limpin' ain't easy

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Cougahs? They lookin' for some action?

Yesterday was my first day at the shore this season. Although I spent time in SC, it's not summer until I've hit the Jersey shore. My roommates and I drove down, rocking out to some sweet tunes (if I may compliment my freshman year of college mix making self).

$7 to get on the beach buys an entire day of entertainment. Not only do you get the sun and the waves--you get the bennys acting like it's a meat market. You'll never see as many blowouts and tacky tattoos as you do at Belmar. Girls: stop dating these men. As AP put it, "you're only making them think it's okay to act like that!"

Perhaps you're wondering what I mean. Allow me to illustrate by retelling the phone conversation we overheard from one such benny about 20 ft. from our blanket:

"Yeah, yeah, yeah so what's up? Those broads you're with they cougahs?"
He paced with that very specific swagger these men have while the person on the other end responded.
"Fuckin' drunk cross-eyed cougahs? Yeah? They lookin' for some action?"

At this point AP and I were just about in tears.

"Yeah, well we don't need to call them no more."

Of course, our conversation for the rest of the day was peppered with "fuckin' drunk cross-eyed cougahs," even if it didn't make sense. My friend made a couple excellent points about these greased up, blowed-out, juiced-up, jagerbomb drinking young men that give Jersey and Staten Island a bad name: Dudes shouldn't wear Armani or white sunglasses. Ever. He also went on to compare the dudebros (Dude! Bro!) of the West Coast to the guidos of the East Coast. He explained, "You can say about a dudebro, 'yeah, he's a dudebro, but he's a nice guy.' You can't say that about guidos." No, you can't because that's part of their description. As a rule, they're dickbags.

As AP and I made our way through the meat market to the water, some jerk was playing with a wiffleball bat and almost hit her. "Sorry, I carry a big stick."

"That's what she said?"

Well done, AP. Although, you really should have punched him.

If you haven't already, do yourself a favor and watch this:


Sunday, June 22, 2008

Ghost Crabs

Today, I was viciously attacked by a ghost crab. I was minding my own business, getting a tan and reading my book when it scampered onto my beach towel and attempted to nip off my nips. The little girl that was chasing it was able to scoop it into her bucket. Twenty minutes later, it escaped and made a beeline (crabline?) directly back to me.

Now, as I sit in the Myrtle Beach airport waiting for my flight back to my home in the wonderful world of smog, I have to ask: What did I do to deserve this? What did this frighteningly large crab have against me and my breasts? As far as I could tell, I was not laying on any of the entrances to his underground tunnels (up to 4ft. deep). I was reading a heartwarming tale of a man dying of pancreatic cancer AND I did two good deeds for others on the beach. A grandma got knocked over by her umbrella and I watched over someone's radio as they went to lunch. Neither of those things are deserving of a crab attack. So why? WHY did a crab attack me and then come back for more?


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Monday, June 16, 2008

My Shamrock Lodge

This weekend was Celia's bachelorette weekend, or "girls' weekend" as she liked to call it. I arrived to a good 10 more females than I was expecting. I wasn't even entirely out of the car before Celia handed me a glass of wine--a telltale sign that my weekend was going to hilarious, awesome and more fun than I've had in a long time.

The house we stayed in was perfect. It was bright green and fabulous.


My Shamrock Lodge - Irish Green on the outside and Irish Pub on the inside
Here's a picture of our digs.

Rumor had it that Johnny Depp was getting married on Tybee Island on the Saturday that we were there. My orders: "Find him. Stop the wedding. I'll get there...he just has to meet me first." Mission failed, sorry Ally. However, we didn't need J-Depp for excitement.

First night out: North Beach Grill that was maybe a total of 5 blocks from the house, yet somehow took us 20 minutes to get there. Women suck at directions: learn street names, y'all. Anyway, we had some drinks and some tasty food before we headed back. We promptly traded our sundresses for pajamas. Well, in Celia's case she wore a slinky blue nightie as we chatted and sipped champagne in the backyard. We had some quality girl talk, ranging from young boys, ex-lovers and in my opinion far too much talk of marriage. What did I expect, everyone there except for me was in a serious long-term relationship. Luckily, I didn't let myself feel too bummed.

The next day was brunch and a lingerie shower. In a word, I felt uncomforable buying my big (yes, I was in a sorority, don't judge) sexy lingerie for her German husband, especially since I know he has
interesting tastes. I bought her a cute two piece tank top with frilly shorts to match. It was a very me thing to give her. The only scandalous gifts she got was a pair of crotchless from the "sexpot 7," Celia's little sister's friends. They also brought along the penis straws, which Celia passed out: One for Bethany, who has been married 3 years and thus "deserves" it and one for Bridget "because she likes giving blow jobs." Only our Celia! She didn't do that until later on Saturday, so I'll get back to the penis straws momentarily.

After the lingerie shower, the adults left and the girls hit the beach. It was a sight, 15 girls all laying out on the beach. We brought beer and margaritas (duh) with us as we soaked up the sun. A cop on a golf cart drove up and warned us about glass on the beach. "No problem officer, we'll take care of it!"

"Okay ladies. You can pour it into a cup. Beer is okay, just no glass."

We did just that. An hour or so later, another cop rode up to us as Brig was pouring her beer into a plastic cup. An $87.50 ticket later, Celia sassed the cop in the way only she can: "Thanks so much for ruining my special weekend, sir!" I maintained a steady buzz from noon until we returned to the house to get ready for dinner and going out at around 7pm. Lydia and her friends did a fabulous job with dip, tacos and chicken fajitas. Delicious. They also made a punch with sorbet, ginger ale, wine and champagne. So delicious. Margaritas were also part of our evening activities--shots of vodka in Celia's. By the time we went out, we were good and ready to wreak some havoc on Tybee.

More to come, including all about nipples, Buster and tequila.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Nipples, Nighties and Tequila

As I am overly tired and hungover from this weekend's amazing festivities, I leave you with a new favorite video to tide you over until I can fully recapture what I hinted at in the title of this blog. Enjoy.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

South of the Mason Dixon

Everyone knows that I'm not crazy about the South.  I used to live in Alabama and North Carolina, and last summer my parents retired to South Carolina.  I'm here for 2 days and my accent comes back full force.  Suddenly, monosyllabic words become polysyllabic and I find myself saying "ma'am" and "sir" at the end of everything.  Everyone is more polite than I'm used to, spending the past 2 years in New Jersey and 10 before that in Philly.  I'm not sure I like it.

In July, one of my closest friends is getting married and I'm lucky enough to be a bridesmaid.  I'm so happy and grateful to be an integral part of her special day; however, it makes one think about the commercialization and production of the modern bride (and what her closest friends must endure).  So far, nothing has been required of me other than the obligatory purchase of the dress, which in turn led me to the most humiliating experience of my twenties: buying a foundation garment with my mother.  This upcoming weekend is her bachelorette weekend in Tybee Island, Georgia.  It'll be fun; I'm excited.  I'll report back.

What makes the upcoming wedding even funnier for me is that I'll probably be the only Yankee there.  So it'll be "yes ma'am, no sir, thank you ma'am, thank you sir," the whole time I'm in Georgia.  I'll have to take out my multiple piercings so as not to induce heart attack on the conservative elderly who refer to that time between 1861-1865 as the "War of Northern Aggression."  Also, I'd like to avoid any awkward stares and questions and comments such as, "What's that hanging out of your lip?"