New chapters.

As the summer comes to a end (tear), so does a chapter in my life. Those of you who know me well and read this regularly are probably aware that Kitty Cat is my roommate. Well, I am incredibly sad to report that she and I are breaking up...err, moving out. KC has been crying incessently these past few days, and I am still in denial. We were perfect roommates and our apartment was super cozy. Many memories from 104 Kay. Brief sampling: spontaneous dance parties, rehashing the previous evening together while lying in my bed, couch-dwelling while watching Chelsea and indulging in some half-baked froyo, beach cruising and walking downtown from the apt, "cooking" together (we could probably do some mean Lean Cuisine endorsements), lazy Sunday discussions/inventions, blankly staring into our closets for outfits, frequent visits from Egg, Coon Dawg, Chowe and other mutual fun friends, and the lovely note (pictured below) that was posted in our shower for the latter half of our lease. Thankfully I have documentation on this blog of all the wild times. Kay Street is home :)

Little off topic here, but I am contemplating making "Sometimes I spew word vomit" T-shirts. If you are a character and interested in rocking a personalized deep V, inquire within.

Moving away from the depressing tone, I would like to recognize and congratulate a few of my beautiful ladies who recently shared spectacular news with me. Last Monday, I received not one, but two phone calls from my Bristaaal gals announcing they each have a bun in the oven. In March, TC and Ery-Min will both make me a proud Auntie! Wooo girls! Just yesterday, one of my DZ girls, A-Co, was here in Newport with her man for the night. Well... her man (of 4 years...they are an exception to one of the "he's just not that into you" rules) got down on one knee and proposed on the Cliff Walk. The ring is beeeaauutiful and A-Co was glowing when I met them for drinks last night. I could not be happier for these two- and she's the first of my college ladies to get hitched! Soooo excited for their wedding. Mazel Tov my loves.

Life is a bit like a good book. We can be left feeling disappointed when an exciting chapter ends, but the anticipation of what's to come in the next chapter can often be doubly exciting. Cheers to new chapters and precious memories of the old ones.

Unique New York.

New York, New York. A place so nice they had to name it twice. The city that never sleeps...and has stolen my heart. My last two visits have been so amazing that I am now seriously considering making the move to the Big Apple once I am through with grad school. Novel Girl was a gracious, hospitable hostess once again. The entire weekend we had a feeling... everything was working out in our favor... and we were desperately searching for the proper adjective to convey the feeling. We first thought it was serendipitous, then fortuitous, maybe auspicious (we also had a discussion regarding our shared affinity for words that end in ous after Summer Ale described me as loquacious). Finally, with the help of our friend Das, decided we had the midas touch. Prepare for the weekend update.
Friday: Departed the city by the sea and arrived in the concrete jungle around 7. Met Novel Girl in the E.Vill for a pre-weekend mani and started the evening at AA and SeanEballs' rooftop for conversation, mascara application, and pre-bar libations. The conversation was exceptional of course (we are all a bit wacky/quirky). The mascara was applied to Dustinternet's beautiful eyelashes. I've been obsessed with his eyelashes since we met in college. Creepy? Maybe. But I know I'm not alone. The libation of the night was vodka on the rocks spiked with an ice pop. That's what I call #resourceful. We left the boys around 1 to meet Rock Lock (who was shmammered and ready to call it a night) and Dinky Lover at Sutton Place. Decided not to stay and lingered outside debating where to go when Novel Girl was tweeted at by Tiger to see if she was still up and out. Coincidentally, he was at a karoke bar just a few blocks away (midas touch). We met him there and NG introduced me as @Colie_D! Bahaha, oh twitter. There was a beer bong involved and before long, it was closing time. But our night did not end there... we checked in @ The Bromley and discussed Catcher in the Rye, blogs, and Brazzers with a little help from MaryJane. I believe NG and I made it back to her humble abode at the respectable hour of six.
Saturday: On little sleep and poss (not def) a bit malnourished, Novel Girl and I ventured out around noon for a lovely #lesbihonest day date. We took the subway to Central Park and explored. We just kept walking and walking with no plan really. Stumbled upon Hans Christian Andersen and Alice in Wonderland statues (hey Lewis Carroll, you were a creative genius). There were many little tykes hanging out there, and one in particular caught our eye. She looked like Abagail Breslin, rocking silly bands, leggings and a pretty bandana wrapped around her braided hair. An hour or so later, after climbing the spiral stairwell at Belcourt Castle and enjoying the serene view of the park, we spotted Abagail again- straight chillin with her fam. Midas touch? That castle view is unbelievable... I have never felt so at peace. Our park exploration continued with Strawberry Fields....forever. Oh how I heart The Beatles. I can thank TrayDay for this undying love. Novel Girl purchased some hippie-ish buttons that she later converted into magnets to add to her diverse collection. As we were exiting the park, we stumbled upon a peace bus, painted white and adorned with inspiration quotes about kindness. One of my favorites is pictured below.

