one year.

I left Richmond a year ago tomorrow. It was the worst day of my life, so far. Too hard. I said goodbye forever to two people I loved and will never see again, and to a city that makes me ache. 

He didn't look back when I boarded my flight. I stopped looking back months ago, even though it was months too late. I hope he is well, or as well as he can be. I hope he knows he made me the person I am today, and without him, I wouldn't be where I am today. He also showed me how to love, and how to be strong and stoic and selfless and brave. So, thank you, Wade. Thank you. I owe you more than you will ever know.

I said good bye to my grandmother that afternoon. She passed away a few days later. I get my fight from her, my feisty from her, and my brutal honesty from her. We never were very close, and I often felt like she hated me, but in the past year, I feel like i've figured her out as i've figured out myself. We are more alike than either one of us would probably have liked to admit.  So, Cheers, Nan. I know she and pop are partying like it's 1945 somewhere. 

And Richmond. What can be said that I haven't already said about that lovely fucked up city? The city where the old bricks suck the life out of you, and the cobblestones rip your soul from your body. I have never loved a city the way I love you, and I have never hated something I love so much before at the same time. I'll be back someday. It's inevitable. I know and have lived the curse already. Stay safe. Stay cool. 

Losing seemingly everything I thought I had really wasn't terrible. If you told me a year ago where i'd be now, and that I would honestly, whole-heartedly be happy, id laugh in your face and beg for another shot of whiskey. I made it through just fine, and it truly (as cliche as it sounds) has made me a better person. I couldn't have made it this far without the love and support of my friends - both near and far. I love you. And I am who I am because of you.  

spur of the moment halloween tattoo

oh, lawdy, lawd, what was i thinking?

stay hungry. stay free. and do the best you can. 

sink or swim

Watching "Celebrity Rehab" this afternoon triggered memories of Tawny Kitaen doing cartwheels across the hood of exotic cars in the Whitesnake "Here I Go Again" video. Because of this song (which is pretty fucking badass), I was inspired to blawg. So, um, thanks Tawny. Hope that coke problem clears up.

I've been very content and settled lately. Getting back to Brooklyn was the best thing I could have done for myself. I've been seeing lots of old friends, people I adore, and reconnecting with some old aquaintances. Work is good - I am finally one of those freaks who loves her job. Who am I? I barely know anymore. 

This past week was CMJ, so there were lots of parties and concerts and cocktails consumed. I also ran into more old friends - it was great to have people truly excited and happy that i'm back. I didn't think I realized how much I missed New York, my New York, until I got back here to Brooklyn. I missed all the quirky New Yorkisms I missed (and forgot!) until I saw them again. Passing familiar faces and places and spending too much money on a can of PBR - I missed it all. 

I have been (blush, blush) spending a fair amount of time with a gentleman friend, a gentleman friend with a penchant for Hall and Oates karaoke, who makes me laugh, and who I still get excited about seeing his number pop up on my caller ID. This is a good thing, no? Taking things very slowly and not stressing about it is all I am capable of at present, and that seems to be working very nicely. 

I've been dropping pounds (and jean sizes, hooray!) like mad lately. Feeling good. Looking (dare I say) good. Happy to wear my boots, tight jeans and scarves. Ready for my birthday, next month, and for the first half of my 20's (and all the bullshit that came with) to be over, and this past crazy year to be over. I have an appointment in a few weeks for my present to myself. Not telling, but you can figure it out, i'm sure. This is a perfect time of year. Beautiful, gorgeous, mature, hopeful autumn in New York. 

Listen: Autumn in New York - Billie Holiday

It's easier to leave than to be left behind

Well, here begins another chapter in my fucked up, whirlwind life. Melancholy is setting in, as i'm trying to pack up all of the "important" things and set off into Brooklyn. I'll be fine, i'll be great - this is what I want to be doing. For now at least.

Im sure, eventually, I will be regretful for all the things I didn't do this summer. But, really, hell, isn't that what the LIRR is for? Isn't that what days off are for?

I'm still trying to figure out if I should keep up on this blog or not. I probably will. It'll just be filled with nonsensical escapades from Brooklyn - yes, Williamsburg, everyones favorite hipster punchline. Hell, thats reason enough to keep writing, isnt it?

