Va-what?

PG-13

Recently for my internship I interviewed owners of a waxing salon here in Nashville. I was looking at their website to see what kind of services they offer. They have the ordinary stuff: eyebrows, legs, chin, etc. Totally normal. Until I got to the "Bikini" section. For just $90 you can treat your cooter to a "Designer Brazilian," which, as they put it, cleans up "From here to there!" Now, this was no surprise, as I knew what a brazilian wax was. Where it got weird was the line after, which reads, "Designs available upon request," which would have been puzzling on it's own, but there's more: "or a Vajazzle to add some bling bling!"

First: Designs? Apparently this is a trend. People, women in particular, will have their pubic hair shaved/waxed/whatever into a shape, like a heart, or an arrow, or a smiley face. My first thought is why? WHY would someone want to make their pubic hair look like anything but pubic hair? Who was THAT DAMN BORED one day that they decided to shave their love rug into a heart shape? Who has that much time on their hands? I wonder what kind of things people come up with. The canvas itself is relatively small, so these women have to be creative. Maybe a monogram? Some preppy girl who loves monograms could have her letters daintily chopped in so every time she wipes she's reminded of her initials (or, ya know, whatever other purpose monograms serve. I never really understood them). Maybe girls can start having their names down there to give their one night stands a better shot of remembering. I know for men generally one-night-stands are easy to forget, but you're definitely going to remember the freak who had her named shaved into her pubic hair, amiright? And just how elaborate do these designs get? I want to go into one of these salons and ask them to make it look like Van Gogh's Starry Night just to see if they would do it.

Second: What the HELL is a "Vajazzle??" Lucky for you, I did the research and can now inform you about all things Vajazzle. Warning: You can't un-know this. Sorry.

According to the Vajazzle website, Vajazzling is "the act of applying glitter and jewels to a woman's nether regions for aesthetic purposes." No I am not joking and yes this is totally serious. The rhinestones are glued to your ya-ya and the ladies of the waxing salon tell me they last about 5 days and are not uncomfortable at all. Now, if you have a brain, around this point you are thinking to yourself one of two things: "How could this possibly become popular?" and "Who in their right mind would pay $90 to have this done to them?" Here's your answer:

J-Love. Really betch? Let's look beyond the fact that her poor momma probably bawled her eyes out after she saw this interview for having raised such a tacky daughter. We'll even look past the fact that she's talking about her naughty bits with George Lopez of all people. She experienced a bad break up, like we all do from time to time. What's bizarre is that the best thing she could come up with to get over it was, "You know what would make me feel better? A sparkly vagina!"

I'm not trying to hate on my sex or anything, and I know the human body is beautiful blah blah blah, but the privates are the ugliest parts!! The phrase is "bumping uglies" for a reason, okay? No amount of glued on crystals are going to change that, even if they are Swarovski. Although it is fun to think of all the possibilities. You could get the date of the last time you were tested so all your [unfortunate] partners can feel a little bit better about the encounter. On that same subject, you could break the bad news to them in a fun way, "I have gonorrhea :("  Or you could be mean and spell out "This used to be a penis" to mess with them. I wonder where vajazzle artists draw the line. Is there a line? You're already gluing rhinestones to the "nether region," how can there be any limitations on that?

Maybe one day ad agencies can pick up Vajazzling as a form of non-traditional advertising. Girls could be paid to get crystallized Red Bull cans or slogans like "Have it Your Way" fashioned onto their in-pants billboards. Imagine the money you could make rocking "T-I-C-K-E-T 1" or "877 CASH NOW" on your kaslopis.

In conclusion, euphemisms for external reproductive parts are really fun, and I should be in advertising.

Fake Commencement Speech

We had to write fake commencement speeches for my Senior Capstone class. I wrote this. Sorry if it offends anyone. You know what, no. I'm not sorry. Enjoy. Bitches.

Libby Genz

Commencement Speech

Dear Libby,

     I’m writing this for you to read the day you move in to Belmont University to start your freshman year. Right now, you are sitting in the car, or you are eating breakfast at Grandmama’s house, waiting for Mom to say, “It’s time to go!” You’re nervous and emotional. I will now address each thing you are worried about in this moment, and then share with you some things you can look forward to.

