2004-06-21 - 7:32 p.m.
The Solstice with the Mostest
Maybe it’s seasonal affective disorder, maybe it’s because winters in Chicago seem as if they’ll never end, but the first day of summer is something to celebrate. And I do. Since as far back as I can remember, every year I look forward to the first day of summer—the longest day of the year. I remember lying on the beach and sweating on this day last year and the year before that.
Today? It rained!
I did, however, get to use the rain coat and pants I bought for biking on days like today. It was great. Normally I’d read at the beach and spend as much time in the daylight as possible. Not a lot of light peaking through those clouds today ‘though. And as far as reading—my book would’ve gotten real soggy real fast.
During my late teens and early twenties, as summer began to fade, my friend D. and I would constantly listen to Summer’s Almost Gone by The Doors—usually around mid- to late-July. Those were fun times—staying up late, smoking cigarettes, and talking about all the great things we were going to accomplish, all the places we’d go, and all the things we’d experience. The dreams of kids who never really left their neighborhood. We still really haven’t left. D. is now a cop with a wife, a child, and a mortgage. I guess with those things come accomplishments and experiences of a different sort.
D. is the guy who, during a discussion about girls, once said to me: “I’d rather be with a girl who is fine, but who’s a bitch than with a girl who treats me nice, but is just ok.”
He got what he wanted (although I never thought his woman was that great). She was ok…I guess. I can’t stand the type though, no matter how hot. Went to college, yet gets ghetto immediately if another woman looks at her man. I can’t do needy and clingy. Haven’t seen her since she had their kid, but I’d venture to say there are a lot of diets in her future. Make sure you save your money D.—liposuction and gastric by-pass surgery aren’t cheap. You might be better off going the divorce route. D. was always great. He had sex for the first time at age 13. Thirteen! That was amazing to someone like me—a very late bloomer, whose obsessive-compulsive disorder made it difficult to hold hands with someone. For the longest time, I lived vicariously through him. There was the time I banged my buddy’s sister while my friends watched through the slightly open closet door. All the times I did it in cars or bathrooms. Getting blown in bushes. For someone who never experienced anything remotely similar to these things, hearing about it was great.
That’s what summer is all about! HELLO SUMMER!
