H.A.G.S. (past tense)
Is there any low-hanging conversational fruit worse than, “Oh my god, did you see the Halloween candy is out already?” It is also the quickest way to reveal to me that you don’t eat candy year-round. Name 3 of Candy’s albums, fake fan. If you haven’t had an M&M since last October, I don’t trust you! To indulge in this particular strain of small talk is to fall down a retail-specific rabbit hole, one that dramatically decries pumpkin lattes and holiday music in a senseless swirl, when really, why can’t we talk about Meg Ryan? Why can’t we talk about her sweaters? Why can’t the season’s chit-chat center on Britney and Barbra’s soon-to-be-released memoirs?
I watched an Instagram reel recently that said August is an only child, but September, October, November and December are quadruplets. I think the logic morsel nestled inside this bizarre sentiment is that the last months of the year are grouped together in a way that can’t help but feel rushed. The next year looms as we sprint headfirst into last quarter traditions, reminding you of all you have yet to achieve, threatening to induce panic about upcoming moves, jobs, relationship milestones, birthdays, and whatever other metrics of a life cause night sweats. For Carrie Bradshaw, it pushes her one year closer to Aidan’s alleged return! Huzzah! For me, it puts us so much closer to a future with the Wicked movies (if the strikes ever end). The passing of time and candy packaging doesn’t scare me.
It’s true that in the Northeast, the midday temperature has begun to dip into the low 70s. Autumnal coffee flavors and croissants have been rolled out for weeks. Clairo’s seminal sophomore album Sling demands to be heard in full on a meandering walk, with hands curled inside the cuffs of an oversized crewneck sweater… Yes, the leaves may be green and intact. The city’s newest, noisiest college students are freshly overflowing into the streets like the fizz of a shaken-up soda. Rotted couches covered in mystery bacteria and busted IKEA desks line the sidewalks. It is only the beginning of the end, but, I repeat, the passing of time and candy packaging doesn’t scare me.
All of this to say, I had a great summer, which, because of my shit attitude, isn’t always the case. I of course made my annual holy expedition to see the Jimmy Awards with Michael, which featured an overwhelming amount of alumni in the lobby (was starstruck by 19-22-year-olds, nearly fainted), Corbin Bleu as host (good!), a Vanderpump Rules reference in the script (strange!), the first Elsa (who won!), and a delightful post-show debrief with GWGI (girls who get it). I faced emotional terrors at the boygenius show, but ultimately, had a really delicious hot dog and friends that turned it all around. I wept to “We Are The World” and “Last Man Standing” at the Lionel Richie and Bruce Springsteen concerts, respectively, but in a fun, adorable way. I ate many shrimp tacos! I read many books! I danced to “Rush” by Troye Sivan many times! I saw Passages and have been thinking about several of its costumes daily ever since!! Summer is about EXCESS and being in the sun for so long that you can no longer do basic addition without the assistance of an iPhone calculator. And nowhere was I dumber and more summer than in Provincetown, Massachusetts.
The crown jewel of my season was the weeklong getaway that me and 3 of my dearest friends took to the very tip of the Cape (and the actual landing place of the Pilgrims, fyi. Maybe everyone else already knew this, but again, I burned out all my brain cells over the last few months). We rented a beautiful house and blasted the aforementioned “Rush” and “Seven” by BTS’ Jungkook nearly exclusively, made s’mores on the stove, and swam until we felt spooked by potential sharks (actual crabs). It was bliss.
In preparation for seeing Barbie at the end of the trip, Michael unboxed and packed his Rosie O’Donnell doll, who quickly became a fusion of Elf on the Shelf and Flat Stanley, moving from one precarious location to the next by whoever was the last to bed and making her way into the afternoon’s beach bag to experience the vacation for herself. Before you ask, yeah, she has a lot of thoughts about “What Was I Made For?”
We arrived at the tail-end of the town’s annual Bear Week, and watched a liquor store employee unceremoniously yank down its paw print-emblazoned flag on our first night in. Michael kept referring to everything as “so The Summer I Turned Pretty” and eventually declared, “The Summer I Turned Pretty is my favorite show I’ve never seen.” In this spirit, Gloria and I bought necklaces composed of haphazardly arranged beads that appeared to be strung together by a teen camper rushing to finish her crafts in pursuit of more time in proximity to her crush (or crushes? I don’t know what happens in The Summer I Turned Pretty). Gloria’s broke immediately. Mine waited to do the same until I returned home so that it could be a metaphor (so very The Summer I Turned Pretty, no?). Khadijah’s Casio beeped every hour on the hour, about 150 times over our elapsed time together, reminding us how many minutes had passed since we sat on the beach, at this bar, on that couch. Each chirp marked the brief and glorious beauty of our days getting to bleed into each other’s lives again, the way they always do when we come together somewhat annually, remaking the way it was in college with intention.
There is nothing quite like being with my girls, whether we are taking full advantage of wherever we are, sightseeing on a trolley tour and attending drag shows, or tucking in to stream booktuber Jack Ben Edwards’ videos (forever changing the algorithm and LIFE! of the guy still signed onto the house’s smart TV) and driving around mocking/loving/singing along to the extremely simple lyrics of LANY’s discography. The true, corny magic of being with those you love is that the surrounding circumstances do not matter. Naturally, you will fall back in step with one another, like you never missed a beat (or Casio beep). But it is nice to be beachside in a home with in-unit laundry. Parallel truths.
I hope you had a lovely summer in spite of global boiling, evil corporations exploiting every kind of worker possible, the end of Succession, etc.
Time to trade in “Padam Padam” for “Bambi.” Tell me you’re as excited as me.
Big slinging end-of-summer love,
kaylasomething