     First, and this will be the hardest to hear: Don’t waste any ounce of energy missing Severus*. I know, he’s your high school sweetheart, and your first love. And yes, he may have cried the day he moved into his dorm when you had to leave. The nights that you plan to stay in so you can video chat with him, or wait for him to call you (heads up: he will almost never call when he says he’s going to, because he’s an ass hole), you could be spending the time doing things on campus; getting to know new people, exploring Nashville. One thing you need to understand about people is that they change their minds. This is just part of life. It will be difficult, but try not to be too mad at him when he changes his in a couple months. You can be a little mad at him for choosing to do it over the phone. Also, if you need someone to focus your anger at when you’re a senior and STILL SINGLE, it’s perfectly okay to blame him even though he has nothing to do with it. It just seems right.

     You’re probably worried you won’t like your roommate. Don’t worry, you will. She won't like your tendency to leave all your clothes on the floor, but you all will get along. Who you won’t like is her arrogant snob fatheaded boyfriend. You’re going to want to leave whenever he comes over, because you don't do a very good job of hiding how much you hate him. I suggest going to the gym and working off that 40 pounds you are going to gain by regularly eating a dinner of rainbow sherbet and a whole can of Pringles. You will eventually reconnect with this wonderful girl once you both are a little older, and you are maintaining your mess in your own room in your own apartment, far, far away from her. Sometimes it takes space to really appreciate a person. (Note: this does not apply to her boyfriend. Space doesn’t help his situation. Nothing can.)

      You will make friends. It will take a really, really long time. Eventually they will form. You will, by chance, meet another Belmont student while you are visiting in Wilmington, North Carolina this summer. He and his friends will end up becoming your close friends as well, so when you see him around campus, don’t do that thing where you pretend to be on the phone so you don’t have to talk to people. While it is a really good method to avoid social contact, it’s really only hurting you in this instance. Talk to the people you sit next to in class. Take genuine interest in the things they have to say. Get to know as many people as you can so you will never have a weekend without plans. Also, never say no if given an invitation. (Well, use discretion, obviously. If you feel like you might get raped or drugged, then say no.) The people who become your close friends will teach you so much. Couple things: on that road trip you all take to New York, bring a book. You’re going to get cranky around hour 8 and no oneis going to want to interact with you again until around hour 11. Also, on the trip you guys take to Holiday world, wear sunscreen. Really though, you’ll so need it. Always cherish every moment you have with these people, because every moment with them is a memory. It’s a story you’re going to tell your children so many times they’ll know it by heart and groan accordingly every time you tell it. Actually – not sure if any of the stories are child appropriate…

     Here’s more: “Natty Ice” is disgusting. Always say no. Vanderbilt parties are never ever worth it. If anyone wants to go to a Vanderbilt party, you know you’re hanging out with the wrong people. That guy in your Intro to Audio/Video Production class you think is cute? Ask him out. I mean, like,yesterday. If you don’t, he’ll end up with a girlfriend and you’ll end up kicking yourself for the next three years for being quiet. When someone is making plans and the word “SATCO” is mentioned, it would be wise to opt out. I know I said to always jump on any social opportunity, but it is important to know that to your body, SATCO = food poisoning. There’s a balcony on the fourth floor of Inman that has a breath taking view of down town. Just saying, it could come in handy when you’re on dates and looking for romantic opportunities.

     In the time when you don’t have a car, make a habit of walking to places. A beautiful love affair will begin with you and fresh air. Walks are your best medicine. They could mean routine if you are needing something familiar. They could give you the adventure you need if you’re looking for change. They lead you to new places. Being outside is cleansing to you.

     Finally, I’ll say this: get to know yourself. Figure out who you are and what you want. Discover where you want to go in life. Don’t let any person walk all over you, or get in the way of you becoming who you’re supposed to be. You have a lot of love to give and you don’t need to waste it all on needy, unappreciative people. Always look out for yourself too, and the people that really care about you will stick around.

Best Wishes,

Libby (4 years later)

P.S. - Look out for a letter from Libby (20 years later) who will hopefully tell you that Severus* is wasting away in a trailer park, balding, with no one to keep him warm at night but his massive beer gut.


*name changed for confidentiality. Chose to use said boyfriend's favorite fictional character's name to make up for having this on the internet for several years using his real name.

I'm Sick of Being Covered in Other People's Food

My first job was hostessing at an Asian food chain called Stir Crazy. I thought it was the worst job in the world. I had no idea.

