The Girls of Summer

Ah, summer- the season of no classes and wonderful asses barely covered. Summer tends to be the season of love as people are half-naked already, and the no-pants dance requires far less effort (although boners tend to rip through mesh of male bathing suits.) Also, any song with the word summer in it is both incredibly happy and probably stuck in your head. These are the girls of my summer.

Emily ThinksMyNameIsTim: Tim is not my real name - it may be the name of the infamous Tim Allen, one of the few men who was capable of shooting a show within a show. At least one whole hour of your life has been wasted watching Tim Allen talk to a taller, wiser man, whose face is never seen but whose wisdom led a generation to keep fixing things in front of studio audiences. Much like our time as a whole has been wasted, so was a night in the life of poor Emily, who happened to be in a room of people whom I introduced myself to as Tim. Later that night, we decided to start sucking face during the tail end of a shitshow night, and my true identity was never discussed nor dissected. Two days later, I am sitting on the couch with my parents watching something besides Home Improvement when 215-IFORGOT-TOSAVE-HERNUMBER calls me, asking for Tim. Eventually, my parents figure out what is happening, and have continued calling me Tim once in a while for a laugh
Nursey- I met a wonderful nurse at the hospital when I checked my grandmother into the emergency room. She had great poise- she did not flinch or get mad when my grandmother called her a cocksucker and a motherfucker for the heinous crime of attempting to draw blood from a hospital patient. She excels at things related to her job, and also provides a lot of unintentional humor through the fact that she is an immigrant. You don't realize how living in America influences you until you tell an immigrant that you're going to see Toy Story 3, and she asks what the first two are about. Also, Filipino women have by far the funniest drunk ramblings of any race and gender- I dare you to understand 50 percent of the words coming out of her mouth after approximately three shots and three beers.

Meat- Aptly named because of the years she's spent trying to climb on my meat, as well as the surplus of meat surrounding her ribcages and essential organs, this girl has finally figured out that while my chances of going on an actual date with her and playing sober make-out are very slim, if she is in the same location with me after approximately fifteen beers, her chances improve exponentially. With this knowledge, drunk texting has become her go-to move. It's always nice to know that a 200 pound girl wants you through drunk texts like the following "Hiiuiuiuiuiuiu i misted ou todat com overrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" However, the premiere pratfall of Meat is that her views on premarital sex are skewed by the simple fact that she was an accident at birth, which obviously genetically dispotions her to become pregnant upon her first try at the not-Immaculate Conception.

The Ex- While people date a vast amount of girls in their life, the word "Ex" typically brings to mind either the most recent or the most crazy former lover. Fortunately for me, the two are one and the same, so I don't have to deal with that confusion. What I do have to deal with; however, is that feeling of walking into a party that your ex is at before seeing her. 75 percent of the room, ranging from your friends to people who know all of the facts about your life despite only sharing one five minute conversation with them ever look at you like there is a knife sticking through your chest. The girls who are friends with the ex-girlfriend turn and start whispering, and any hello that would normally be recieved with a conversation is instead a whispered hi that is not heard, yet understood through the principles of mouth-moving. Then, walking through the party, the ex is finally found, and a death stare is thrown out, her eyes attempting to burn a hole in your soul for making the unforgivable mistake of breaking up with her during her ascent to insanity, instead of supporting her through the crescendo. After that, an awkward hello is exchanged, and hooking up with any girl at the party who knows your ex exists and used to date you becomes Mission Impossible