Monday, August 14, 2006

I got rescued at The Drift and all I got was a Miller Light tank top

When I was a little girl, my mom would take me and my sister's to a friend's house in East Hampton. She also took her boss. Who happened to be a nun. I loved it because they had a pool and that's all I needed to be happy. As I got older, I stopped going on the trips because I was either working, or didn't want to go hang out with my mom and a nun. Why would I when instead, I would have parties at my house and smoke cigarettes freely on the porch?

My mom stopped asking me to join her when I went to college. Now I beg her to take me. Why? Because it's like Zoolander, only rediculously fun-looking.

This past weekend, as promised, DM invited me to her share house. We met at Penn Station (which I think is my version of what hell would be like, literally, people do not understand personal space in thhat joint). We hopped on the Long Island railroad (which is quite nice once you get on the actual train) and two hours later, I was on my way to drunken fun.

Just two hours east of Manhatty lies to land of beer, boys and sick dance parties.

Here is what happened in my typical bulleted list style which means I am being full on lazt because I am tried from work and want to watch the Hell's Kitchen finale:


Many Beers + Shots (I think there may have been more than one) + Dance Party to Journey's Don't Stop Believing+Winning a free tank top in a beer taste test+making out with a youngin (yes, more cougar action!)+one innaproproate but HYSTERICAL joke+DM making out with a boy who looked foreign+taking and advil and some other brown pill before bed = a kick ass night with minimal hangover.


Perfect beach day with funny stories and beers on the beach. And I hate the beach. It was really close to the weather on what I call "THE BEST DAY EVER" but that's a story for another time.

Saturday night:

I was made friends with the 007

I got to hang out with fun people

I finally "got rescued"

I learned what Drift foot is

And that's all I can remember. I do have 97 pictures from the weekend, all photographic evidence of the following things:

1. I have sick dance moves.

2. My friends like the big pink pole.

3. We like to get drunk and dance. And when I say dance, I mean like full on Napolean Dynamite, Flashdance, with your heart and soul dancing. It's. awesome.

Are these sick moves? Indeed.

So thank you DM for a very necessary break from reality. And I'm so in for a share next summer. Better work on some new moves for next year.

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