Next stop: The Met for some culture consumption. As we mosied along checking out Egyptian art, musical intstruments (Ringo's gold drum included), jewelry, et cetera, Novel Girl commented that she has been to The Met dozens of times and we were stumbling upon things she had never seen. We also sat on the steps and channeled our inner S and B. Xoxo, Gossip Girl. We decided around 4 it was probably time to walk Parker (that chick magnet) and feed our faces, so we walked to Madison Square Park and waited "on line" for a delectable double shack burger at The Shake Shack. NG then took me over to Gramercy Park, where only key holders are allowed entry. Uber-exclusive...naturally Novel Girl's dream house is in the neighborhood. Back in the E.Vill, it was 80's prom night at Webster Hall. I've got to attend one of these weekends. Sidenote: Novel Girl and I share a similiar musical taste and we created an epic weekend playlist that included "Teach me how to Dougie." Somehow, that song became the theme song of the weekend. Saturday evening brought a visit from AB, that quirky cat who is "so far out of every loop that ever existed." Love her. The three of us strolled down to R Bar where we met some of our College Gals and The Boys of Ramaz. I proceeded to dougie on the stripper pole and caught the attention of Lewish the birthday boy. It is official. I am a magnetic shiksa, attracting Jewish boys left and right. We had to skip out of R Bar because we couldn't let the weekend go by without seeing Summer Ale, JJ Backstreet and all the Syo Boys. We bar hopped with that crew and I attracted another Jew- wooo! The evening came to a close at U2 Karoke, per usual, with Sami serenading us on the mic.

Sunday: Novel Girl, Summer Ale and yours truly schleped to Brooklyn in the rain, singing Garbage and toting our spectacular clear bell shaped umbrellas to the JellyNYC Pool Party. Das recommended that we see Chromeo and claimed, "if you can't dance to Chromeo, you don't have a pulse." Welp, we danced. our. asses. off. Click here to read Novel Girl's depiction of our experience. I won't attempt to reinvent the wheel when my girl has already done a stellar job of retelling our day. I have included a youtube video of "Tenderoni" below- enjoy.

Moral of the story is this: after music, New York is my boyfriend, and I feel like a long lasting relationship is in the works.

Lower Manhattan: a self-sufficient neighborhood.

I must credit Novel Girl for this title. Back in March I referred to my lady parts as "lower manhattan" in No Shame in the Game, and while my mother was horrified, NG was obsessed and amused (she resides in the East Village). The blogspiration for this taboo topic came last night at girls night. I must preface this by saying that- for once- I will NOT be including names in this post. The subject matter is crass and I'm not going to throw anyone (but myself) under the bus. One of my sexual girlfriends admitted to attempting to dry hump her vibrator recently because "she really wanted to have sex." This led to an interesting discussion throughout the evening and motivated me to question several male and female friends today while battling a hangover (it's my break from school... I'm getting a little college). I felt this line from one of my favorite songs from RENT was an apropos opener: "Creation, vacation, mucho masturbation!"

