What you said in June: Hey guys, you know what would be a lot of fun? A road trip. It will be awesome. Just like in that movie where those friends take a road trip. You know, the one where they go on a road trip to overcome some conflict and end up having the time of their lives. I forget what it's called, but you best believe we're going on a road trip this summer. Let's figure out the first weekend we all have off from work, are free from any family or relationship commitments, and the weather looks like it's going to permit.

What you said in July: Good God, gas is expensive. I think it might be best to just hang out at home and watch "Guy's Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives" while opening up to each other on GChat. That should do. At least until Obama taps into those oil reserves—whatever that means.

What you're saying now: My bad, I should have asked to borrow my cousin's neighbor's dad's car before I volunteered to drive. We should just get together and watch that movie I was talking about. Before I go out and rent it, do any of you guys have Sideways on Blu-Ray?

What you said in June: Finally, reading up on all of the cool, new bands and committing all of their lyrics to memory while trapped in my room thanks to seasonal affective disorder is going to pay off. This generation's Woodstock '99 is coming to town this summer and I'm going to be there, front row center.

What you said in July: I'd order the tickets online, but my wallet is in my other pants—and I'm not sure if I want to commit to anything right now. Especially something that's more than a week away. I'll just show up day-of and see if I can find a scalper.

What you're saying now: Modern music is dead. Say what you want about Englebert Humperdinck, but at least I don't have to stand, clap, or pay $12 for a beverage while listening to him.

What you said in June: Yeah, yeah. I got it. I'll get light bulbs on my way home from work.

What you said in July: Come on, it's not like it's even that dark without that light. It's summer. But, yes, I'll do it. Do we have a step ladder? Should I buy one of those? Where would we put it? God, this light bulb business is turning into a big mess.

What you're saying now: To be perfectly honest, I don't even think that light is necessary. It's been four months. Clearly, I can get by without that light. And I probably save like 8 bucks a month on electricity without it.

What you said in June: All right, I somehow managed to get through another year without my neglecting to read A Catcher in the Rye coming back to haunt me. This is the summer I take the time to sit down and read all of the classics. Well, at least enough that I can stop saying The Great Gatsby is my favorite novel.

What you said in July: Reading on the beach hurts my eyes. I just need to find a nice, quiet place with some shade that is properly lit, not too hot, not too cold, sans TV or any other modern distraction, but isn't a public library, and I'll be all set.

What you're saying now: I should buy one of those iPads or Kindles. This laptop's too heavy to lay down on the couch with. I'll put that on my Christmas wish list and get back to this reading thing then.

What you said in June: Whoa, where did all these attractive people come from? Oh, they were the huddled masses of pasty, many-coated uglies that were wandering these streets all through winter. Turns out a bit of sun and some revealing clothing can really spruce up the options. One of these babes shall be mine by the 4th of July.

What you said in July: So, all of the really attractive people are already taken. I should have laid the groundwork in May. I guess I don't need a true summer fling. Just a quick hook-up, perhaps in the vicinity of a beach. That should be manageable.

What you're saying now: Summer flings are overrated. It's so hot and this sunburn smarts way too much to risk having someone touch it incorrectly. But the summer wasn't a total bust. I have 11 new Facebook friends, and I'm pretty sure I might possibly be able to woo one of them in time to be my date for New Year's Eve.