The End of Summer

Aahh, the end of summer!
Where did my summer go? It felt like summer three times to me:

#1: at Kevin's house in Bedford, skinny dipping and otherwise being irresponsible in the pool
#2: fourth of july weekend in general, particularly when we left Wash Heights
#3: the Williamsburg summer party that Athena, Aaron & I all attended

Alot and nothing has happenned this summer. I got a lot of mini-promotions at work; starting doing the board meeting minutes, working for two editors instead of one (which I'm STILL dealing with, frankly), and a lot of change happened there in general with the hiring/firing squad of July and August. I got dumped by Todd; theoretically twice but literally once; and I dated a cool guy that I just didn't like (Aaron) and who I think didn't really like me. But that's okay too.

I'm leaving on a jet plane tomorrow, and symbolically I guess I'm doing the same thing I did last year; leaving WI on Labor Day weekend to go to the big city. But this year, I have my own place, I have a job, and I have a life.

I realized I was homesick when I started listening to ALOT of country music. I listen to a lot of it anyway, but this was crazy. Nothing but country up and down the A line on the pod. And as much as I know a lot of my library is dominated by it, I knew something was up. I knew I had to go home.

And so I booked the flight. There are a lot of memoirs about Jews reconciling their "Jewishness" and black people embracing their heritage (otherwise known as the Harlem Renaissance); but nowhere is a memoir about how you reconcile being a city girl, rocking out to Rascal Flatts (the equivalent of a boy band in country music) or Reba on the train. Or maybe there is (if you've read it, please post).

So for now, I plan to go home, listen to ALOT of WDEZ (the country station back home I really like) and camp. With Ryan, one of my dearest friends, by my side - and get to know him again, and let him get to know the wiser, older, can-hold-a-subway-door-open-and-is-strong-enough- to-push-it but still can't start a fire to save her life without lighter fluid Meghan.

And if anyone's got a problem with that, I say, "lemmme at em" (picture Brando with a Brooklyn twinge).

So that's the news from Lake Wobegon, my home town. Until Monday or Tuesday, when I regail you with stories of my daddy and uncle dave and jenna with the hooker boots and ryan with the receding hairline/ponytail and all the mullety action that is Merrill/Irma/Tomahawk, Wisconsin.