This is not the first time I have breached the subject of self-stimulation (see Reef Rider is Wild and Sunday Funday. College Style). This is, however, the first time I will be discussing it at length. I was jazzed that last night's conversation moved away from petty drama (yawn) and on to inappropriate. I learned I had a few friends that shared my love of the silver bullet, a few that prefer manual labor, and one that was uncomfortable contributing (this surprised me because she was one of my college friends that got laid frequently and was pretty open to talking about sex). What's interesting about me is that I was a complete prude until college and definitely too innocent and freaked out to explore my lower manhattan. Welp, that has sure changed. It's true what all the silly magazines say about having a better sex life. We need to know what turns us on and how to get ourselves off in order to obtain maximum pleasure with a partner. What thrills me is that apparently I have not yet reached my sexual prime (for women it's our thirties), and I have lots to look forward to. Confession: this year I experimented with phone sex, and if I told my 22 year old self this she would not believe me. It's awkward at first, but if the person on the other end is interactive and saying the right things, it can be quite exciting. One male friend said it's "way better" than porn, "much more personalized" and that "the voice is key." While some of my girlfriends are weirded out by the notion of it, several ladies admitted to partaking and thoroughly enjoying sexting, phone and video sex. Oh so virtual and progressive.
I wish I could remember the first time I masturbated as vividly as my girl Chelsea did when she described her first experience with "The Feeling" in the first chapter of Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang. She spent the greater part of her eighth year humping swing sets and sleeping bags. Kitty Cat and Chowe have a student at their school who is known as the "self-stimulator" and is often spotted moving her hips in a circular motion against the edge of the desk or while lying on the rug. I don't think I had a clue that I was blessed with "The Power" (Judy Blume reference from Summer Sisters) between my legs at that age and I am certain I found it creepy when I heard stories of boys jerking off in middle school. With adulthood comes acceptance. Ha!
The general consensus from my bitches is that they do not need porn to get themselves off...their imagination and some good vibrations is all they require. A few confessed to playing daily, while most said they did whenever they were feeling frisky, and more often when they were not receiving the real thing on the reg. One said she was scared of vibrators because she was worried she might rely on them even with a man around in order to cross the finish line.
Generally, the boys use porn. So many sites to choose from...I wouldn't know where to begin. It's funny how the porn industry has evolved over the years. Most guys said they do it daily. I posed this question to a couple: frequency, location, materials used? One responded: Eight times daily, public, anal beads. Another: once a day, bed or shower, tissues. The latter was a serious response. The former did admit to being a bit of monk and not the most sexually charged individual, to which I got a chuckle. When I asked him about porn or imagination, he claimed 50/50. So not all men (or women) are as predictable as I initially thought. I must say, it was fun to push the conservative kids to open up (or refuse) about this crude/very personal matter, and equally enjoyable to converse with my sexually charged mates regarding their masturbatory behavior. Frankly speaking, I think that until I am getting regular penetration, I will maintain a close personal relationship with my trusty silver bullet.
Feel free to judge me. It's not a bad thing :)

Reverse prostitution. Not...great.

Behold, another guest writing appearance by DJ Slumpbuster. The kid can't catch a break. This past weekend I had to miss the annual BI trip with my boys and bitches in order to attend my cousin's wedding in Florida. DJ SB emailed a synopsis of his personal Island Adventure. The only other details I gathered involved late night push-up contests and a snuggle fest between DWD and Chowe. A budding romance in the works perhaps?! Below is an email that was forwarded to me by DJ SB after he sent it to Prude-ish Pele. Funny part is that he actually put their real names in quotes when he sent it to her. "Blessed are those who can laugh at themselves, for they will never cease to be amused." Enjoy the mockery he makes of himself.

Subject line: for services never rendered
This is a story of a man, let's call him "DJ Slumpbuster," who was paid the lowly sum of $20 not to hook up. This may be the first instance of reverse prostitution in Rhode Island and hopefully the last. This story begins on Block Island, where "DJ SB" retreats to escape the stresses of being an unemployed college student. For the sake of brevity, this story takes place on day two of "DJ SB's" trip. It was on this Friday that the stalking began. Every few minutes, "DJ SB's" phone would vibrate with an incessant message from an Armenian girl from Warwick, who was threatening to take the five o'clock ferry to the block. This girl from Warwick, I don't know, let's call her "Prude-ish Pele," was serious with her threat and sure enough, showed up at "DJ SB's" yacht around 6ish (DJ SB's yacht in this sense refers to his friend's boat). After "Prude-ish Pele's" third glass of wine, she decided to take "DJ SB" to the hotel where she was staying with a group of her friends. It was a beautiful hotel right there on the main street, perfect for a couple to spend a romantic evening. However, as these friends were also from Warwick (read T), they had this hotel room crammed tighter than a Cuban refugee raft. There was even a bed made up in the bathtub, for not one, but two people. From the hotel, "PP" and "DJ SB" retreated to a bar to enjoy a wonderful set of music from a terrific cover band called "Those Guys Suck." Now, as you all know, after the party comes the hotel lobby. However, as there were thirteen people sharing a twin bed in "PP's" hotel room, she decided to follow "DJ SB" and get late night food and retire to his yacht. This is where the solicitation occurred. As they were sitting in his stateroom, "Prude-ish Pele" made it explicitly clear that she was in no way going to hook up with "DJ SB." She did, however, have no problem making love to his chicken tender and french fry platter that he had so graciously purchased. Once the food was gone, "PP" left the yacht to go back to the late night spot, as she texted, to get some "moose food" (let's assume she meant more). After she had crushed moose food, she walked back to the yacht because, hey, it's better than sleeping in a sink. She begs and grovels for a place to sleep and "DJ SB," the gentleman that he is, allows her to share his room. The next morning, "DJ SB" awakes to a note pinned to a twenty dollar bill, which said, "Thanks for the chicken tenders and for not hooking up with me, have a great day." And that my friends is the story of "DJ SB," the reverse prostitute.