Now, for the purpose of me not getting fired, I will point out that NO WHERE in this post does it say where I work, since I currently work there and all. People who know me may know the name, but will not mention it because if Libby does not get paid, Libby cannot feed herself, so we will all keep our mouths shut. When my tell all book comes out, you better BELIEVE I will dedicate a chapter to this sorry ass place. 

I've been at work for the majority of the weekend. No time to do much of anything. This right here, writing this post right now is the only time I've had to myself (other than a spontaneous and short dance party with the roomies in honor of Whitney Houston. Some lower flags to half mass, others grieve in different ways. We chose dancing). Now, no, I did not work as much as some of the other people at my job did this weekend. I'm just tired and I want to complain. And you know what, if you don't want to read about my shitty life, than go read someone else's blog. I won't be offended.

Back to work..... ever feel like this?

For the past 48 hours... this has been my inner monologue. On my inside, for the past two days, has been living a Bon Qui Qui that is dying to get out and cut somebody. Think it's a game...

Oh, you want a sandwich with pulled turkey, bacon, cheddar, tomatoes, lettuce, and onions? You want it on a baguette? You what? You want it grilled? Right, so you're not gonna tell me that until I'm almost done making it? RUDE.

You gonna bring that sandwich back saying that you think the baguette is too hard? You can't eat it? Last time you were here you remembered it being softer? So we're gonna need to remake your whole sandwich? RUDE.

You want 2 salads with romaine, tomatoes, mushrooms, eggs, bacon, croutons, cucumbers, almonds, and a bunch of other shit that I've already put away? You want them both tossed? SACCURITY!

You're gonna spend $15 on a salad, only eat the toppings, then leave the entire plate, full of partially eaten food, on your table and not put it in the bin by the trash? GO CHOKE. GO CHOKE ON YOUR $15 BLEU CHEESE CRUMBLES YOU STUPID RICH BASTARD.

Oh I'm sorry, you didn't want nuts on your salad? ORDER YOUR SALAD WITHOUT NUTS, I CAN'T READ YOUR MIND. rude.

Cool, you want a salad with one half prepared for here, and the other half prepared to go? NOPE.

It's 7:04, one minute before we lock our doors, and I've just turned the grill off. So, naturally, all FOUR of your rachet raggeldy ass children want grilled cheeses? GIRR I WILL CUT YOU.

You finna take a massive dump in one of the toilets and clog it up? Cool. You see that plunger RIGHT NEXT TO THE DAMN TOILET? Yeah, you won't be using that will you? Nope. Cause it's not your toilet, right? That's what they're paying ME for, right? RIGHT?? RIGHT?!?!?!?!?!??

Moral of the story, I never was and never will be meant to work in the restaurant industry.

Thank You Disney for Over-Simplifying the Dating Process

But not really.

Liars.

Don't get your panty-things in a wad. I grew up on Disney, and on sad days, I still curl up and watch The Little Mermaid. I'm just confused right now, because things are not turning out the way I thought they would when I was 5. I'm not a movie star, or a princess. I mean, hell, if I was on Little-Mermaid-Time, I would've abandoned my whole family 6 years ago to marry a guy I'd known for 3 days. I consider this a personal failure.

Disney does not prepare girls for unrequited love. I can't think of one Disney Princess who was rejected at any point throughout her respective movie. The girl always gets the guy, that's what we were taught. So it doesn't make any sense to us 15 years later that it's even possible to like a guy who doesn't feel the same. We make excuses like "he's not looking for a relationship right now," or "he's not gay, he just dresses really well," or "Just because he only calls me at 4am when he's drunk and horny doesn't mean I'm his booty call. We have a relationship!" and tell ourselves things like "He'll come around." He will not come around. Ever. "But, last time I saw him, we had this eye-contact thing." Irrelevant. He still doesn't want you. Is it fair? No.

this what the gorillas on Jersey Shore
call a "Stage 5 Clinger" (note how face
almost says "my uterus is waiting for
you...")

However, the unrequited love thing is not what's eating at me. Disney does not do well in preparing girls to make the first move. Think of the classics: Little Mermaid- quietly stalked a dude for a while, lost her voice, he falls in love despite the lack of conversation,
Cinderella - guy went door to door putting strangers' feet into a shoe made of glass after one dance with this girl, Sleeping Beauty- didn't have to do jack shit. She was SLEEPING and someone STILL managed to fall in love with her.

