Wednesday, August 17, 2005
what a weekend!
Just recently returned from a 4 day bender at the beach. And let me tell you, the people I choose to associate with are getting old! This is a group of people that have known each other since college, plus some stragglers. I'm almost considered a straggler since I wasn't part of the "core" group that started these beach trips ten years ago, but did attend college with most of these fools.
Ten years ago, some college kids thought it would be a good idea to go down to Myrtle Beach and all stay at a friend's father's condo. I was not involved in any of that debauchery, but I was involved in the years to come. That friend whose father owned a condo at the beach eventually became my wife.
Due to the growth in the group, the last uncounted number of years have been spent at one of the other friend's family beach house, right on the sand. It's quite nice really, and we owe his family a great debt for allowing us to terrorize the locals year to year. I mean, come on, someone's got to think about their reputation for the next time the family makes a trip to their house. We don't want locals to recognize the house and start yelling profane things at family members that had nothing to do with "stuff" that might or might not have had a negative impact.
The wife and I were very excited about this trip. It gave us some time away from real life, jobs, bills, children, etc. My parents were naive enough to offer to watch our 2 year old for us while we were away. (Turns out the little rugrat was on better behavior for them than he's EVER been for us) So with great excitement, we leave the "grandparents" house and head for the surf.
We were the second set of folks to arrive at the house, the first car load containing three of our friends who had gotten there just minutes before us. I hopped out of the car and cracked my first, of what was to be many, beers. We said our hellos and I started to unpack the car. A few more folks showed up and it was a relatively low key kind of night. Just having a few cold beers and catching up with everyone.
The next day started as if I was getting ready for work. No alarm clock, but by God, I was up and at 'em at 7 in the morning. Since I was alone in this morning endeavor of waking up, I thought it would be a good time to take a stroll down by the beach. By the time I got back, I was still alone in this world of the awake. I found a bike in the storage room and decided that, what the hell, let's go for a ride on the beach. I had forgotten how much work it was to ride a bike. All of my memories from youth stated that it was a "fun" thing to do. My memories had betrayed me. Now sore and on unfriendly terms with the bike, I returned it to it's purgatory of storage and went inside to see if anyone had yet awoken.
Since I was left thinking that zombies had come, killed and dragged away the bodies of my comrades, I started checking rooms. Every last person must have been related to Rip Van Winkle, cause not a body was stirring. So I did what any good friend would do when faced with such a situation: I grabbed the first set of car keys I could find and took off in someone else's car. I was off on a pilgrimage for the tastiest of tasty, that's right, pizza sticks from Dodge's General store. Let's just say that over the course of 4 days, the clerks got to know me.
By the time I had made it back to the house, the inmates had started to stir, as I distinctly made out the sound of the blender being fired up as I made my way up the front steps. Vodka, lime-ade, and bunches of ice makes for quite a nice beach drink. I grabbed myself a ice cold beer and waited for breakfast to be cooked............
............to be continued ¶ 8:17 PM
Ten years ago, some college kids thought it would be a good idea to go down to Myrtle Beach and all stay at a friend's father's condo. I was not involved in any of that debauchery, but I was involved in the years to come. That friend whose father owned a condo at the beach eventually became my wife.
Due to the growth in the group, the last uncounted number of years have been spent at one of the other friend's family beach house, right on the sand. It's quite nice really, and we owe his family a great debt for allowing us to terrorize the locals year to year. I mean, come on, someone's got to think about their reputation for the next time the family makes a trip to their house. We don't want locals to recognize the house and start yelling profane things at family members that had nothing to do with "stuff" that might or might not have had a negative impact.
The wife and I were very excited about this trip. It gave us some time away from real life, jobs, bills, children, etc. My parents were naive enough to offer to watch our 2 year old for us while we were away. (Turns out the little rugrat was on better behavior for them than he's EVER been for us) So with great excitement, we leave the "grandparents" house and head for the surf.
We were the second set of folks to arrive at the house, the first car load containing three of our friends who had gotten there just minutes before us. I hopped out of the car and cracked my first, of what was to be many, beers. We said our hellos and I started to unpack the car. A few more folks showed up and it was a relatively low key kind of night. Just having a few cold beers and catching up with everyone.
The next day started as if I was getting ready for work. No alarm clock, but by God, I was up and at 'em at 7 in the morning. Since I was alone in this morning endeavor of waking up, I thought it would be a good time to take a stroll down by the beach. By the time I got back, I was still alone in this world of the awake. I found a bike in the storage room and decided that, what the hell, let's go for a ride on the beach. I had forgotten how much work it was to ride a bike. All of my memories from youth stated that it was a "fun" thing to do. My memories had betrayed me. Now sore and on unfriendly terms with the bike, I returned it to it's purgatory of storage and went inside to see if anyone had yet awoken.
Since I was left thinking that zombies had come, killed and dragged away the bodies of my comrades, I started checking rooms. Every last person must have been related to Rip Van Winkle, cause not a body was stirring. So I did what any good friend would do when faced with such a situation: I grabbed the first set of car keys I could find and took off in someone else's car. I was off on a pilgrimage for the tastiest of tasty, that's right, pizza sticks from Dodge's General store. Let's just say that over the course of 4 days, the clerks got to know me.
By the time I had made it back to the house, the inmates had started to stir, as I distinctly made out the sound of the blender being fired up as I made my way up the front steps. Vodka, lime-ade, and bunches of ice makes for quite a nice beach drink. I grabbed myself a ice cold beer and waited for breakfast to be cooked............
............to be continued ¶ 8:17 PM