Headed out for drinks tonight with the reverse prostitute himself. Maybe I will attempt to whore him out and his next email to Prude-ish Pele will be an account of what she missed out on by making love to fried food instead of him.

Bitches want to be blogged about.

This week Novel Girl (via AA) turned me on to a commencement speech that was given by David Foster Wallace back in 2005. You should all read it... it really resonated with me and since reading I have become uber cognizant of the way in which I think. Here is a little taste...

"Here is just one example of the total wrongness of something I tend to be automatically sure of: everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute center of the universe; the realest, and most vivid and important person in existence. We rarely think about this natural, basic sort of self-centeredness because it's so socially repulsive. But it's pretty much the same for all of us. It is our default setting; hard-wired into our boards at birth. Think about it- there is no experience that you have had that you are not the absolute center of. The world as you experience it is there in front of YOU or behind YOU, to the left or right of YOU, on YOUR TV or YOUR monitor. And so on. Other people's thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real."

Man is brilliant, right? What he speaks of is so profoundly obvious. Novel Girl recently tweeted, "I have a crush on a dead guy," as she is currently elbow deep in a collection of his essays and totally digging his brain (so am I).

I thought this would an appropriate intro to this long-awaited (by some) post. You can look at this one of two ways. 1. I have a few friends that read religiously and have been threatening to stop if I don't blog about them soon (self-centered?). 2. They are faithful followers and I should show my appreciation by communicating THEIR thoughts, feelings, actions and stop being self-centered myself. Either way, welcome a few new characters to Sometimes I spew word vomit...
My mini-me/pseudo-sister, the lovely Rory Rose, is newly single. This barely legal beaut was in a serious relationship for over a year (complete with plans to wed) and was often acting waaayyy more mature than yours truly. I love her dearly, but I had been waiting for her to turn 21 for 5 years and was hoping she would be ready to get wild with me. No such luck- until now. Look out boys, Rory Rose is back on the market...and the prowl. Friday night that cute little vixen spent the evening sipping cocktails at Portside with the super sexy photographer that I developed a crush on back in 04 when my uncle purchased his photos for his shoe store. Harder(how hot is that last name?) is 28 and Rory is concerned about the age gap. We all know men mature at a snail's pace girl, go get him! And be prepared to share the intimate details with me (and my readers).
Now on to my grad school gals. Rewind to day one of my Master's program. I don't know a soul, so I decide to sit next to a pretty Italian girl who would quickly become my new bestie. She (Chefanova) and Charlotte are avid readers and sexual young ladies (they just are a little quieter about it than I). Charlotte is named after the SATC character and has been with her boyfriend for 4 years. She recently confessed that her and the boy want to spice it up and have made a list of all the places they plan to fornicate (they attempted the car sex...at a party...apparently there were too many peeping Toms present). Stay tuned for details as they cross off locations, and perhaps you will be interested in adding some to your own fucket lists.
On to Chefanova, a spring chicken at the ripe young age of 22. She broke things off with her German boyfriend in the spring because she could no longer handle the LDR (long distance relationship). Chefanova's summer confession: She joined an online dating site and met new man candy. This candy happens to be twice her age and a rockstar in the bedroom. Pretty sure she has become addicted to the sweet lovin from Old Man Mafioso. Lately I have had an affinity for the YB's, so I was a little put off at first by the astronomical age difference. The more she tells me about OMM, the more intrigued I become. We've decided that Chefanova is the Samantha of our little grad school clique, and I have a feeling she and Reef Rider would get along famously. Which reminds me, I need to catch up with that broad. She is bound to have stories for me.

Grad gals on our last night of summer hell :)

More updates on these bitches to come, and brace yourself for some other fun stories. I have a week of freedom that involves a city visit... I anticipate wild times in the near future.

Today I had a thought...what if I had never met you?

