Our thumbs are basically numb from texting back and forth 24/7 about everything we love (AND HATE) that's happening on our televisions, iPads, and eye glasses (hi, we think we're funny) and we thought WHY NOT SHARE THIS JOY WITH THE WORLD?!  



We're finally past Labor Day (PRAISE THE LORD), which means that sweaty old beast SUMMER is HOPEFULLY taking her final gasps of air and I'm so excited I could shit a pumpkin. Whatever. Don't pretend like you're not happy about it too. I see your sweat stained shirt, your giant humidity ravaged hair, and I know you've showered no less than 45 times this afternoon. YOU'RE OVER IT TOO AND IT'S TIME WE COME TOGETHER AS A PEOPLE AND ADMIT SUMMER IS A LIE.

Yeah. You heard me. SUMMER IS A LIE.

Summer is garbage, the absolute worst. I hate her more than I hate flavored Oreos. I'd come over and wrestle you to the ground about it, but it's so humid outside today I barely have the energy to lift my head to write this, so I'll just open my eyes wide and take another swig of my Gatorade and pray you come to your senses before we all die of heat stroke.

I don't know what summer is like where you are, it's bound to be terrible in it's own way, but nothing is worse than Chicago in Summer. Everybody talks about winter in Chicago and what a nightmare it is. Yes, it's cold. Yes, it's impossible to escape the sadness that is a sunset at 3:30PM, and yes I find it difficult to not climb into my oven and die mid-February. It's hard. It's truly horrible. It nearly kills me every year, but I'll tell you what ... nobody I know gives me the slightest hint of expectation in winter. We're all fighting the snow and cold for our lives, so showing up anywhere somewhat sober, wearing clothes, with your eyes half open ... even for a few minutes is good enough. The struggle is so real that nobody gives one single shit about much of anything. We're delighted AF just to be alive.

And then then the weather shifts. The moment the sun is over our horizon a reasonable number of hours and the temperature rises above 35 degrees EVERY SINGLE GD MF from the mean streets of Rogers Park all the way down to the corners of Riverdale are trying to make you go outside and do something.





Come to my back yard barbecue, come see me run a half marathon, come watch my improv team, come with me to an outdoor concert, come play volley ball, come to Navy Pier, come to Grant Park, let's watch the city turn on Buckingham Fountain, let's drive to The Dunes, let's take a drive to Ikea, let's have a game night, let's go to the beach, let's take a river boat cruise, let's visit a roof top bar, let's eat out side, let's stroll Michigan Avenue, let's go to a Sox game, let's do brunch, let's drink coffee until our eyes pop out, let's go get ice cream, and on and on and on. It's never ending!

Chicago spends all winter huddled around our stoves trying to not freeze to death, so the moment it looks like we're going to make it out alive everyone starts running around half naked like a bunch of horny wild rabbits. It's ridiculous! We spend every moment of summer with the threat of snow returning, which means we act like every day is the last night of the world. We've got to fit 973 activities in to our schedule ... winter will be here in 24 minutes.

That's a lot of pressure my dudes. What a way to live.

What I'm saying is ... SHIT, FRIENDS ... I AM EXHAUSTED. I'm spent and I've had it. I’m over it. Do you get my point? I'm tired of sweating on the train with you, and I don't want to look at your ugly sweat streaked face and your stupid repurposed wooden chandelier at Ravinia for a few months. I don't want to go to any more street fests for a while, and I'm so sick of highway construction I might cry. No more full body sweats after being outside for 30 seconds. No more fighting mosquitoes. No more potlucks on your porch. No more cramming all the fun I can stand into a tiny little moist and sultry weekend.


My body is ready to get wrapped up in every piece of clothing I own and trod ALONE through snow drifts to pick up my mashed potato fixin's at The Jewel. I am ready to crank the heat up to 900, and sweat myself dehydrated while screaming at The Bachelor from my couch. I want to be fully clothed in public again, and sweet mother of God I am ready for you to wear close-toed shoes. BUT MORE THAN ANYTHING ... I'm ready to have nothing on my schedule but the sweet sweet sounds of me shivering and crying alone while eating my feelings. I'm ready for winter and it's OK, Buddy ... I know you are too.