  there is much pressure now... not having something specific to say to anyone specific. i'm feeling self-conscious which isn't something i do. except when showering at the gym... which i avoid because i don't mind (make that - i enjoy) stinking up the joint anyway. but yes, my introduction to blogging was for the purpose of conveying information about a class to some students at the university... it was for the slackers who drank too much (which is just the right amount in my book anyway) and couldn't stay awake between 4 and 7 pm. those students never tuned in. it was the conscientious students who could hold their liquor that did.
well, here's my first story that's not for the kids: this past weekend - memorial day - i went to a little place on the coast of rhode island called matunuck. i've been going there forever. well, living there i guess. for the summer. since i was was born. but since the age of about 14, i've been going to a more specific place in matunuck called the ocean mist.
really silly name when i think about other people reading it... what must they think about a place called the "ocean mist" without having all the smells and visuals attached to that name? think of urinal cakes, miller high life and bean burritos... with windows that look out on block island, then the deck overlooking piles of vomit on the beach from weary patrons (note: same deck was location of me and unnamed accomplice reaching 3rd base). it's heaven. i eat most meals there... was there for about 4 out of 5 meals this past weekend alone. before all the erosion, the beach outside the ocean mist was large enough for beach volleyball... which tended to attract sketchy old men with too much chest hair and aquavelva. but at 14, you overlook those things if he is willing to deliver you a sea breeze, or some other silly cocktail you've hear your mom order once or twice (they thought it humorous when i asked for that manhattan that one time... i didn't know).
also, having parents that kept boxed wine (franzia) in the fridge at all times was key in order to get ready for the 1/4 mile journey along the beach from the cottage we live at to the o.m. enough background already. back to the present... me and one of my favorite people in the world - we'll call her wunderlich (pronounced wonderlick)- going to the o-mist for a show. they have shows there. one big reggae show each summer usually. some lame cover bands.
but we don't go for that crap. we go for john cafferty and the beaver brown band(and an event we like to call "naked men"). tonight it's j.c. and the triple b. we love to love j.c. and his cutoff shirt and wristbads. before we go... we're hanging out at my cottage in matunuck. there are about 350 cottages... about 20 feet by 20 feet in size. placed one on top of the other.
summers only. everyone knows everyone. we're sitting on the picnic table having a few beers before heading over to the o.m. wunderlich and i are doing fine... our friend emell (pronounced M.L. ) is half (3/4? ) in the bag.
the yummiest boy to ever grace the premises is playing bocce. with some boys who are not as hot as him, and therefore i don't recall exactly who they were. we've loved him since the beginning of time. he doesn't know that we love to love him the same way we love to love johnny c. until emell makes up a new rule in the game of bocce. addendum #1 to the rules of the game of bocce: next time someone throws, aforementioned yummy boy (who will remain nameless) must take his pants off. laughter all around, then i feel slightly creepy cause it sounds like a really good idea.
wunderlich and i head over to the mist... emell doesn't make it cause she's a sloppy drunk. we (wunderlich and i) decide to drink bad boys (gins and tonics). we manage to drop about 120 bucks... which is insane cause we know all the bartenders and tend to get charged only for every other drink. i don't know. we drank. and drank.
gin. gin can be the devil. i think wunderlich was so intoxicated she yelled up to mr. cafferty on stage and asked him for a "good fingerblasting". she and emell coined that phrase i think... fingerblast. it's cool, and we tend to use the suffix -blast for almost anything. for example "tongueblast", "cockblast", "elbowblast" ... and so on.
back to that night though. we managed to find our way home. but decided to roam around looking for a party. no, that's not what we were doing. we just didn't want to go home. but as i was sitting at the wunderlich family's picnic table, trying to explain to wunderlich's brother why she's got me programmed in her phone as "fat pussy", i realized i was going to die.
so i told everyone present that i was going to die and i left. wunderlich came too, and we made our way to the ladies room. cause there are no bathrooms in these little cottages. there are common bathrooms... outhouse style. something funny must have happened inside that ladies room... probably talking about the fingerblast request, or the hairy little man that kept trying to rub up againt me. ms. wunderlich and i stumbled out laughing hysterically about something, and ended up in a pile about 10 yards away from the ladies room.
and somewhat ironically, about 20 yards away from yummy boy's cottage. we couldn't get up. we didn't get up for a while. until the yummy boy came, and helped us get up. while his girlfriend looked on. this was the end of memorial day.
note: much of the previous account was compiled from the collective memories of those individuals referred to, and are not one complete recollection from any one person. personally, i don't remember falling down outside the ladies room (nor does wunderlich). the yummy boy and his girlfriend shared that with us the next day. welcome to summer in matunuck. 
