Girl's Week At the Beach
or celebrating 20 years of friendship with sun, sand and several spiked Slurpee's
Okay, so my card club gal pals and I have been convening monthly to dish, drink and ... a third thing that begins with a "d" meaning nosh... for 20 years.
I know, right? That's a long time. Most marriages don't last that long.
Anywho, we went round and round as how to mark this momentous milestone before finally settling on a week at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. We procured an uber decked out, spectacularly swanky three bedroom oceanfront condo with 12...count 'em 12 pools.
|excessive pools from our 18th floor perch|
We seven ladies have seen each other through births, deaths, debilitating illness, marital strifes (big and not so big) and career changes all with love, laughter and ludicrous behavior inspired by alcohol and infantile shenanigans that only a group of "sistas" can understand. We've earned our reward in the sun.
It's been a very good 20 years.
Henceforth a listing of observations from Beachfest 2011:
I am embroiled in an ongoing love affair with the Southern Sunshine, not to mention the lilty drawl tripping off a charming Southern boy's tongue.
Swim-up pool bars are the bomb, Yo! Except when they're manned by a balding, grumpy douche determined to squash our vacation Nirvana by not having coconut rum. What the ef, Fool?!? Did you not see the memo that we were coming?
|Senor Douche Bag manning the blender|
|just a bunch of chicks drinkin' in the pool|
Phillip's Seafood House makes The. BEST. Steaks. I know. Ironic, right?
Flip Flop clicks are the true first sounds of Summer.
Sometimes you see something that makes you scratch your head and say, What the ef?
Coconut Rum and Diet Coke after 11pm WILL indeed turn one into a wide awake, giggling asshat Energizer Bunny until 4am. Seriously...
Cornhole is a super addictive game. It's also super funny to say and makes me want to wear my t-shirt over my head like Beavis and proclaim "I want TP for my bunghole".
Who knew tossing corn filled bags at a gaping hole while swilling a cocktail in the afternoon sun could produce a high level of low brow Flintstone fun? Most of Pittsburgh, apparently.
|tossing stuff into a hole...|
you'd think guys would be really good at this
Three girls in a shower...not as erotic as you might think. Don't ask.
Dude, I sooooo wanted to unplug this beauty and tear off at a blistering... 25 mph.
|Temptation, thy name is golf cart|
Even in the most packed suitcase, miraculously there's always room for a new pair of fabulous shoes.
Continuing my streak of public humiliation, the big-ole, fist-sized, ugly-ass bruise on my thigh (not to mention the ginormous pounding to my delicate-as-a-flower ego) confirms why there's no running on the pool deck. Hola! Me llamo, Grace.
Margaritaville is sooo... Jimmy Buffet
|Fins to the left...|
|an adorable animal balloon gal|
adding to the atmosphere
|that should almost cover the afternoon|
Sometimes you can't help but get a little Cap'n in ya.
|once an idiot, always an idiot|
|i'd like to show you a couple of things i'm very proud of|
|why thank you|
And thus ends the Reader's Digest version of Girlie Beach Week 2011. It's been a fantastic 20 year run. Hears to another 20 or more. Love you ladies! Cheers!!
P.S.: the world didn't end as planned, so I guess I'm going to have to pay that humongous Visa bill now. Damn...