go to school. And because of where my birthday falls, I always had my half birthday off, too. (This must have frustrated my teachers. “Okay, her birthday is in summer so we’ll just celebrate her half birthday—NOOO! WINTER BREAK!”) (I’m kidding. My teachers probably did not care very much.) (BUT I DID). (Sometimes). (I still like having a summer birthday, though). 

And yes, it does get ridiculously hot and you’re constantly in a state of gross sweatiness—but who cares? So is everybody else! For the perpetual sweater (one who sweats a lot) (not the article of clothing), it’s like a dream come true, because now everybody is in the same situation as you are: gross and socially awkward. Hooray for the social awkwardness! 

One of the only things I do not like about summer is swimsuits. I like to swim. I just don’t like the clothing for it. Who invented this? WHO? My favorite is reading fashion magazines that try and make it sound like “anybody can wear a bikini” (no just no) or give guides to the most “flattering bikini.” It is a bikini. There’s just not enough fabric to really create any kind of illusions about the person’s body type (I say person, and I should say woman, but I didn’t want to exclude all the men out there who like to wear bikinis)(AAAAHHH. Mental images, mental images!) 

All right. I have to run screaming down the street now (clutching my head) (screaming “NO PLEASE NO”). Good-bye.

Why I Sometimes Hate Facebook

1.       Pictures of relatively hot guys (that you have no chance of ever dating HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)

Like that one guy you knew in elementary school, who has suddenly gotten very attractive. And you didn’t appreciate him back then. I mean, he was cute, but you were so interested in this other guy, and you feel like you wasted your opportunity to have a legitimate crush on him (that isn’t, you know, based solely on Facebook stalking) (“Hey! He likes ice cream! Me too!”) 

Or that other guy that you haven’t thought about in forever (translation: three months) and you see a picture of him and think, “Oh my gosh, he’s still kind of completely hot.”

I think the solution here is to just delete all of my attractive male Facebook friends that I am not on direct speaking terms with. 

HAHA. Just kidding. The real solution is to Facebook stalk them. Speaking of which… 

2.       Facebook stalking. 

Facebook provides lazy-but-curious people with the means to be complete and total creeps, and then to have guilt trips as they are browsing the page of that one person they haven’t had a conversation with in five years. “Am I a weirdo? What’s wrong with me? Why am I so interested in—oh, wow, she’s dating *that guy*?” Also it makes you hyper aware that other people might be checking out your page, and that makes you self-conscious. Sometimes I even Facebook stalk myself to make sure everything is fine and dandy for any of my friends who are bored and want to, say, look at my status updates from up to three months ago. 

3.       People who update every three minutes with things like, “Now I am eating a sandwich!” 

“Doing my laundry!” 

“Where do all the socks go?” 

“Taking out the trash!” 

“Something’s living in my trash can!” 

“I think that it’s a hobo—AH! AH! AAAAAAHHHHH! IT’S GOT ME—“ 

4.       People who air their personal problems publicly 

In an “anonymous” fashion: “People are such jerks sometimes. Like when they talk about you behind your back and get all offended when you’re mad at them. Like, hey, don’t talk about me behind my back! We were supposed to be friends and you’ve just totally changed. I just can’t believe you sometimes. You need to just go fall off a cliff. If you mess with me, I’ll mess you up. I am not putting up with this crap anymore. Some people just shouldn’t even exist.”  

The slightly less anonymous version: “Ex-boyfriends shouldn’t return your stuff to you at eight on a Saturday morning wearing muscle shirts. Talk about inconsiderate. I dumped you for a reason, you loser. Stop trying to win me back.”

Full out war (disclaimer: I don't think I've ever seen this actually happen)(but it probably does): “For those who are concerned: Linda McLadybug is a JERK and a boyfriend stealer. Die in a hole, Linda! P.S. your haircut is stupid.” 

5.       The weird addictiveness 

Even if you are not posting every day, there is a good chance you are checking Facebook every day, or at least every time you are on a computer. It’s the perfect device for boredom—you feel like you’re doing something, when really, you’re doing absolutely nothing. 

And then you feel guilt and have to eat a Snickers bar.