So, here goes. New start.

story of a girl

I accepted a job in the city this afternoon. I have nine days left of summer, nine days left of Long Island, nine days left of home.

I'm going to embrace these next nine days.

they say that all good things must end someday

There are two more weekends left in the summer. Then, as quickly as it came, summer will be gone. Having been down south for so long, I never realized how fast a NY summer was. The heat comes, typically, in July and lasts until August, and by the end of September, you're in boots and a jacket. Summer rolls in out here like the firehouse carnival - bringing with it glittering lights, interesting people, and wonderful food. Suddenly, out of seemingly nowhere, you find yourself putting on a hoodie at night, and before you know it, summer has breezed out of town.

Having made a conscious effort to curb my self-destruction summer tour '08 (and having faceplanted on a rock, smashing my face to near bits) i've been able to cut myself off from the world completely and create my own little safe bubble. I feel like I perhaps should have done this from the start, when I first arrived back here. Shell-shocked and numb, I hibernated for about a week, then threw myself whole-heartedly into doing what girls like I do best - hitting the pub. Hell, anyone, on the heels of breaking up with their not-so-future husband would probably do the same. Or jump off a bridge. I jumped, alright, straight into salty townie bars. Ain't nothing wrong with that. So, now, after not going out for about the past 3 or so weeks, I feel much better. I can be the elusive girl again - not the local prodigal daughter (which I really am) but the mysterious, glamorous, fun and exciting one.

I will be getting a phone call in the next few days that may direct my next move. In a matter of days, if I get the news I am hoping for, I will be scrambling to pack up everything I have, and scrambling to find an apartment in Brooklyn. That's what I want. However, I see myself scrambling, should I get the job, to squeeze every bit of summer out of what time I have left here, and squeezing any bit of relaxation and lack of responsibility out of the slacker lifestyle i've done so well since November. That's not a bad thing, and honestly, being gone before winter is worth it.

It truly can happen anywhere...

"But, things like this don't happen here!"

I'm not really sure how to begin about this horrible incident. It is certainly something that must be told - as it is a HUGE story, and one that, sadly, hits far too close to home and effects the community (especially the local/bar scene, as, we know, i know well).

Where I can begin is this: I know the Public House. I was in fact, supposed to go out there the night this happened. I've spent many nights there, both eating with my grandparents and drinking with my friends. Never once have i ever seen it be rowdy or out of control. Granted, it
s crowded, and granted, in the summer there's certainly a different crowd, but it's always been a nice, clean, respectable place. I have friends who work there. Friends who go there. This could have been anyone, anywhere. It could have been one of my friends.

I've lived in horrible neighborhoods in horrible cities. I've seen bodies in the street and i've seen horrible things go down. However, I always had my guard up. I always knew what I was getting into. Never once have I ever felt unsafe at the Public House, and never once have I ever witnessed anything even remotely close to a scuffle there, let alone 2nd degree murder. My only encounters with bouncers at the Public House were them waving me in with a smile while waiving the cover (Secret local code), bumming a cigarette and having conversations on the lawn, and witnessing them asking patrons to politely remove their baseball caps. Yes, that's the extent of it.

Needless to say, I am shocked, horrified and stunned at this event. My heartfelt condolonces go out to Reister's family and children, friends and aquaintances. Also, my thoughts and support are with the Public House and their staff - who have always looked out for everyone who walks in their doors - I know that many of us are looking out for them at present.

the beach is free

Trying to get my life together and back in order has completely sidetracked my concentration and dedication to this blog. I've been busy working on resumes and interviewing and looking at apartments and hanging out in Brooklyn and kissing tattooed boys and trying to stay away from townie boy and letting my face heal and trying to not be a drunk mess and going to the beach and running in nature trails and cranking the AC.

I'm focusing out getting out, not so much away from, but out of here. I will never be able to get away, no matter how hard I try. I can, however, get out. Perhaps thats the lesson i'm slowly learning about this crazy place, my hometown. You don't get to choose your hometown, you only get to choose to leave. And perhaps thats not so bad. It will always be here.

