Hot Fun in the Summertime

3 Jun

June 3 – June 9, 2013

It’s been a long time (2 weeks). I shouldn’ta left you (left you). Without some dope beats to step to. Step to, step to, step to. Step to, step to, FREAKY FREAKY! You guys. It’s summer. I know this because it’s finally gotten so hot that I HATE my bangs. They get real greasy when my forehead starts to sweat and there is no amount of dry shampoo that can put those piecey hairs back together. Nevermind the fact that I spent the whole weekend indoors binge-watching Sons of Anarchy — It’s fucking summer. I don’t know about alla y’all, but I got sunburnt as shit over Memorial Day and couldn’t be happier. Now I’m ready to stop peeling and start freckling (I don’t tan).

Because of my tendency to burn faster than Alicia Keys (ba-dum-CH!), I’ve never been much of a beach person and therefore don’t FREAK OUT about it being summer. I mean, I’m excited and everything, but I’m definitely not the kind of person who’s going to earfuck the shit out of you in anticipation of 2-3 months of 90 degree weather. “UG. WHERE IS SUMMER? I NEED THE BEACH. I NEED TO BE TAN. I NEED MELANOMA.” (Circa January.) Don’t get me wrong, I definitely enjoy getting drunk by the ocean — But actively seeking skin cancer is kind of a downer. And I’m obviously not going to put on anything higher than SPF 30 because I can’t ALWAYS be the poor little pale girl.


But I do love me some summer jams. There’s something special about music in the summertime. It takes on a different form, a different function. You never hear anyone say, “MAN. Bon Iver has THE song of winter, you guys. That shit makes seasonal depression feel like goddamn rainbows and glitter.” Summer songs, on the other hand, can totally make you forget how fat you look in your bathing suit or disguise the fact that laying out is actually really boring. I also love/hate how the internet has managed to make music a competition with the constant chatter about THE song of the summer. So far, I don’t think we’ve had any ripe contenders yet, but I also don’t listen to the radio so I don’t really know what the Black Eyed Peas have grinded out this week.

Oh, sorry in advance if you actually like the Black Eyed Peas because they are definitely not on this playlist. Actually, sorry I’m not sorry because I cannot handle song names with hashtags and internet abbrevs. Fucking inexcusable. I’m also not going to apologize for including Miley Cyrus and Carly Rae Jepsen, so get over it. That shit is infectious.


In case my playlist isn’t to your taste (or if your summer plans include popping bottles over bitches on yachts, boiiiii), Complex compiled THE rap song of every summer since 1979.

When I was at the beach last weekend, I could NOT put down Just Kids, by Patti Smith. I’m now convinced I’m doomed to fail as a writer if I don’t come close to starving and/or develop a drug problem. A good summer read can do that to you. Want some suggestions? Here’s a few from The Village Voice and Goodreads.

I don’t like getting sand in my vag, so therefore I don’t do sandcastles. But if you do, here’s how to build a better one.

This summer TV preview is especially amazing because I know the girl who wrote it. Also: BREAKING BAD, BITCH!

I’ve tried to fake the bake, but I always end up looking orange, streaky and as if I went tanning while wearing ankle boots.

So far my grand summer plans include the following: Get skinnier, eat lots of hot dogs, try not to feel like a beached whale in a bathing suit, avoid bathing suits, get my boyfriend to start dressing like Channing Tatum in Magic Mike.

I would straight rage if I thought I was getting photographed for my hot summer bod and instead discovered back hair I never knew was there.

IT’S GOOD TO BE … in a beach house that looks like it’s straight out of the 90210 college years.


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