I feel as though I should preface this post by letting my readers know that this will not be a recount of a wild night out nor will it be a ridiculous story about one of my interesting friends. It will be more of a reflection, as I have been in a rather emotional and contemplative state in these past couple weeks. I should credit my dear friend Novel Girl for the inspiration she provided with her post, Where'd all the Good People Go. I may not delve quite as deep as she did, but here goes.

A few facts for you all:

1. Summer is my season. Being a teacher (and before that, a college student) my summers past have been spent bartending/waitressing. This mindless, flexible and lucrative job enabled me to spend any time I had off socializing and partaking in countless festivities that come with the warm weather and carefree vibe of sweet summertime.

2. I am a social butterfly and enjoy any and all time spent at social gatherings, large or small, with or without adult beverages. Let it be known that my group of friends and family is extremely diverse and I cherish each and every relationship that I possess.

3. My summer schedule has NOT been conducive to #1 and #2. Tomorrow will be my last night of the 1o week summer grad school hell I have been living, which included six classes, three nights a week, four hours per night (with a great deal of papers, projects and reading to complete outside of classes). I also taught summer school during the month of July, have been tutoring two children all summer and work at a boutique part time. I recently learned that it is a Gemini trait to spread yourself thin (further proof that I fit this sign to a T).

Why did I just bore you with my summer madness? I have a point to make, I swear. The first day of August (is it really August 11th already?) was a Sunday, and a rather glorious Sunday to boot apart from my vicious post folk fest hangover. It was also the day of my old friend Ery-Min's bridal shower. Sidenote: I used to think that I would be young forever and this day would never come, but alas, it has arrived. Wedding mania (one this past weekend, two in September, two next summer that I know of). I have officially reached the age where my friends are starting to settle down. But I don't wanna grow up!! Back to Shower Sunday. Ery-Min has been in my life since 3rd grade and we have been through a great deal together- good, bad, insane, tragic, hilarious, heartfelt. When I walked into the party, I was showered with feelings of nostalgia (pun intended). Looking at her mom, aunt, sisters, and mutual friends was like watching clips from a movie of my youth. Sitting there watching her open presents miserably (the whole shower idea and showing of the gifts is sooo not EM's style) I began to take a walk down memory lane with a HS friend that was also in attendance. EM's youngest sister- who was practically a baby when we were causing trouble as kids- is now 16!! When did I become 26 and how did it happen so fast? I got into quite the conversation about childhood camping trips, high school shenanigans, going to bars on school nights (?!). Reminiscing really does a strange number on your psyche. It felt good and I left feeling truly happy for my Ery-Min. I must digress for a somber moment to remember EM's first love and another old friend of mine who passed away five years ago this month. Ery loved Patty as far back as I can remember. I can still see her fifth grade hand scribbling his name under a heart in her notebook. Five years ago a tragic accident took his life but also brought EM and I back together. We drifted when I went to college, as people often do, and this unspeakable event drew me back to her. It took years to mend her heart as it had been torn to shreds. I can't fathom what it must be like to lose the one person that means the most to you in this life. Ery's fiance, MV, did the job of piecing her heart back together and I am so excited to celebrate their wedding day next month.

OK..the point I want to make here is the euphoric feeling I carried with me throughout that entire Sunday. After leaving the shower, I met up with TrayDay at my favorite cafe and talked about life, art, writing, reading, travel, summer, you name it. Every time we get together we say we need to do it more often. We continued the day by scooting helmet-free/illegally into Warren to his apt where I got my first viewing of his latest creations, coffee table books and upcoming video project. When it was time for my talented tall friend and I to part ways, he dropped me off to spend the next three hours of my reunion day with my old friends Hilaho and Stiner. It's incredibly comforting to be able to pick up right where you left off with friends that you haven't spent much time with in years. I feel truly blessed and cherish these special bonds even more so as the years pass.

The title of this post is a quote from the final season of SATC... Carrie says it to the girls at her farewell dinner. It always makes me think about what my life would be like had it not been shaped by the phenomenal individuals I have gotten to know and love. I'm lucky :)

DJ SB just touched down in London town.

Some of you may remember my acerbic friend DJ Slumpbuster from the Stalkerific post back in March. I get so jazzed by his quick wit and desert dry humor. He recently fled the country for a month to study abroad law school style in London. I missed his presence and coaxed him into sending me entertaining email updates anytime his prententious name appeared on my gchat list. I will include two here for you followers to read because sharing is caring. This kid needs to write a book, a blog, anything. Sheer genius (minus his blatant disregard for spelling and syntax- I have already offered to edit).

