Summer: Ain't Nobody Got Time For Dat!

Oh Summer, how I loathe you. 
 
Most people get soooo excited about summer, but not this bitch. My theory is , people who love summer have never had their inner thighs rub together with the intensity of 10,000 burning suns. If anything, summer makes me want to Sinead O'Connor my head and move to Siberia. Yes, it can be deathly cold in Siberia, but I'd rather have hard nipples than be sweaty with a bad attitude for 2 months. 
 
Truth is, once July 1st hits, I feel totally fucked. Here's why. 
 
Fucking bathing suit shopping: First of all, the creator of electricity can go fuck himself. (And if you're wondering who created electricity, good luck. Because according to Google, there were approximately 5000 different people that invented it.) Anyway, I do have a point here, the creation of electricity led to the creation of VERY BRIGHT ANNOYING LIGHTING FOUND IN OFFICES AND CHANGE ROOMS, WHICH IS DESIGNED TO MAKE EVERYONE DIE ALONE. The inventor(s) clearly did not have cellulite and must have been the most beautiful perfect person to ever walk the earth, ever in the history of the planet. Ever. How nice for him. 
 
Oh and I promise you, if we could do everything in candlelight, I'd be married with 6 children by now. I look amazing in dark or dimly lit areas. 
 
Actually, I don't think I've tried on a bathing suit in a change room since the late 90's, when I had a minuscule amount of hope for my body. And even then, I was melting down over my disproportionate breasts and cellulite riddled thighs. FUN! (Seriously God, why did you give me both a B and a C cup???) 
I've actually taken it upon myself to fall into bodies of water, fully clothed for the past 15 years. I'm talking pants, shirts, sometimes sweaters. (Also, wearing more clothes will be of use if I were to die in a deadly shark attack, as they can find my XL Northern Reflections duck sweater circling the area where I met my demise. You haven't lived until you've worn a duck sweater. Trust me.) 
 
Fucking frizzy hair: If you're one of the bitches that has perfectly straight, non-frizzy hair, then please leave my blog now, 'cause you ain't no friend of mine. Thursday morning I happened to catch my reflection in the glass at the bus stop, and it looked like I licked a knife and stuck it right into an electrical socket. Perfect look for work! It's the uber professional "I've given up on life" look, that seems to be trending these days. Thanks global warming! I love waking up to the news "It's 27 degrees, but with the humid X, it feels like 287. Try and stay cool out there folks." Fuck you. 
 
Fucking tube tops: To my girlfriend's from high school reading this, you know I lived in tube tops in high school. Especially when we would dress like whores and go into the city with our fake I.D's. However, now that I've blossomed into plumpness, I've discovered my triceps have grown into a set of wings and I'm almost ready to die single for takeoff. Like, when I wave, my upper arm still moves long after my wrist has stopped moving.  I pray that someone invents a dry fit long sleeved turtle neck that is somehow lined with ice cubes, so I can sport it all summer long and not die.
 
Fucking sun burns: I blame my parents: A Newfoundlander and a Scotsman.,..  the two whitest, white people on the planet, who gave me the most pastiest/permanently inflamed skin, a girl could dream of. Great. Essentially, my parents came together and made a see-through baby, me. On the other hand, my brother (we'll call him Mr. Phalanges), looks like he walked out of a god damn Hawaiian Tropics ad, all tanned and shit.  
It's funny, a few weeks ago we had our girls cottage weekend and I reapplied a 60 a few times a day and still managed to walk away as the most burnt one there. I'm convinced this is because I was a really evil person in a past life who must have killed puppies or something. 
 
Fucking bugs: I would rather play chicken with an oncoming bus, than deal with mosquitoes. Those tiny little bastards are slowly sucking my soul out of my chubby body. OF COURSE, last weekend, after 76 glasses of wine, I thought pissing in the woods had a nice ring to it, so I was pant-less in the woods approximately 20 times...peeing right beside a bathroom which was 20 feet away from me. Why? Because I make good life decisions. So as you can imagine, I had several "bites" around the cooter area. This made work exceptionally pleasant, when I rolled up Monday morning with my hand down my pants, just scratching away. (God, I hope those were mosquito bites.) 
 
Fucking shaving: I made the mistake last summer of getting high on Percocets and shaving my arms. Wicked. It's been a real fucking treat ever since, having little spikes of hair that stick up on my arms and graze people on the subway. In the sunlight, it looks absolutely ridiculous, and I often try and keep at least one arm inside my purse while I'm in any direct sunlight because my arms look like a pre-pubescent boy who is struggling to grow a mustache.  And of course, let's not forget shaving/waxing your legs. For about 8 months, I only shaved one leg because I was lazy. But now that summer has arrived in all its ferociousness, I must bend over and shave both legs. UGH. WHY IS LIFE SO HARD? And you know what? Even if I didn't shave, it's not like anyone is seeing my legs except for the guy from the bar a few weeks ago that said he'd call the next morning but never did. I've been sitting in my bedroom listening to End of the Road by Boyz to Men for 2 weeks straight. So I don't understand what the big deal is. I gave up on wearing shorts 5 years ago since they tend to disappear right into the crack of my ass, so I'm pretty much tricked out in Hilary Clinton pantsuits all summer. 
 
Oh and of course I could never forget the bikini line. I may not be diligent on shaving my legs, arms and face, (yes, face, don't forget I'm growing a chin strap) but I do have cooter etiquette.  Shave it up or all off, people. That shit sticks out the side of your bikini and people will never forget it. For instance, I was once at a family pool party, and a relative named Morgana Freemana, got out of the pool and began talking to my cousin and I (who were seated at vagina level)....with hair sticking right out the side of her suit. It almost looked like she was giving birth to a baby with a lot of hair. And since then, I've never, never forgotten it. Let that be a solid life lesson, folks. 
 
Well, thanks as always for reading. I love you peeps. Oh and if you find me moderately amusing,  I started a Facebook page, so you can keep up to date when I post! Stop by and "like" my page and my friend Mel will sleep with you. Check it: www.facebook.com/NannersRambles
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