So, radio silence. Isn't that fun?

Last time I was here, I had a breakdown about getting older, then claimed to be okay with getting older, and finally disappeared like maybe I was so not okay with it at all.

No, no. I moved on, as I always do. Everything can become habituated and normal, which is actually pretty frightening if you think about it. Just not so much in this context.

Anyway, I spent my birthday at Cedar Point because there's nothing like taking your life into your hands to really make you appreciate that 27 does not equal old or dead. Check it out -- I can still handle the feeling of my stomach in my throat -- as Nicki Minaj would say, "I'm good. I'm I'm gooooood."

Then I got Swimmer's Itch. Thank God someone took a kindness and told me that I had Swimmer's Itch because I was just really astounded by these tiny little mosquito bites, and kind of wondered if it was scabies, until Ryan told me that scabies is a STD, which is totally false, but I didn't know so I backtracked on that one hard, because if you don't have scabies, I don't have scabies.

Do you see how quickly things can spiral out of control?

****



In other, less disturbing news, my nieces have been in town for basically the entire summer. Now, I'm about to get vain here for a second, but whatever. When I was their age, I had a cool aunt. Her name was Tracy and she was 13 years older than me. She had a purple truck and let me listen to grown up music. She also always had a really cool manicure and an interesting assortment of highlights in her hair. She was a non-Mom, went to college, and loved her dogs enough to sign their names on my birthday cards.

So, I'm drawing parallels here. I lack a lot of her coolness (she was considerably more BA -- trust me) but I am 13 years older than 2 of my nieces, I'm a college educated, dog-lovin' non-Mom who jams to Where Are U Now?. I think if you told me circa 2002 that I'd grow up to have even a single thing in common with Aunt Tracy, I'd have been delighted. And so I am. May I always be an Aunt Tracy, minus the purple truck.













I read once that August is the Sunday of summer, which I'm currently ignoring. At the very least, it's the best part of Sunday, right? When it's early, and barely light outside and everyone else is still sleeping. The part when I'm still drinking coffee and writing in my journal with an actual pen and paper, and the day doesn't even feel like it's started yet.

I get all kinds of Lana Del Ray right about now with my summertime sadness.





And to that end, I have no positive conclusion. I just wish summer hung out for a lot longer. That's all. And for what it's worth, we'll keep swimming after the sun goes down.

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So, Ryan is using up what's left of summer in an adventure that makes me a little jealous. He's road-tripping with his brother to California, while I'm enviously whispering "California, no doubt about it. California, knows how to party." I typically do this when we're in the car. I stare sadly out the window and hope that I look like a music video.

Ha! Only about 50% kidding. Guess which 50.

****

Happy Sunday!

 For the record, Ry's mom and sister were there, too. They don't leave me in charge to be an Aunt Tracy for long. Ha! (Okay! I forgot that Cool For The Summer has one f-word in it. So sue me.)