Snow White - got food poisoning, pretty much died, same kind of story as Sleeping Beauty. Prince just happens to walk by her coffin and decides "It probably wouldn't be entirely creepy to kiss this dead woman who is unfamiliar to me."

Look at this bitch. Tramp.

Aside from getting food poisoning and quietly stalking guys I find attractive, which both incidentally occur more often than desirable, I don't know what else to do. How does one go about asking a guy out? Just ask? If you ask does that mean you pay for dinner? Asking out is usually a guy role, so is paying for the food, or so I thought. Is it that whoever does the asking also does the paying? I mean, I'd feel like a bitch being like, "Hey man, I really wanna go out to dinner with you sometime. It'll be great, you can listen to me talk about stupid shit to try and impress you. Oh PS, you're paying right?" That's like if I just asked him to buy me food. I don't want to ask out a guy for the purpose of free food. I want to ask him out because he's awesome. Crap, what if girls that ask guys out are considered skanky? If I ask him out, and he offers to pay, will he be like, uh, expecting something from me in return?

I knew a guy once that said if a girl ever asked him out he would say no. I can't remember if it was because he was a control freak, or just really old fashioned, or if girls asking guys out was weird to him. Is it weird? Feminist-types would say it's empowering. But, no offense to the feminists, they can think it's as empowering as they want, what really matters is what the guy thinks.

Forget it. Maybe I'll just eat cheesecake 3 times a day and get really fat and eliminate this problem all together.

The New Rules (Queen of Nearth Cont.)

I think I need to put these up on my wall in the apartment.


3-YEAR-OLD YOU WOULD...

• Always wear red lipstick
• Rock gaudy-ass jewelry
• Flirt with strangers
• Perform for anyone willing to watch
• Ignore haterz
• Settle for no less than Prince Charming
• Say it's always better to be over-dressed than under-dressed
• Not ask for others' opinions on what she's wearing, or how she styles her hair (there's no need to ask, she always looks good.)
• Embrace bright colors
• Be full of energy until the minute her head hits the pillow at bedtime.
• Wear her heart on her sleeve at all times <3

^ This post is just about as stereotypical "girl" as it gets.

The Queen of Nearth Returns

I will turn 22 in 9 days. Not to mention I will be finished with school forever in a few short months. When did adulthood get here? It came too quickly, and let me tell you the trip was awkward and scary.

From when I was born to about the age of seven, I lived a fancy, girly life filled with glitter, gaudy jewelry, and carelessness. I bet I was the most remarkable embryo to ever exist. When the sperm and egg that created me came together, there was probably an explosion of hot pink and sequins. The other sperm/eggs were just happy to be near me. I was God's gift to man kind. I would flirt with waiters, not to get free drinks or because I didn't have enough money for a tip like I do now. No, no. I was three years old. I flirted with waiters because I could. The world was my stage, any and all passers-by were my audience. Show time was always. Performances included monologues from my favorite Disney movies and some originals, song & dance numbers, and were not limited to family gatherings. People eating food at restaurants, people waiting in line to get groceries, the crowds at little league games, and people walking around the mall were just a few of the thousands of lucky people subjected to my entertainment. (I say "subjected" because, really no one ever asked for my entertainment. It was almost like performance-rape, if you will. But it didn't matter. People got on board.) I knew I looked beautiful in that Princess Jasmine pajama set, and it would be unfair to deprive the rest of the world from the pleasure of observing my beauty, so I wore it everywhere. I was Elizabeth Ann Genz, the self titled "Queen of Nearth" (whatever that was), and I could do anything.

I think that mentality disappeared around age 7 when our family moved to California. That's when I began to notice that not everyone liked Elizabeth Genz, the Queen of Nearth as much as I did. I don't know if that's the age where I began to care about what other people thought of me, or if up until that point I'd never been bullied. Either way, I was generally not welcomed. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but the Queen does not respond well to anything unkind. I think the entire second grade experience ruined everything that made me awesome before that. The Queen of Nearth, the glitter and gaudy jewelry, my ideas along with my self esteem and any sense of confidence was put into a sad little shame-box that I chose to hide away forever. (Figuratively, obviously. My 6-year-old alter ego is not actually in a box labeled "shame" up in one of my closets.) 

