Hey Summer. F@%* you.

In this post, I do my best impression of Lewis Black, because I’m angry and say f@%* a lot.


I f@%*ing hate summer. I hate stepping out of my house and sweating immediately. I’m tired of watering a tomato plant steps from my front door and confronting Jurassic Park in my yard.  For the record, natural mosquito repellants don’t f@%*ing work. Your options are to either slather yourself in DEET and go Silent Spring or wear a f@%*ing burqa to water the garden. Even my beloved Huntley Meadows is crawling with large bugs and snakes and loud kids dumped off at summer camp because their parents don’t want to deal with them all day. I can’t blame them. If I had a kid that loud and obnoxious, I’d dump them off at camp, too.

I exercise at dawn because that’s the only time it’s not miserably hot and humid, and I still wilt in the sun and have a shorts/socks tan that you could see from space. I get a rash from sweat, sunblock, sun, general hatred of the season, or all of the above. And since I’m up at dawn and night doesn’t fall for another 20 hours I need to eat about 5 meals to get through the day (give or take).

When I cook or bake (I’m not a foodie, I’m an eatie—see above), I turn my air-conditioned house into a sweat lodge. The fact that I developed my own viable meatless meatball recipe—arguably my crowning achievement for Summer 2017—is soured by the fact that my house is now hot as hell despite the wonderfully cheap and prolific natural gas powering my central air (thanks fracking). It will cool off in here come November, but only if global warming settles the f@%* down.

If I run to the store for something (and a blast of 60 degree air conditioning) I’m confronted with the fact that the only people who shop in the middle of the day are f@%*ing weirdos or exasperated moms who don’t know the secret about dropping the kids off at camp so you don’t have to deal with them all day. Every once in a while you get the oblivious extended family shopping en masse for the one thing I ran out for. Oh hey giant loud family, what are the odds that all 10 of you need to be in front of the sunblock screaming banalities about your miserable existence? I just want my SPF 100 and to get the f@%* out of here. PS, why do you have so many goddamn kids? It’s the 21st century.

Also, if you’re wondering, traffic is never better in the middle of the day. It’s miserable, all the goddamn time. If you ever want to go anywhere in Northern Virginia, just f@%*ing don’t. Stay home, read about current events, and think positively about the state of the world.

So, dear reader, if you need me, I’ll be sitting in my dark basement like a troll, applying Benadryl and aloe to my entire body, and counting the days until fall.

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