Life is a cruel, cruel mistress.

     I hate when good things have to come to an end, and this year has got to be the worse in the history of mankind for good things coming to an end.

     Circus Cookies? Done. Zima? Done. Employment? Nope, not for me. Farrah, John Hughes, Michael Jackson and half the Golden Girls? All gone forever. 

     The list goes on and on; but, quite frankly, it’s too depressing to blather on about all of the great runs that ended in 2009.

     But just when you thought a year couldn't be any crueler, the final slap in the face comes with a little season known as Fall.

     The end of summer, with its glorious days floating on the lake while washing down barbequed wieners with a cold glass of vodka, is near. Trust me. One day this September Sandpoint residents will fall asleep cozied up under a single sheet with their little sun-tanned asses, and their snugly summer siestas will screech to a halt in the morning when they realize the sun has packed its bags and taken off for the equator.

     Just like having your grandma show up in the middle of a full-on Roman-style orgy, fall has busted in with its knitted sweaters, hot cocoa and back to school agenda. The revelers leave and you’re left to deal with the uninvited buzz-kill.

     Blah.

     The presence of fall is further compounded by the fact that it forces you to face what you’ve done all summer: a couple months of boozing, chips, dips, ice cream and absolutely no consistent schedule and – oh my – is that really my ass? No it can’t be.

     I don’t know if I should go to fat camp or rehab. 

     Something has to give. I don’t have the luxury of permanent employment so I’m going to have to fill my jeans with KY jelly and ease my way into them, since replacing them is not a fiscal option. Then again, there’s always the old wear-sweat-pants-every-day strategy. We unemployed are afforded that luxury.

     To make matters worse, my birthday is also in the fall. And, while you might think that my birthday would cause me to carry at least a small torch for the season, you’d be wrong. My birthday has always sucked. Try 12 years of only getting school clothes on your birthday followed by five- to six-ish years of getting “my books” paid for in college. Nowadays the birthday is just a reminder that my boobs have lowered a few more centimeters and soon I’ll need Botox.

     Poor me.

     Seriously, I live in one of the most beautiful towns on the planet, surrounded by family and friends. I don’t have a 9-to-5 sucking the life out of me, and I’m celebrating my one year anniversary. So what gives? Here I am complaining about cold weather when summer just came and had its way with me, leaving me fat and hung-over, doing a strange walk of shame to the gym in some ill-fitting sweats. I’m a hot mess and kind of a whiney asshole.

     In fact, I’m exactly like that freshman in the college dorms who didn’t date or go out because she had a boyfriend somewhere. No one ever met him because he was actually a summer fling,but she called him her "boyfriend" in order to feel better about all of that hot sex they were having during the summer.

     The truth? He had a real girlfriend somewhere else.

     The hours that freshman didn't spend in denial were spent cleaning up the vomit from her "single" fellow dormies. If you've spent any time in a college dorm or sorority you know the type.

     Yep, I’ve pretty much turned into that girl. It’s probably karma. Really. Because Lord knows I used the heck out of my boring dorm friends. Sorry.

     I need to emerge from this funk, and there’s really only one way.

     I’m going to follow the cardinal rule of summer flings: I’m not going to think about what will happen after Labor Day. I’m going to enjoy the time Summer and I have left together. We'll skip around the beach together, roll around in the hay, sneak out at night and when it’s time for it to end I’ll try not to let anyone see me cry.

     Better yet?  When Fall comes poking around I’ll be honest but firm. I’ll acknowledge that Fall is not as “hot” as Summer, but we could possibly be friends with benefits. Thank God for a college education.

Remember the best flings always leave you hot and wanting more,

Scarlette Quille