Caring about what people think of you comes with a set of rules. The rules grow as you get older. These are the rules that I learned throughout K-12

-Be hot.

-Dress similar to the group of 6 or 7 otherwise average girls that are for whatever reason ranked as 'Popular' at your school. 

-Wear make-up.

-Have a boyfriend.

-If your thoughts are weird, keep them to yourself.

-Have long hair.

-Be skinny.

-Smell like the entire Bath & Body Works line at all times.

-Never say anything stupid. Any participation in class should be what most would consider "cool."

-Be graceful. 

-Don't associate with people of a lower social rank than yourself. 

-Know your place. You will never get a popular guy, and expressing interest in one is pretty much social suicide.

-Being the New Girl automatically makes you a loser. Unless you adhere to all of the above, or if you're from somewhere considered "cool." (Apparently Indiana is not considered cool. Also, previously living in California does not cancel out the dorkiness of being born in Kentucky to most St. Louisans.)

College is somewhat similar:

-Be hot.

-Dress similar to models in magazines. Or just dress up period.

-Be skinny.

-Have big boobs.

-Find the balance between being slutty and being prude.

-Have a boyfriend that eventually turns into a fiance.

-Have a snazzy/impressive internship.

-Somehow be able to afford cute clothes AND adequately feed yourself. 

It is easy to see how I have fallen waaaaaay short of the expectations. Suddenly becoming aware of the fact that not everyone will love me all that time ago really messed up my brain. I don't think for myself. I don't really care about myself at all. If no one else cares about me, then why should I? That's where I've been mentally for the past 14 years. 

But lately I've been thinking that it's all really stupid. You know? Like, in college who really cares if you wear sweats everyday. I thought about it long and hard. And you know what I realized? I don't care about any of that when it comes to my opinion of other people. I'm not interested in the slightest what pieces of cloth you decide will cover your naked body on a daily basis. I don't care about other people's relationships. You're skinny? Good for you, girl! I could care less. And I decided that since I don't care if other people follow "the rules," then I don't care if I follow them. 

I've been thinking it's time to go back to Vintage-Elizabeth, the Elizabeth that makes her own rules. The Elizabeth that sings to strangers because she wants them to witness her God-given talent. The Elizabeth that looks fabulous even in her pajamas. The Elizabeth that requires sparkle to be incorporated into some part of her everyday life. That girl was ballin. So, Vintage-me + the me that understands humility = even better me. 

I owe it to that fancy little girl, who so many years ago had her sparkly world crushed by some irrelevant 7-year-olds who thought she was weird. 

(On an immature side-note: screw the previously mentioned people.)

This One Time At Drama Camp....

You ever notice how things that were a huge deal in high school are the least of your worries nowadays? Yeah, I'd kill for my biggest problem to be that I don't have a boyfriend. That's still a problem... just a more minor problem. Although, thankfully now that I'm in my twenties, I finally have a sense of self, a healthy perspective on life, and, you know, all that other shit. I spent about an hour today looking at old pictures of myself on facebook from my teen years. Maybe one day I can look back on those times fondly, but for now it's just depressing.  

Oh gawd, remember when I was friends with her? What a bitch...... I was so skinny then.... If I find one more picture of me making the duck-lip face, I swear...... I remember thinking that outfit was so cute, what an idiot......DUCK LIPS? AGAIN?? How did I have friends?? ...... oh yeah, that girl! I wonder why we never talk anymore.... maybe it's because I'm a freak who wore orange-sherbet colored leggings and had perma-duck-lips..... 

 To the left, you will notice I've put together a set of duck-lip photos for your amusements and my embarrassment.

I think looking over all my younger years, my fondest memories were at theatre camp. Specifically YATA. I went to multiple theatre camps every summer since I could speak basically. Theatre camps are an experience unlike any other.


Summer camp gives kids a unique opportunity to be the person they desire to be. They can't do this at school, because everyone already knows them and has formed opinions accordingly. But at summer camp, you don't know anyone. You can reinvent yourself.

 I walked into YATA (Young Adult Theatre Academy) the summer of 2006 before my Junior year of high school, finally able to separate myself from the geeky weirdo I was back at home. The camp was in my grandmama's hometown, Owensboro, KY, so I didn't know anyone. The freedom was intoxicating.

