Give ‘em hell



Well, friends, here we are again. September snuck up on us quicker than I can suck back a gin Caesar on a Sunday morning.

Okay, maybe not that fast, but pretty damn close.

The first days of school are now upon us, and so ends the sleepiness and spontaneity of summer. Say farewell to last-minute road trips and breakfast beers, and say hello to early mornings, coffee-stained t-shirts, parking tickets, and writer’s block.

I had big plans to mature this summer and work on my time management, but as I sit here writing this column mere hours before my deadline, I realize I did neither. I’d like to apologize in advance to my editor for my poor punctuation and sentence fragmentation; I spent the summer reading and writing little more than grocery lists and tweets.

But, you know what? Fork it. That’s what summers are for.

(I started saying “fork” in place of, well, “the other one.” My nephew is almost a year old now, and if he lays out an F-bomb at the dinner table, my sister would definitely have to use her stern mom voice with me. I don’t mean to oversell it, but it quite literally shakes your soul.)

The past four months were filled with practising my sloth impression, re-watching all nine seasons of The Office, getting violently sunburnt, and rarely eating breakfast before noon. And I enjoyed every second. I think we all deserved a brain vacation after the gruelling school year, so I’ve made the grand decision not to feel bad about it. When I come to my first sleepless night staring at a laptop screen and an assignment sheet, I will rely on the faint, but fond memory of staring at a starfilled sky from the bed of a Dodge. My mechanical pencil will transform into a roasting stick with a golden marshmallow on the end, and my blank Word document will appear as a blazing fire, surrounded by my friends singing an off-key rendition of “Wonderwall”.

I encourage you all to return to your happy places when the line at the Print Shoppe is half an hour long, you forget your headphones, or you spill coffee all over your agenda. We can do this! Only 240 days until May (or something).

Give ‘em hell, guys.

Answers to Fletch, Betty Spaghetti, or Hey You.

Long, shaggy blonde hair.

Slightly aggressive at first but usually warms up after she smells you.

Feed her pizza and she’ll be the most loyal friend you’ll ever have.

Follow her on Twitter @kylakylakyla__