I'm starting to feel like I wasted this summer by being wasted. Come winter, wherever I may be, I know I will be mad at myself for being a night owl and not enjoying my time here to the fullest. I came back here to get my life in order, and heal after a horrible heartbreak. Part of that, or at least for me, is being completely self-destructive. I understand that. Now, i'm at the point to enjoy MYSELF. Enjoy being ALONE. Enjoy Long Island. It's a vacation paradise for a reason. I'm pulling out of here to win.

if she wants to dance and drink all night then there’s no one that can stop her

This past weekend, an aquaintance was in town for work, so I played tour guide and we headed out to the Drift. Typical stereotypical Hamptons bullshit - which is turning into the usual for me. However, Saturday was different. Instead of being immersed in a high school reunion, and drinking myself stupid, I was showing this friend my side of the Hamptons. Coming from Brooklyn, it was certainly different than what he was used to (and, me, in a way) - and I felt like I was seeing this crazy, nutty island through new eyes. People made their jokes - I guess seeing a guy with full sleeves, a pompadour and a tight white tee was as hilarious to them as it was for him to see all the "Chads" in their popped collars.

When the bar closed, and the sun was coming up over the ocean, we ran into the ocean and swam, letting the sandy, salty water attempt to wash the booze and grime from us. Standing there, in the water, still completely loaded, I saw just how gorgeous it really is out here. When you strip it all down (both literally and figuratively) it's breathtakingly beautiful. If everyone who is out here, local or not, can just see the beauty and simplicity of the beach, and the community, without pretension or competition, i'm confident it will remain a peaceful, relaxing town. Then again, I think it's too late for that.

the story of the hurricane

Maybe there is a reason there are High School reunions every ten, twenty, thirty years ... and then they taper off as everyone moves on with their "real" lives. Don't get me wrong, I adore my childhood friends - they have seen me as the kid who fearlessly rode her sled over the cement at the sump, they have seen me as the wild child at beach parties drunk on stolen gin, and they are the people I really have some of my fondest memories with. However, when is the fact that you spent the first 18 years of your life with people not enough?

I like to think of myself as the elusive, mysterious one. The one who got out of town and never came back. Obviously, that's not happening. I'm stuck here until the end of the summer (if not longer the way things are looking). When I was away, other than a short "hi" message on myspace, or a meetup at a holiday or funeral, I had no contact with most of the people I now see on a daily basis. And, honestly, that was okay. You can love people and not see them - you can love people and not talk to them. (Hey, check out my most recent ex! Zing!) It just was, as we found ourselves, we found and created our own lives. Mine was made up of sweet southern dive bars, cheap beer, and loud music. Theirs was made of all the things our lives were like in High School.

It's nice to come home, to feel a part of something. This will always be home, and we will always have our childhoods to cling to. Besides from a select few (I think I can count two, maybe three) there's nothing left. There's nothing to base a real, grownup friendship with. Sure, we go out drinking together, and they hook me up at their bars, and we share cabs home. It's great. But at this point, I feel like the vacations over, and again, it's time for me to leave this sweet/horrible place and move somewhere I can be me - not the person I was growing up. I'm different now, i'm more bitter, less crazy, more cynical, less hilarious. That's okay, that's growing up. I'm just sorry if I dissapointed anyone when I came back a bitter, jaded, tattooed wanna be redneck.

Love in the Time of the Interwebnets

I wonder, how hard is it to keep up on a blog? Apparently, for me, hard to remember I have this blog - with all the new internet time wasters (facebook, myspace, twitter) that seemingly have taken over my life. I now know exactly what my friends all over the country are doing at any given second - giving me another reason to not pick up the phone and call them, or god forbid, write an actual letter. What is happening to us?

Just tonight I had my very own "he's just not that into you" moment - all via text message. Luckily, with only one date under the belt (and, damn, it was a good date, too!) it's not a huge loss, and much better to get a short little text than an awkward telephone call - or none at all. It was really making me think. In between beating myself up over not being psychic enough to realize there wouldn't be a second date, and stressing that I somehow did something wrong, I realized - maybe dating isn't hard. Maybe it's the massive amounts of technological support we have that makes us, dare I say, dating retarded?