Email #1: british blokes, london lasses, and other keen observations
british dudes are mad stylish. they have suits with cufflinks and pocketcheifs. if they don't already make skinny suit pants, i'm going to design them. they would blow up over here. british girls are conservative/haughty, yet i'm strangely attracted to them. most remind me of my 5th grade crush. real cute but need to spend some serious time in the orthodontists office. i hate public displays of affection. i see it every morning as i'm boarding my train. if i have to listen to one more tearful i'll miss you speech, someone is going to get kicked in the teeth. have some respect for the unloveable losers.

Email #2: british broke
flight to madrid, awful. i threw up into two of those puke bags, that's right two. Madrid was much better than the flight. it is hot as fuck. the women are dope as fuck. yet, for some reason they do not want pale, sweaty americans talking to them at a club. although, i am surprised that none of them fell for my pick up line, "ola, hablas ingles?" because i am pretty sure they hablas. the club was funny, no other way to describe it. you walked into the club and people are getting absolutely juiced when grease lightning comes on (myself included). left club and went to a pub, a pub that played 50s and 60s music. saw the tallest girl in spain in this pub. i pinched a nerve in my neck when i made eye contact with her. during the day we drank mad sangria and walked around art museums either pretending to be interested, or pretend that we actually understood art. i swear the modern art museum was just a garage sale they charged you six euros to get into. my favorite part about traveling to countries that don't speak english is expecting everyone to to speak english. i am trying to get you a british bloke, but they don't believe me when i swear to them it is you that is interested in them and not me. i should probably leave the gay district.

I kept DJ SB's words and capitalization neglect intact while only fixing the spelling errors that were driving me mad. Ladies, if you are into boys with stellar humor and the ability to laugh at themselves, see me for his personal info. I want to help him bust out of this current slump (I'm that good of a friend) and he has too much pride to accept my charity pity sex offer.

Boats, babes and booze.

Saturday was the annual folk festival here in Newport RI. For those of you who are unfamiliar, this means two days of folk tunes at Fort Adams and an abundance of boats anchored in the water. It also means serious day drinking, snacking, dancing and aqua-frolicking. Kitty Cat, Chowe and I stayed in on Friday night as to ensure we had our game faces on for the morning. Kitty Cat justified staying in by saying, "It's like the night before St. Patty's day. This is a big deal." BBW and Closet Revival picked us up at 1030 and we loaded the trunk with beers, Chowe's delicious pepperoni bread, inner tubes and other essentials. The plan was to meet BBW's current flame MM at the dock and cruise out, but homeboy anchored without letting her know. This didn't go over well. Luckily her ex, McSweeny (sexy man), happens to be in charge of the marina and was happy to water taxi us over.

Us girls wasted no time and started the day off with white sangria (so tasty). Blissful buzz came soon after. The buffet spread we had going on was to die for and it is safe to say all the snacking kept me from blacking out and drowning. Saturday was one of those perfect summer days when you clear your mind of all stress, responsibility and obligations. I felt free as a bird out on the water with a solid crew of people who were down to clown.

A glimpse at some of the day's highlights: Brandi Carlisle's performance early on- killer. Paddleboard play with Biker Boy and Bottone, complete with lots of falling and flipping. Me pumping up Closet Revival's tube in doggy style position. Personalized coozies from BBW. Our neon kiddie inner tubes from Wal-Mart, worn and appreciated by many. Pico's Ipod, rocking 90's hip-hop and R&B for the greater part of the afternoon. KC and BBW scoring sweet corn on the cob from a random while paddling/tubing along. MM slugging Ketel from the bottle and blacking out moments later (responsible captain). Serious dance party to "single ladies," "bump n grind," and the list goes on. Kitty Cat, Chowe and I walking through the Wharf pantless after hitching a ride with McSweeny back to solid ground (we also stopped in my uncle's store, harassed him and drank his stoli doli... don't think he was pleased). Showering with KC in our bathing suits because we were both too drunk/lazy to wait. Falling asleep to The Sandlot, one of my all time faves. Waking up and mustering up the strength to schlep down to the Deck to crush some Ketel in good company (particularly TrayDay-giving me a hard time all night, The Kid-that witty bastard, and Tucker Max-teach me how to dougie!).

Days like Saturday need to happen more often. Carefree fun = heaven. Walking down to Freaky Burrito today, I passed by BBW's place and spotted the inner tubes on her lawn. Kitty Cat would have been devasted if we had lost those two dollar delights.