2. summer is also the time for magical connections between two people that would usually not be made otherwise. opportunities and situations present themselves on those hot days and nights that would never arise in the other nine months of the year. you find your summer-self behaving in ways that your fall-, winter-, and spring-selves would either shy away from, sneer at, and avoid completely, respectively.

say, for example, you’re at the house of a friend of a friend, enjoying a cool drink inside their well air-conditioned den. your friend and your friend’s friend are hitting it off and having a great time all on their own. you, too, are enjoying yourself, watching reruns of a favorite show while sitting next to the friend of the friend of your friend. he offers you a sip of his imported beer, and, seeing the big drops of condensation slowly sliding down the crystal clear glass, you can’t help but lick your lips in anticipation of the rich, dark refreshment. even though the air-con is on full blast, you realize that you’re still pretty stuffy and maybe it’s a little cooler outside. so you take the offered glass into your own hand and, while the glass is being transposed from one owner to the next, your fingers brush against his. you raise the glass to your lips but then realize that you’d much rather be outside. so you get up from your seat and head for the door, hoping that the friend of the friend of your friend follows behind you. when you open the door, you breathe in the sweet, night air and feel the cool breeze wrap you up. behind you is the friend of the friend of your friend. he shuts the door behind him and watches you as you finally take a sip of the indian pale ale he is so graciously sharing with you.

as you sip from the tall sweating glass, he says, “man, it’s hot out.”

finishing the sip, you reply, while looking down at your exposed toes (because you’re wearing sandals), “sure is.”

you look up at him, he smiles, and says, “uh, you’ve got a little froth-stache.”

embarrassed, you raise your hand to your mouth, ready to wipe the offending new accessory. before you can do the job, though, he grabs your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours. “wait,” he says. so you become this subservient version of yourself for a moment. with his free hand, he places a curled forefinger under your chin and uses it to tilt your face up. you think that this is the part in the movies where the girl gets kissed underneath the cloudless night sky when you can see so many stars, but then you feel that he’s really kind of just kissing that funny spot between your upper lip and nose, your cupid’s bow. and then you realize that’s perfectly fine because that part of you never gets properly kisses so you’re not going to complain.

“thanks,” you say as a hot flush creeps across your cheeks.

“no problem,” he replies.

when you realize that he still really hasn’t moved away and he’s standing a little too close, you look up at the sky because you can’t really stand looking into his eyes because you’re sure you’ll fall right into them and never get back out. as your heart rate slows, you decided to try to look at him. he, too, is looking up at the sky, at the stars, at the endlessness of it all. you see the taut skin that stretches over his adam’s apple, and you can’t help yourself. you bring your lips to that esophageal protrusion and get to know it.

after you get walked to your side of the car later that night by that nice young man and after he kisses you goodnight, you drive away with a warm feeling in your stomach that has nothing to do with the weather. there is some magical force that is pulling up the corners of your lips, whether you like it or not. then you realize that had it not been for the warmth of the summer breeze or of the position of the moon and venus in the sky that night or the freezing air inside the house or the shared pint of beer or that feux-froth facial hair, perhaps you would never have done any of the aforementioned. hypothetically, of course.

but that’s just what summer is known to do to people.

3. about three halloweens ago, i dressed up as an electrical outlet. silly, i know. it was a total diy last-minute costume and to kind of spice up the whole ensemble, i donned a long black wing with blunt bangs across the forehead. stupid costume aside, i thought i looked pretty cool, and it was mostly because of the wig. so that night, i kinda decided that i wanted to have my natural hair just like that. long, dark with bangs. fast forward to last summer and my hair is getting pretty darn long. i have never had successful bangs but i put on a brave face and head to the hairdresser’s. with me, i take my bff zooey deschanel (a picture of her anyway) and say, “i want those layers and i want those bangs.” she looks at me. “please,” i finish.

when i walk out of the salon, i feel awesome. that wonderful cathartic feeling that comes with shedding some hair buoys me for a good week. the next couple of months, however, are filled with me complaining about my goddamn bangs and how annoying they are and how they’re always in my face and some days i wake up and they’re just being totally uncooperative and now with these bangs i can’t skip out on washing my hair because then they get really oily and it looks like i have nasty grease hair and whydidievergetthesestupidbangs???

it’s been about a year since i got the bangs and i’ve grown them out. mostly. i can almost completely tuck them behind my ears and i can pull them up if i want to have an alarmingly high bun or ponytail. i miss them sometimes because i think i looked pretty okay with them.

now, though, my hair is kind of long. as in, down to my waist long. and i don’t know what to do with it! i’d love to do bangs again but they’re more trouble than they’re worth.