You meet someone. You go home and check to see if they're on MySpace or Facebook. 90% of the time they are. You find out what they're about. Where they went to school, what they listen to, what kind of movies they watch, books they read ... Then you do the ever wonderful Google search. You find out they won the Science Fair their junior year of high school. What ever happened to going into first dates blind and having to feign interest in hearing about a science fair project? MySpace is your first date!

As I have mentioned in the past, I am recently back in the dating game after a long hiatus of being off the market. The last time I was actively dating, i'd call and hang up. Yes, it was (almost) that long ago. Or, if we're talking about my rock star days, i'd be the one getting the hangups from nervous Brooklyn hipsters. I've realized that I can date here on Long Island - it has to be outside my comfort zone- and maybe it won't be horrible. Going on my past track record, I seem to have had the most success with artistically tattooed, sensitive boys. And if by success I mean doomed long-term relationships, then yes. Out here on Long Island, i'm lucky to find someone who knows who Joey Ramone was, let alone who Mike Ness is.

Coming home, I dated (if you can call it that) local townie boy (who, by the way, i managed to get some post-Boardy Barn cocktails with Sunday night, but that's a whole other can of worms). Completely not "my type". Completely small town - we knew every embarrassing story about each other even before he copped a feel during Juno. Needless to say, completely doomed. In trying to branch out, I met a seemingly nice guy at a bar recently, and agreed to go on a date. I got over my punkrock ideals very quickly, and happily accepted the fact he was a police officer - a NYPD officer none the less. Hey, it's Long Island. Cop or Construction? Investments or Mortgages? Due to this guy's age (a whopping 12 years on me, but I swear you wouldn't know), there was no Myspace/Facebook checkups, and due to his name, all I got when I googled him was the Zapruder film. Complete strike out. Even adding to the blind date-ness was when I realized that I wouldn't be able to pick out this guy from a crowd, thanks to spending the earlier part of the night pounding shots at the Drift.

A nice date to a baseball game (Yankees, one redeeming point) turned into many drinks (thanks, rain delay) and many long phone conversations and text messages. I found myself actually being interested in this person! I liked hearing about his "collars" and he liked hearing about my dogs! He insisted i'd one day love U2! I promised him he'd love marrow bones and veal cheeks! We had nothing in common, except for our Irish heritage (which, crazily, i've embraced like mad since I got back up here). Suddenly, with no warning - goodbye! Zip. Done. The typical blow-off. Maybe I shouldn't have called U2 the most overrated band in history. Maybe I should have told him my favorite food was McNuggets. If I was more sensitive, i'd probably be a bit more upset about this. I'd probably tear up. I'd probably go get a pint of Ben and Jerry's. But, no, friends, I had the glorious, glorious text message. The saving grace.

If I had been able to e-stalk him, i'd probably have found out details about him that would have most likely convinced me to not go on that first date. (I really don't need to mention U2 again, do I?) I'd have found out he graduated college when I was in fifth grade. I'd have found out he's in the midst of a divorce. I'd have found out he lives too far away, and i'd have realized it would have never worked. But, hey, at least I got that text message. Maybe technology isn't all that bad. Maybe it does make us socially awkward and like stealth spies, but it also seems to help us from the inevitable, awkward collapse. Or telephone call. Or, best case scenario: text message blow off.

So, what are my plans for this weekend? I'm goin' fishin'. For guys. First thing I ask them? "What's your Myspace?"

Download: Gym Class Heroes - New Friend Request

what are we running from?

Long Island is in the midst of a heat wave. Tendrils of hair have been stuck to the back of my neck with sweat, and I woke this morning grimy from the bars last night and sticky from the heat. I should be accustomed to the heat by now - having spent the better part of the past fivish years in the South. Back there, back then, it seems like just a dusty photograph of a life that belonged to someone else. The only relief I had from the heat back in good ol' Dixie was a front porch and tinkling glass of sweet tea. Or, more likely in my case, a margarita.