Books I Read for School and Disliked/Hated/Had a Problem With

1.       Wuthering Heights 

Cathy’s a monster, Heathcliff’s crazy, and nearly everybody else is either a pansy or a jerk. It’s supposed to be a love story, but guys. It isn’t. Because Cathy and Heathcliff are not in love with each other, okay? They are obsessed with each other. Obsessed. There is a difference. It is unhealthy, it is really creepy—and in spite of said obsession, they still can’t pull it together and get married, and instead spend the rest of their lives moping and plotting revenge. And then they die. Unhappy. The end. 

2.       Jane Eyre 

Read it in sixth grade for a book report. Procrastinated until the last minute and had to read almost the entire book in one day. Needless to say, it did not leave a sunshiny feel-good impression on me (since then, I’ve come to appreciate it, bought a new copy, and mended my middle school ways. But at the time, this book and I were ENEMIES). 

3.       Dracula

Read it in eighth grade. My impressions were: boring, boring, boring. EW. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

4.       Things Fall Apart 

I don’t actually think that I finished this one. My hatred for it was mainly circumstantial—I didn’t like the novel, but I hated even more my teacher’s condescension when we pointed out which parts we had problems with. The best way to endear yourself to a classroom full of tenth graders is not to treat them like simpletons. Just so we’re clear on that. 

5.       Carry On, Mr. Bowditch 

Fifth grade. His sister, his brothers, and his wife died. And then he remarried his wife’s cousin Polly, whose real name was Mary (this was a very important and very bizarre detail to ten-year-old me). Also there was a lot of talk about sailing. And navigation. And he wasn’t even a pirate. You can imagine how thrilling this was to me. 

6.       The Old Man and the Sea 

This book inspired in me a sincere and deep hatred for all things Hemingway. I kind of feel bad about it. It wasn’t Hemingway’s fault. I had to read this book on vacation (strike one)—the whole thing (strike two)—and all I can remember about it was the scene where he was talking to his hand and telling it that it wasn’t allowed to quit (strike three). I was eleven (possibly twelve). That kind of meaningful moment was completely lost on me. I mean…no impact. None. Whatsoever.

Books I Was Supposed to Read for School and Didn't

1.       The Great Gatsby 

My failure to read this book was purely a result of laziness (I mean. So was every failure on this list. But that was the ONLY reason for this one). I actually like F. Scott Fitzgerald, in spite of his questionable sanity and his chauvinistic tendencies (has anybody else noticed that he and Zelda were basically the perfect psychotic couple? I mean, they just really found each other. It’s like a very creepy love story). Anyway. I was supposed to read this in eleventh grade. So I read about twenty pages, and quit. Since then, I’ve thought, “I should read that,” on a few occasions, but could never quite muster up the courage to spend fifteen dollars on it (fifteen dollars. On a paperback copy. That is roughly the size of a pamphlet. I went through this same dilemma with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. Sometimes I really hate publishers. And people. And the world). Anyway, now that the movie is coming out (and I have actually mustered up some excitement about it), I figure I should suck it up and buy a copy. And, you know, actually read it. Because that would be the point of buying it. Obviously. 

2.       The Stranger 

This is a book with great symbolism and meaning and is widely regarded as a work of art, by all accounts. It doesn’t matter. I still don’t like it, and I’ll tell you why: I did not like the main character. No. Worse than that. I didn’t care about him. Not even a little bit. I read maybe two chapters of the thing and called it quits. He was aloof, he was distant, he cared about was nothing. He wasn’t sympathetic; he was just…there. And I know that this was supposed to be the point, and the fact that he is that way is very pertinent to the novel and its themes, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe, one day, I will be able to read this book, and I won’t mind that I feel absolutely nothing towards the main character—hate or love or anything—and I will be able to appreciate it for its themes and its message. But so far I am not that advanced.  

3.       Heart of Darkness 

Our teacher actually read a lot of this one out loud to us in class. And I still didn’t finish it. That takes a special kind of laziness, ladies and gentlemen. An it-is-senior-year-and-I-can’t-be-bothered kind of laziness. People underestimate the debilitating effects of senioritis. I swear by the end of the year we were walking zombies who couldn’t be bothered to wash our hair on a semi-regular basis. Or, I don’t know, maybe that was just me. 

4.       Their Eyes Were Watching God 

Another debilitating effect of senioritis. Couldn’t be bothered. Is it any good? I didn’t have any particular aversion to this one, just a vague disinterest that probably wouldn’t have prevented me from reading it if it had been any other time than March of my senior year. As it was, I read three chapters and called it quits.