A Trip to the Beach: A Journey in Pictures PART 2

I know everyone is waiting to hear all about my adventures in the Big Apple, and the telling of those tales are surely pending.  However, I wanted to get back to the thrilling conclusion of the dickery that ensued on my trip to the beach with my family.  At my age, if I don’t attempt to recall all of those good times all those many weeks ago, I fear they shall be lost in the nether regions of my ailing noggin for all times.  Part 1 was here . . . here we have the continuation of the saga . . .

What follows is an accounting of my crazy family’s yearly tradition (2 years = a tradition, yes?), of going out to a bar, drinking beyond capacity, and seeing what the hell happens when people stop being polite and start being real.  It’s gonna get all Real World up in here, peeps.  Be prepared.

It all began with a bus ride.  This vision of half-clothedness was the thing that was standing 6 inches in front of my husband’s face as he innocently sat beside his lovely wife on this vehicle escorting him to his evening soiree.  He was highly offended, as you might imagine.

Then her friend came over to join her, and he was just so verklempt from disgust that he could hardly speak.  He just kept looking forward so as not to roll his eyes in disgust.  That poor poor man.  Once we finally arrived, and he was released from this assault on his ocular lobes, I felt that he needed a couple of drinks.  You know, to calm his frayed nerves from the horrors he just witnessed.

This was actually MY drink.  He can get his own!!  It was called a Fishead Cooler.  Try remembering that after about 6 of them.  It was delicious and very easy to drink. Yum.

So there we were . . . drinking, talking, laughing, snacking.  We had a large table out in the sand in the backyard area of this open air bar.  It was quite lovely.  Sitting there with the extended family, beneath the stars and palm trees and twinkly white Christmas lights.

And then there were the shots.  More like shooters than shots, but they started getting passed around the table.  I had one, but stopped there as I wanted to try to keep my wits about me, at least somewhat.  Who else was going to document the craziness that was soon to ensue but me?  It’s a tough job, but somebody has to have evidence documentary of the insanity.  Plus, there were other things happening around me that I needed to capture. 

Like this lovely lady, who was part of a bachelorette party (not the bride) who apparently had just a bit too much to drink to enable her to walk properly on the sand in those wedged heels.  She was stumbling all around the place.  Interesting to note:  apparently all of the members of the bachelorette party decided that they would wear white that evening.  My niece-in-law, wearing all black that night, and also being a lady of a darker complexion herself, decided to photobomb their little group while they were trying to get a group shot.  She explained, “I was just trying to add a little color to your group picture!”  Love her.

At one point, after we had been sitting out at this table, drinking our little bar tabs away, a dude came over with armbands and insisted he see our IDs so that we could have properly outfit us with said armbands.  To which I immediately shouted to my hubs, “Hey babe!  Do you mind if I kiss this boy?  I think he just said that he thinks I’m under 21!!”  To which the poor child uncomfortably laughed, moved along to other members of my family, and somehow forgot to give me a wristband at all.  Hmm, curious.  My husband’s reaction once the guy came over to him was to stand up, put his hands behind his back and bend over, i.e. assuming the position.  Yeah, he might have had a few shots at that point. 

Then there was this girl, who forgot to put on most of her clothing that night . . .

Per Jen (because of course I was texting her these pictures that night!) “That girl ain’t got no britches on!”

And this is the part of the story that fills me with such shame and remorse.  As most of you have not met me, you might not know of my stealthy photography ways.  I am usually quite subtle in my picture taking skills, so that the subject of these pictures most often has no idea that they are in my scopes.  However, that all ended on this night.  There was a trio of trashy broads that I kept trying to hone in on.  But they eluded me.  Mostly because it was dark and it was difficult to get a good picture of them.  Eventually, all of their backs were turned to me, so I just lifted the phone and shot a picture.  And was caught.  Not by them . . . but by this guy:

See the douche in the capris . . . waiving at me?  Yep, that’s him.  So, me being the smartass that I am, I took the picture, then looked up at him and totally waved right back.  Then I turned around and sat at the table with my family.  Of course, being a huge douchecanoe, he must have told the girls that I was trying to take a picture of them.  Thus ensued the great snap-off of 2012.  Or, what could have been.  I saw out of the corner of my eye that she was intentionally and very conspicuously taking my picture.  Complete with flash.  So I pointedly ignored her dumb ass.  Of course, my now very drunk husband sees this girl taking what is now an obnoxious amount of pictures of me, and is all, “give me your phone, I’m gonna take pictures of HER.”  To which I was like, “I started it.  Just ignore her.  If she wanted to start something she would have come over here by now.”  Then he grabs his own phone and starts to point it at her, and I had to talk him off the ledge, again!  Drunkies.  Sigh.  But that is the story of how I failed you all.  I can no longer call myself by the prison nickname bestowed upon me by my friends at BlogHer:  Ninja Snap.  I was caught and can no longer lay claim to that title.  I feel so ashamed. 