Last night was a night filled with old friends in a familiar place with familiar songs and familiar drinks. It was comfort in a crowded oceanfront bar. The teetotalers version of a security blanket. At one point in the night, I scanned the faces of the people I was with and remembered us as a motley crew of elementary school kids on the playground. How many people get to do that? It was as if nothing had changed between any of us - we were still the kids who rode bikes to the bay, set up lemonade stands, and took dance classes together. One friend was celebrating her upcoming wedding, another her recent divorce. We danced our asses off, accepted cans of beer thrown at us by the bartenders (yet, more childhood friends) and laughed at long-forgotten teachers and neighborhood legends.

My first job was a counter girl at an old fashioned McDonalds looking place. My older sister had worked there for several years, so once I turned 13, I was a shoo-in. The only other person my age who worked there was a younger brother of one of my sister's friends. Rewind to several years ago, my last summer out here, and there may have been what one considered a fling with this sibling. Last night, as I pushed my way through the crowd, I ran into this old friend. It seems a lot has changed - he is now a parent (but single!) - but nothing much has changed as well. He's still got a killer smile. He's still got great charm (maybe that's how he ended up with a kid). In fact, I heard one of the sweetest things I have heard in a while from him last night. Mind you, this was early in the night, before the endges of memory started to blur. "Every Memorial Day I think of you, I think that this might be the summer I finally get to see you again. Every time I go out, I always look around for you, because I always knew one day you'd be back." And me? Well, i've got tentative plans for one night this upcoming week.


So, really, after a night like last night, it does appear you can, indeed, go home again. Marriages, moves and children may come, but when it comes down to it, we still are those little kids and this is still, and always will be, home.



"this is our town, this is who we're meant to be. this is our town, where our roots have grown so deep. this is our town, this is where we're meant to be. this is our town, we'll keep coming back because this is our town"

Download: We The Kings - This Is Our Town

wallet-raped in margaritaville ...

Last night, a good friend (possibly one of the few people out here that I can consider both a friend and good) and I had a chick date. We did what probably millions of broads did over the past few days - drinks, then the Sex and the City movie. Don't start.

Regardless, we hit one of our old stomping grounds, a place actually I worked in the summer of '02 (or was it 2001?). we figured we'd get a bite and some drinks and catch the movie. It was nice to sit on a patio, munch on some guacamole and pound some margaritas. The guacamole wasn't anything great, and either were the margaritas. However, drinks are drinks, and the company was great.

Well, after we waited what seemed like HOURS for our check ... it came. The check totalled over $100 for 2 pitchers of margaritas and some guacamole. Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. I mean, shit, for a great margarita (im talkin' cointreau, herradura silver, fresh squeezed lime -the whole deal) i'd probably be fine with paying close to $20 for it. The margaritas in question were the McDonalds of margaritas.

Welcome to the Hamptons, motherfuckers.

the ride, it ain't free

Again, it was a Friday so cocktailed, the rest of my weekend was a mess. I have/had the best intentions. The promises to myself I had made were broken, I made the best effort to keep my shit together, and, of course, it was broken. One big hot tranny mess.

This crazy Island is not for me. It's not mine, and I sometimes wonder if it ever was. Girls like me don't stay out here, girls like me don't like the boys out here, and girls like me get shitfaced to hide the disdain for this place, and the places I waste my time in. That's why girls like me don't belong here. I like to just think of myself as a hurricane, passing through, leaving carnage in my wake. However, am I leaving the town a wreck, or leaving myself a wreck?

Having been in 2 serious, committed, live-in relationships for the past 4 years, dating is strange to me, talking to guys is strange, and getting picked up in bars (or attempts at such) are even more strange. I found myself on Friday rolling my eyes, but accepting bought drinks and the conversations that came with them. Guys that aren't from here seem to think they are god's gift to women, no matter how socially awkward, neurotic or uh, busted they are. They try to impress you with their wealth, their status, their share in a Dune Road house with their fraternity brother. After several of these conversations, where I wasn't impressed, awestruck, or bit by cupid, I was d-o-n-e with these stupid boys. Of course, I wasn't done with their free drinks, so I started to have fun with it. My first thing was to start telling these guys blatent lies, beginning with my name. Next, it was what I do for a living - I was everything from a marine biologist to a jewelry designer. Then, it was where I lived - anywhere but here. But, and to quote Avail - here is where i've gotta be.