If I'm being honest, a group of theatre kids is the best group there is. Everyone's a weirdo in his or her own way. Everyone constantly talks over each other. Seriously. No one ever shuts up. Ever. It's a wonder anything ever gets accomplished.

seriously, someone should've
slapped me.

One thing that made YATA different than any other theatre camps I attended is that the campers were divided into different concentrations. There were the dancers, the actors, and the techies. In each sect developed a set of stereotypes widely believed to be true amongst the campers, just like the different cliques in high school.

The actors were the loud and obnoxious campers. Most had inflated egos, and all thought they were going to be famous. They craved attention. Seriously, you'd think that no one hugged them when they were babies. They were the campers who overwhelmed the instructors to the point of insanity because they never stopped talking. Imagine a room full of 25 caffeinated kids with ADHD. The girls were notoriously slutty, and this was probably due to the fact that none of us could dance AND our group included the highest percentage of guys who were straight. This group was home to yours truly (as if that was a surprise to anyone). I made friends with a straight guy who's name will remain anonymous because I developed a crush on him that later destroyed our friendship. Yayyyyyy not knowing how to deal with rejection during adolescence!!!

The dancers were the bitchy anorexics. Or at least that's how I justified  how much I ate in comparison to any of them. They were also the "hot" campers (female), and the "who are you kidding, you are so gay" campers (male). Dancers [supposedly] SUCKED at everything other than dancing, which made the rest of us feel a little better about not being the hot ones. While the groups hardly intermingled, I did become quite close with a dancer, Alice. (for the record, she didn't suck at everything else. Also she was not bitchy or anorexic) She stayed with me at my grandmama's for those two weeks. We befriended another guy, who I think ended up in the dance group, Ben. He was unusual to the dance group because he was straight, and he had no dance experience. He chose the dance group mainly so he could watch hot girls stretch.





The Techies were the outliers: the ugly and untalented. The misfits of the theatrical world. They long to be charismatic like the actors, or graceful like the dancers, but they aren't, so the best they can do is run the lights or make costumes. They are the little people, put on earth to serve performers. It's pitiful, really. -- What? That's not true? Not even close? That's just what the arrogant actors think? Oh. Oops? I actually did become friends with a techie, Lily, who was anything but untalented. She also stayed at my grandmama's for the two weeks. She was in the techie group because she was actually very good at all of those aspects. She was cool. The rest however, looked like trolls. (Kidding!)

It took all of 3 hours for these divisions to take place and solidify, and by the end of the first day the gossip had already started (all most likely birthed by those in the acting group, naturally). "So-and-so totally likes this boy, and helloooo, that is so not going to happen." "So-and-so was definitely flirting with that-girl, which is funny, because I heard that he has a girlfriend back home." "She wants that guy? I hope she likes being a beard." Around day 3, a guy who went to camp the year before, but didn't that year because he was in a "real" play came to visit, and all the girls thought he was "sooooooo hott!!! <3 :P"(myself included, until I realized what a dick he is.) What would really make me happy is if this guy ends up being gay. Or fat. And bald. And most importantly, having to go back to school because his acting career is a dead-end.

Duck lips, peace sign AND sunglasses inside? I look
so cool.

Okay, one thing I've always wondered, and maybe someone can clear this up for me: In acting sessions, we did so many activities that had seemingly nothing to do with acting. Like, meditation, or writing down our observations about our surroundings, journaling. This is my hypothesis: I don't believe that any of that was actually meant to help develop some set of skills. I think that the instructors told us some BS about how it will help us, used some fancy word like "focus" or "internalize," and really the only purpose was so we'd all shut up for 20 minutes. I think Miss Connie made us lay down and "meditate" when her ass was tired of standing up. Which now that I think of it is actually not a bad idea.

I went back to this camp two more times after that first summer, and even though the camp changed and I made new friends, the atmosphere stayed the same. Nothing really topped that first summer though. It was the most fun I'd had in my whole 16 years. Something that I find really interesting is looking at how many of us actually continued on to do theatre in college. I'm hopefully going to see some fellow campers I've stayed in touch with when I go to Owensboro next week. I haven't talked to a lot of my close friends from YATA '06 in years, but it's okay. As corny and stupid as it sounds, we'll always have that summer.