This weekend, Maff and I went down to visit Cathy in Southport, NC again to celebrate the 4th of July. This time, Maff’s sister Melissa and her husband Bill were there so things got pretty crazy. We went to the beach all day Saturday and I didn’t burn, yay!
Don’t let this beach’s beautiful looks deceive you, it’s actually a dirty crook! First it stole my hair tie, which sounds like a petty crime, but when you have 30 pounds of hair it is a FELONY. Second, it stole my Ray Ban sunglasses. I was warned by Maff’s family not to wear them into the water, but I didn’t think the ocean would do that to me. If you thought that Ray Bans float, well, you’re wrong. They were wiped off my face and immediately lost forever. Maybe someone in China will find them, assume that they are mine, and mail them back to me. If not, I am happy that I at least I had them for a year, that is actually pretty good for a chronic loser.
After an extremely long day at the beach, we went to Fishy Fishy for dinner. There was a 45 minute wait because I’m pretty sure Fishy Fishy is the only restaurant in that town, so we decided to go to the bar while we waited. There was one kid working the bar and a group of ladies sitting directly in front of him, so Maff, Bill and I were virtually invisible. Matt blames it on the bright pink shirt I got him. Little does he know it’s not pink, it’s “Maui.”
Apparently we weren’t the only ones that hated this giant group of ladies that kept ordering complicated mixed drinks, because some guy said something about being ignored also. The bartender was awfully defensive, “I see you man, I’m not ignoring you,” he snapped, rudely. Then he knocked a stack of at least ten glass cups to the ground. The dropped cups, combined with his ability to push one button every three seconds on his computer screen earns him the #1 spot on my most incompetent bartender list. It’s a new list that I’ve started, because of him.
A lady came up behind us and asked how long we’d been waiting. I told her the bartender only has eyes for that group of ladies, and she made a fuss right in front of his manager. I normally hate ladies like that, but I didn’t even mind this time because it was getting ridic. The defensive bartender claimed he had a “system,” which I think was: wait on these needy ladies hand and foot and don’t make eye contact with anyone else. In his defense, it is a system.
We finally got our beers and were seated about 15 minutes later. Crab dip, fried grouper bites, and jalapeno hushpuppie appetizers, two jumbo lump crab cakes with green beans and mashed potatoes for dinner. I know how many calories is in that, but judging by my scale when I got home, I’m guesstimating it was about five pounds worth of ’em. But that is neither here nor there, because an Independence day miracle happened – Maff tried the fried grouper! The only fish Maff eats are goldfish crackers. Actually- his sister said he ate a live goldfish once for a dollar, but I don’t really count that. He said it wasn’t bad at first, but when it came time to swallow it he almost gagged. I’m still proud of him though because he hasn’t tried fish in 15 years. They say your taste buds change every seven years, so we’ll count this one a swing and miss. However, I will be making fish for dinner on his 33rd birthday. Fingers crossed!
When we got home, I was looking for a frog party outside of the garage because there was on there last time, and wouldn’t ya know it, there was on there again! Well, not so much a party as a single bachelor perhaps getting ready for bed.
And wouldn’t ya know it again, there was another spider in the garage, just like last time. Not for long though. Maff smashed it with a hamma! Just kidding, he stomped on it.
On Sunday we went to the beach again, and I was lucky enough to witness a gigantic bird party. A few years ago, my friends and I were standing on a dock in Florida with a plethora of crackers, so we tossed them into the air and hosted our very first bird party. It got very intense and turned out extremely frightening, but now, whenever we see a bird party, it’s very exciting.
We were sitting in a semi-circle on the beach talking about this and that, and out of no where, someone pooped on me! Right on my chest. I’m pretty sure it was a bird, but there is no real way of knowing because it did not look like typical white bird poop. It was brown and it stained my white bathing suit top, despite my 100 mph sprint into the water. I’ve never been pooped on by a bird before, but they say it’s good luck. I don’t really think that’s true, because I’m pretty sure getting pooped on is a bad thing. That is just the way I was raised.
We went to Dead End Saloon on our way home from the beach, and I got the same thing as last time; chicken Caesar salad. We finished our food and were having a leisurely chat when we saw a bee and/or hornet the size of a salamander buzzing against the screened window, so we got the hell out of there. Maff and I went home to pack before hitting the road, and this little fella was hiding in the garge key pad and jumped on Matt’s hand, stuck there for a minute, then dropped to the ground. I have no idea how he fit between the key pad and the cover. He must be a wizard.
We didn’t get home until around 1:00 am on a Sunday night, and even though I lost some possessions and got shat on, I got a great tan, had some really good food, and got to spend a lot of time with one of my favorite families.