As always, lyrics and songs play a huge part in my life. I'm an ex-music industry drone. From day one I showed up here, Bruce Springsteen's "Thunder Road" played in constant repeat in my head. I believe it all stems from possibly one of the greatest lines from a song ever - "it's a town full of losers/and i'm pulling out of here to win". Yeah, thats nice. It is a town full of losers. But wait, i'm here. I go to the deli, I go to the bars, I get my mail here - I am a loser. I am the townie loser drunk I never wanted to be. Oh shit!

Well, lets find another lyric. Ah, here's one: "waste your summer prayin' in vain/for a savior to rise from these streets". Lord, if that's not true, then what else is? I'm not much of the praying type. Hell, i'd love a savior to rise from these streets, pick me up in his chevrolet chariot, and get me the hell out of here. And, perhaps secretly, i'm hoping and waiting for that. And, perhaps even more so, I secretly hoped that local townie boy would be that. It would just finally be a happy ending to the shit that'd been my life for the past years. I'm sure you've seen it in a movie at leat 5 times - you travel all over the place and you come to your hometown, and finally put your roots down. Hell, I never said I had good judgement. I just said a happy ending would be nice.

Oh, Bruce! Why you gotta do this to me, son? Yet another lyric: "i know you're lonely/for words that i ain't spoken/but tonight we'll be free/all the promises will be broken" - and yes, yes, yes. The promises were broken. The promises to myself, that I wouldn't care about someone I shouldnt even know in the first place, the promises of "no shots", the promises of going home early, the promises about not letting this stupid guy i don't even like get the best of me. Agh! Needless to say, every single promise was broken, and I got the embarassing ride home at 7AM to prove so.

Now i'm beating myself up, and I shouldn't. I'm not all that bad, I'm just letting this town win. And hell naw, not going to happen. Not for me. Not here. Not now. "You ain't a beauty/but hey, you're alright". Thanks, Bruce. I know you've got my back. I know you've got my number. I know Long Island isn't the Jersey Shore, but shit, it's close enough, right? So, Bruce, when you pull up to get me, i'll be there. Because, really, it IS a town full of losers, and i'm TOTALLY pullin' out of here to win.

Download: Bruce Springsteen - Thunder Road

this is the kind of stuff blogs were made for

Let's see what's right with this picture: Nice local cop not giving two shits about the crazy woman he's arresting and putting into his car. I'm sure when he gets done with working his overtime hours this weekend, he'll head to Murph's and laugh with his friends about how he was in Newsday. They'll all do some shots of Jaeger, and chuckle about the summer beginning, and how we all have to suck it up because they'll be gone in 3 months.

Now, why is this uh ... interesting (to say the least!) woman so irate? She has an art gallery and got arrested for selling alcohol without a liquor license.

Not such a big deal, you're thinking. Well, it's not. At all. However, and having been arrested out here, and also knowing police officers out here - i'm siding with the cops on this one. I know, I know, i'm supposed to be all Ice Cube. However, when faced with the hilarious reality of the situation, I have no other choice then to applaud the East Hampton Police Department on this one. For nothing more than the following quotes this hellbitch apparently said:

"I told them, 'I served liquor before you were born,'" Vered recalled Sunday night. "I told them they were not invited and I asked them to leave."She told them that if they wanted to talk to her, they would have to send the police chief."

Lovely, right? Oh, wait - it gets better.

"It's absolutely ridiculous," she said. "They're sabotaging the life of our small business. Everybody does parties and gives Champagne. It's East Hampton!"

God help us.

club deli traffic jam

Having been back to being a local for about six months now, i'm realizing how incredibly screwed up everything gets on summer weekends, especially holiday ones. I haven't lived out here in six years, so I believe I blocked out all the negative things about living out here from my memory bank.