4. so this is potter-tastical year. in two days, it will be the 1-month anniversary of universal studio’s wizarding world of harry potter theme park. my brothers and i are planning a short vacation over to the park next month and we’re all stoked! the park was completely designed with j.k. rowling signed on as a consultant so everything’s got her stamp of approval. even the butterbeer is supposed to taste exactly how she imagined it. in her mind! j.k. rowling’s mind! butterbeer!

later this year, in november, the seventh installment (and part 1 of 2) of the film series will premiere. harry potter and the deathly hallows should be an amazing film and i can’t wait for it to come out.

5. i’ve come to the conclusion that ever july, i go into a mini-depression. luckily most of my friends are away for school or visiting family or something that takes them away so i’m allowed to sulk at my own leisure. this month i’ve been missing my younger brother like crazy as he’s currently on an epic road trip with my dad. one of my bffs is flying up east to visit her family, another is in california doing some crazy internship at a hippie school. another bff just got married and moved to florida and another one is in spain. i miss them all terribly, but this allows me to kind of feel sorry for myself and also really concentrate on my class and get an a+++.

+1. if i don’t update for the next month and a half, enjoy the rest of your summer and remember to free yourself to all opportunities!

as my friend and i were sipping on our respective drinks (prepared by our usual tuesday bartender but lacking the usual tuesday care and love that went in it), some guy that we graduated high school with approached us to say hello. we had already been at the bar for close to an hour, and we had spotted this guy early on. neither of us really care for him, so we didn’t bother being the first to make the move. this guy, though, feigned surprised at running into us late in the evening even though just a few moments earlier, we’d seen him macking (excuse the 90s terminology but the term embodies all the douchiness this guy deserves) on some other girl who was sitting one (one!) bar stool away from us. we exchanged pleasantries and, when we went outside for a breath of fresh(-mingled-with-cheap-cigarette-smoke) air later, he followed us. i went on talking as though he wasn’t there, and began making fun of this young fellow a few feet away from us who was wearing this ridiculousity (so ridiculous, it merits the invention of a new word):

no, that’s not a bad quality pic, it’s a bedazzled tiger!

–sidenote: there are so many other people and blogs who have put lots of effort into mocking the ed hardy brand, that i won’t. simply google “ed hardy douchebag” and you will find lots of disgruntled guys complaining about how hot chicks only go for these poor mindless victims of passing trends (von dutch caps, anyone? exactly). meanwhile,  they’re left home alone with their halo odst every saturday night–

so my friend and i are giggling over how stupid this guy looks, and this uninvited idiot sitting between us tells me to stop it because i’m being mean.

whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat.

exactly.

i immediately drop the fashion-challenged ‘tard in front of us and focus on the how-can-your-brain-be-so-small-when-your-head-is-so-fat ‘tard next to me. i ask him to explain himself and he says that the poor guy doesn’t deserve to be made fun of when i don’t even know him. i immediately counter, saying that i know that he totally agrees but he just doesn’t want to admit it. he’s thinking it and so is everyone else except that my friend and i are the only people in the room that will actually bring it up.

then we start talking about why people just can’t say what they really want to. what is so damn hard about telling the truth? i can’t imagine a possible explanation, because i am addicted to the truth. i want to hear what is real and true and nothing else. if i want to be lied to, i’ll ask for that.

one day in july 2008, i was just surfing around last.fm. i don’t know to this very day how i got to this profile, but i found a guy whose user pic was a great shot of tom selleck leaning out of some monster of a car in his shining mustache-glory.

there was no way i could just walk on by this profile, so i figured there was no harm in me saying hello and giving props where props go. what followed from there was a very nice shoutbox (last.fm equivalent of facebook’s wall) correspondence. i learned that this boy is named thierry, he’s french, and speaks/writes fantastic english. from there, we moved onto last.fm mail, and after that wasn’t quite personal enough, we started emailing each other. thierry has so far always held that he’s through-and-through french, but i have my misgivings because he’ll send me these enormous emails in english (not his native tongue) where i cannot find a single mistake. whenever i try to compliment him, he always brushes me off, saying he’s terrible. now that we’ve been keeping in touch for more than a year, we have each other on google talk so, sometimes when he’s up really late or i’m up really late, our lives will intersect and we’ll have a nice real-time chat. he lives on the northwestern coast of france so that means there’s a time difference of about six hours.

neither of us is really that large, but the distance between us is </cheestastic>

as far as our emails go, it’s nothing really out of the ordinary or lifetime movie-romantic. we talk mostly about school and our jobs and our friends and how drab each of our countries are. we also talk about visiting each other and how he wants to study abroad here and how i want to study abroad over there. i really do consider him a real friend. just tonight i received another of his emails, and he mentioned that he’d been re-reading our old emails and how funny it was to see where we both were when we first met. i’ve had the happy fortune of having several pen pals in my lifetime, but i readily admit i am a terrible one. i am the first to slack off, and i feel so lame when i get messages from thierry. he takes the time and puts in the effort to write me these passages of what he’s been up to and i don’t. i know that i should be replying to him instead of writing in this thing, but thierry is such a nice guy, i thought i would mention him.

i’m going to go write him a reply right now!