or the connection between two concerts
Okay, so every year my sister and her hubby generously allow Geo and I to crash for a week at their beach house on the Jersey Shore, sans Snooki or the Situation. It's a charming little cape cod on a lagoon perfect for washing the sand out of your hoohah. It's damned relaxing to spend the afternoon idly floating on the gentle tide, too as long as you can ignore the jumping fish swimming all around. Bleeeeech!
Cocktails help. A lot.
First of all let me say one thing. We suck at packing.
Seriously, what is with us. It doesn't matter how long or short our trip, we CANNOT pack light. We fill every square inch of the Rita mobile. It looks like we live in our car down by the river. We are retarded. And get this, we actually had to go back out for groceries because there was absolutely no room for food. I am not even kidding. There was literally no room for food.
But we did find room for vodka. There's always room for vodka. Priorities, dude. And man, did we hit the mother load of liquors on the way to the island.
And this is just half of their selection. No shit. The opposite aisle was packed to the gills with sweetly fermented potato goodness.
|our personal pool to get the shitz out yo muffin|
Over the years, Geo and I have developed a shore routine. Most days we take a nice long walk on the beach, he heads back to buy fresh caught seafood for dinner before imbibing, I hang out by the surf soaking up the sea breeze until I cannot stomach my own stench (or another piece of sand in a sensitive area) at which time I head back to dive into our personal pool to rid myself of the days glorious grime.
|just me and my brella|
|I think this shit-o-matic followed me from Coney Island|
After getting sufficiently pruney, I do one of my most favorite things on God's green earth. I shower outside.
Who wouldn't want drop trough and lather up under that gorgeous sky?
But I digress...
Since my days start hours before the butt crack of dawn, I'm usually up much earlier than Geo. In years past, I'd get up, make coffee and read on the pontoon or attempt to will my every-lovin' awake with my mind, AKA a finger poke to the face. But that just led to annoying bloodshed. And who wants to clean up that kind of mess on vacation.
So this year I started a new morning tradition. Behold... (cue the chorus of angels)
The Pee Wee Herman Adventurer 2011!
Dude, it has a basket! I love this bike! It's so wonderfully retro with no gears for me to jam in a completely uncool, spazzy way. Every morning I ventured out to procure breakfast treats, take a long spin around the neighborhoods and document a sight a day.
|september by the bay|
|Ole Barney piercing the sky|
|everything is happier at the beach|
|queen of the long, shadowy legs|
|ridiculously large house|
|after the morning catch|