But . . . on to more shenanigans for the rest of the night!!  At this point, I will note, we had moved away from our table and come “inside” (open air) to the bar.  Where they were playing music.  And dancing ensued.

She was doing some random cabbage patching.  As you do.  There was a group of people next to us that kept doing this faux jump roping in the middle dance move thing.  I got video, but can’t really show it because you can see my fam, and I’m not trying to make them famous quite yet.  But trust me . . . drunk girls, hopping around trying to dance?  So very entertaining.

Then there was this gentleman, who was actually a friend of my niece’s husband and came along with us that evening.  He was a fine dancing specimen.

Alas, all of this drinking and dancing and revelry had to come to an end.  The bar finally had it’s last call and played the obligatory Semisonic song, and we were kicked right on out into the street.  At which time, more shenanigans ensued.  Starting with my nephew’s fiance’s realization that we were walking past docked jet skis.  I think my exact text to Jen at this point was:  “Uh-oh, gotta run.  She found the jet skis!” 

Then . . . we came to the sign.  There was a sign up by the street for a business advertising T-shirts and such.  The group decided that they wanted one of the letters.  There was a similar incident the year prior that happened by chance, but this year, they decided that they were gonna get them a letter by intent.  So there was jumping, then boosting, then climbing.  Please picture a group of drunken epileptic monkeys who had just peed on their maxi dresses behind the dumpster right over there, and what their attempts at this task would look like, and you will have an accurate vision of my family leaping around attempting to reach this sign and take some letters.  I was busy taking pictures for what was sure to be the pending evidentiary hearing.

So after much climbing and reaching and grabbing of letters, what had once advertised Custom Shirts, was then transformed to this:

Oh, but that is not all!  Because, of course, we now had to get on the bus and take it all the way back up to our condos.  And let me just tell you . . . one of my best memories of my brother-in-law was his drunk ass on this bus, a year prior, stripping and giving lap dances to everyone.  Unfortunately, this year he had pussed out and left prior to the mass exodus of the family from the bar.  Probably trying to avoid an incident like last year.  But there were still plenty of sights and fun times to be had on the bus.

There were lots of boobs to be seen.  (See?  I told you I had something for you fellas in the previous post . . . did I disappoint?).

And lots of see-through clothing . . .

This lovely lady was actually celebrating her 21st birthday.  She was there with her parents.  Her parents who then encouraged her to do a flip on the upper rails of the bus because she had always dreamed of doing it.  And apparently that was their present to her?  Mom might have wanted to reconsider that permission, seeing as the birthday girl’s first attempt resulted in her kicking her mother squarely in the face.  Oops.  Second attempt was a winner, though:

Then, as the bus came to our stop and I herded my drunk family out of the vehicle (please note that they were all in the front of the bus being foolish, while I was in the back watching the above show), I felt it was my obligation to apologize to the bus driver for their assholery.  To which he replied, “No, it was great!  Most fun I’ve had all night.”  Fist bump to you for your utter coolness, Mr. Bus Driver, sir.  Mad props.

Once released from captivity, the horde of drunkies had to figure out what type of shenanigans to get into at that point.  The night was young, afterall.  And that is when they spied it.  Across the street, all lit up.  Front windows brightly displaying sexy lingerie and nipple clamps.  That’s right . . . it was SIN CITY.  So everyone went barreling across the street, with me behind them, fingers crossed that nobody got run over as they were stumbling through traffic. 

But sadly they discovered that no, the store was not in fact open at 2:30 in the morning for drunk assholes to go in and try out the sex toys.  So here they are, running back across the street after being denied their fun.  Drats.  Oh what shall the drunk toddlers get themselves into now?  Oooh, oooh, I know!!  Let’s get some more alcohol from our condos and go drink on the beach on the lifeguard stands!!  Obviously, this was a brilliant idea.  This was obvious to everyone but me, because at this point, I was heading back to my condo.  I had stomach cramps at this point, because I had to pee so badly, and I was not drunk enough to lift my skirt and squat behind a dumpster, thank you very much! 

When I left the drunkies, my husband was taking off his shirt as he was headed to the beach (Um, hon?  Yeah, you aren’t taking a dip.  Reclothe yourself, please), and I was telling them that I was out and was not going to be the one to bail them out of jail when they got their asses arrested for public intoxication and drinking on the beach.  I had actually planned on going back down to corral them home once I peed, but I realized that at that point it was 3:00am, I was hella tired, and that they were all big girls and boys who could take care of themselves.  Despite their massive intoxicated state.  So I went to bed.  And luckily, nobody got arrested or went to the hospital that night.  So it was a complete win!!

Oh, and the bunch of them were so drunk that I actually ended up as the proud owner of one of their purloined letters.  Ha!  Suckers.

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