Suck it, Solstice!

Guess what? It’s almost summer! SUMMER!!!!!!

I say “almost” because everyone knows that summer doesn’t officially start until the Summer Solstice on June 21st, aka the day when the earth’s axial tilt is most inclined towards the sun at its maximum of 23° 26’ (obv). All Hail Axial Tilt!

Ignore the fact that in other parts of the world it’s already been summer for months, or is summer all year round. Who needs those places! Not us Canadians, that’s for damn sure. No, we are a people who relish four to five weeks tops of partial sunshine and moderate warmth a year, thank you very much!

Wait...

Summer, you cock! Why won’t you call me back?? In all fairness, today has been a little bit summery - it’s a whopping 20 degrees, after all! But the forecast calls for garbage juice and slimy worm corpses for the rest of the god forsaken week. Plus, while 20 degrees in November feels like a Mexican sweat shop, on June 20th it feels like NOTHING! Or rather, like being credit carded with a bag of frozen peas.

The reason I mention the Solstice (or “Soulstice”, as it also represents the day my shivering soul awakens after dying a slow, wintery Canadian death for the previous 10 months) is that this is really, in my mind, Summer’s LAST CHUGGIN’ CHANCE. With the almost daily JUNE showers (of lies!) , the only thing that stops me from killing all living things is the promise that the Solstice will not, CAN NOT let me down!

I’m like Homer with the runaway pig at his BBBQ:

[Homer and Bart are chasing the rolling pig. It rolls through some bushes]
Homer: It's just a little dirty! It's still good, it's still good!
[the cart falls off the edge of a drainage culvert, and the pig floats down the stream]
Homer: It's just a little slimy! It's still good, it's still good!
[the pig reaches a dam at the end of the stream and plugs the drain hole. The water pressure builds up behind it, until it launches out of the hole into the air]
Homer: It's just a little airborne! It's still good, it's still good!
Bart: It's gone.
Homer: I know.

I’ve been clinging to sweet summer hope like a fat man clings to his suckling rotisserie ham. And I won’t give in until June 21st! Because until then, it’s still good, it’s still good! (I know).

At the crack of dawn on June 21st, if it does not immediately hit a menopausal hot and dry 29 degrees with a slight tropical breeze, no clouds and perfect non-blinding sunshine everywhere, I WILL seek vengeance upon the Earth, Mother Nature, God, Al Gore, Santa and anyone else I hold even partially responsible for this temperature terrorism.

Let’s be real though for a second. You guys know me (you don’t), and the true reason I haven’t snapped yet (she had) has nothing to do with the suckin’ Solstice and its promise of hot and balmy excitement for all (axial tilt be damned!). It has everything to do with the fact that I don’t get a summer this year. I secretly want the weather to continue along its dream-crushing path so that no one else can have fun either! Mouhahahha!!

What’s this about me not getting a summer, you ask? Let me tell you! Summer 2011 has been kidnapped, probably molested and locked away in some dark, dismal dungeon by its arch nemesis (!): Not-Summer 2011 (alias “Weddings Forever”).

Yes, it’s wedding season, kids. And why WOULDN’T all of my friends decide to (a) get married in 2011, and (b) do it exclusively during the 3 remotely tolerable months of the year in Ontario?

I have - wait for it - 9 weddings this summer. This is not ok. I actually had to turn down 3 others on top of the 9 because one had a scheduling conflict, one was in the Cayman Islands (the wha?) and the other was in Spain (why can’t I go to only that one?) and I don’t have enough vacation days (money) to haul ass outside of the Americas.

How did I find myself in this matrimonial mess? I imagine it’s some combination of the following:

1. So popular. Have too many friends.
2. Have boyfriend. Boyfriend has too many friends.
3. Am 29, meaning all friends are 26 - 33, meaning HOLY SHIT IT’S TIME TO GET MARRIED!
4. Universe punishing me for making a mockery of the Holy Union of Marriage by getting hitched to a stray dog in Vegas (we got it annulled like 30 minutes later!).

Before the 18 people who read this blog (aka the 9 couples who are getting married this summer - hi, guys!) hit “send” on the angry text that they’ve started furiously typing to me, let me clarify a few things. I like weddings. In fact, if it’s a friend of mine getting married, and not my uncle Gary’s second cousin Wendy (or anyone I work with), I actually REALLY like weddings. Guys in suits! Delicious food! CAAAAAKKKE! Drunk old people! Slutty dance floor grinding! Shots of homemade whisky! Everlasting love!! What I don’t like is having 9 weddings in one already-too-short summer. It’s like finding out you’re going on 7 vacations (yah!) with your family (no!). Or going to the cottage every weekend (wooh!) but having to wear spanx and go to church in the morning (aah!!).

Basically, as joyous, lovely and moving as a good matrimonying can be, there’s just something about it that screams “I’m not going to be as fun as the beach or that outdoor concert the rest of your friends are going to! Haha!"

So fine, Solstice. See if I give a rat’s peen if you forget about Toronto this year. You’re dead to me anyway.