Case in point: This morning, I hit up the deli, the same deli i've been going to since I got back, for my Sunday special - baconeggcheeseonarollsaltpepper. The line was full of girls from share rentals with their meat head boyfriends with tribal tattoos, of course they were wearing booty shorts which read things like "sexy" "juicy" or "diva". Gross. In addition to that, you had your stereotypical Hamptons weekenders - complete with straw hat, Nantucket Reds and gucci loafers, and then there were us. I gave a head nod of recognition to a kid I went to elementary school with who was behind the counter. He, of course, got my order straight away, even though I was pretty far back in the line. Nobody noticed, except me and him. The rude people - and this could be me, being that I was a line cutter, but i'm not getting into ethical debates here - just kept chattering on about "going to the club" and "having the nanny drop the children at the club". Two different types of clubs, obviously, from two significantly different types of people. I got my order and snuck out.

Typically, i'll head to a beach and eat my breakfast while relaxing, staring at the bay and checking out the placidity of the water. It's a holiday weekend. That doesn't happen. Instead, a five minute trip turned into a twenty minute trip, and every third car I passed was a Benz or a pimped out Honda playing techno way too loudly. What the hell happened to my town?! Agh.

Tonight i'm unsure whether to go out. My excursion today pretty much soured me on going out to mingle, and being that most people have been drinking all day and night for the past 2 days, i'm not sure if I should go out. Plus, I will suck it up and deal with all the idiots tomorrow at the Boardy Barn, which is deserving of a blog entry all its own.

My friend Megan, who is also a prodigal daughter, is coming back for the summer next week-ish from Portland, Oregon. I am hoping she would like to get in on this blog as well, as she is a much better writer and much better drinker than myself.

kickoff to summer, kickoff to blog

I had been thinking about creating a new blog to document my completely mundane and irresponsible life on Long Island for some time now. You see, it's not just Long Island, it's the Hamptons. Not the Hamptons you think of, with hedges and windex blue swimming pools. It's the Hamptons I grew up in, which I hope to shed some light on. There are normal people out here, although after returning, it seems theres nothing normal about it out here.

So, really, how did I end up here, the prodigal daughter's return? Long story short: Girl meets boy, Girl and boy fall in love, Girl and boy break up, Girl goes home. I survived the long, cold, drunken winter of heartache with a lot of help from the local dive bars, and some help from the local boy who was picked up in one of said local dive bars.

Memorial Day weekend is always a good weekend - the crowds of cidiots make their maiden voyages for the season, locals are happy to have successfully drowned the winter, and theres just a good energy. People arent burnt out on summer, they're not burnt out on going to all the seasonal places yet and everyone is cheerful and happy and fresh.

Last night could have found me at some silly overpriced Hamptons hotspot, spending thousands (of hypothetical dollars) for bottles. Instead, I chose to get some drinks then head to a bar my friends work at (and said local boy is employed at as well). All was good in my plan, but it all quickly went to shit. You see, this said local boy has an effect on me for the worst. Because the situation is completely awkward, the second he is spotted, the game begins. The game entails us making eye contact, then proceeding to get completely shitfaced while pretending to ignore one another, until it's last call and we wink at each other, then proceed to make out like teenagers in the backseat of his car. Well, I was prepared, but not to see local boy so early in the night, and my plan of being sassy and buzzed and cute when I showed up at his bar went to crap. He was spotted at the first bar before the sun had even set. This threw me into a frenzy. We made it to his bar eventually, alright, and embarassingly, the four hours of drinking beforehand made my arrival at his empty bar painfully obvious. You see, doors open at 9:30. Nobody heads down there until 11-12ish. We showed up at 10PM. Why? I have no idea. Hence, the pounding of shots and beers begun. The night was mainly a blur, until I had the great idea at the end of the night(and enough liquid courage for an army after 10 hours of drinking) of trying to convince local boy he and I should go to the diner. Well, knowing how much of a clumsy bitch I am, I proceeded to fall and completely eat shit, right in front of him. Wow. Classy. Needless to say, I took a cab home by myself and proceeded to pass completely out.

Obviously, I have some restraint, so I spent the better part of today nursing my hangover and trying to piece together the missing hours between midnight and 5AM. There won't be any Drift Inn for me tonight, which i'm not too heartbroken about. Thankfully, come tomorrow when I go back to local boy's place of employment, there will be stories from the drunk girls from tonight who fell down, and my trashy escapades of Friday night will be long forgotten. Or at least thats what i'm hoping for.