Okay so maybe I *do* have a life, sometimes. Like, a couple times a year.

Yesterday Mister took the day out of work so we could go to this annual party thrown by an Internet Service Provider for all the tech nerds and their families from all the colleges across RI. It’s at the beach, kids are super-welcome (they even provide kid food and a variety of beach toys for them to keep), they feed us an amazing dinner (steak and swordfish with grilled vegetables and roasted potatoes and clam cakes and chowder), and THEY HAVE FREE WINE. All the wine you can drink. And beer. They have beer too. And lemonade and juice boxes and iced tea and water and soda.

This party is kind of the highlight of our summer every year because it’s completely awesome. obvi. They always invite Save the Bay to entertain the kids on the beach, too. Girlfriend loves this part of the party because they drag a huge net through the water and catch a bunch of little sea creatures to put in buckets to look at and learn about and then they bread them and fry em up!

No, they don’t. They take them back to headquarters and perform bizarre “experiments.”

And while Girlfriend was enjoying Save the Bay, I gave Homeslice some Goldfish crackers in her new yellow beach bucket. They were a little bit sandy, but still edible, and this guy came over to me to inform me that there was sand on the baby’s crackers because I guess I don’t look smart enough to notice that on my own, and I was like, “that’s because this is a beach. There’s sand everywhere. Even in my crotch.” And his eyes got really wide like I had just grabbed his junk or something, and he looked at me like “you crazy lady!” and then went to tell his wife what I said. She was all “oh my god! EW!”

I find my entertainment where I can, Queefies. Save the Bay just isn’t that interesting after the 5th year in a row.

But there’s a back story about the guy. I don’t usually just say stuff like that to total strangers. Often. His name is Hugh, and the first time I met him, I called him a “smartass” to his face and avoided talking to him the rest of the party. He’s one of these people who gives you a hard time when you talk to them. Like, everything out of his mouth is some sort of smartypants thing, and you leave the conversation feeling irritated as hell. Nobody Mister works with really likes him and you know what they call him? “F-Hugh.” He doesn’t actually work with Mister though. He’s some kind of contractor. Nobody knows how he’s relevant, but there he is anyway, drinking free lemonade and being a dick.

I saw his shoes on the beach and I totally would have buried them in the sand but his wife was right there with her pig tails and her weird posture. I needed more wine to pull off a semi-lame caper like that.

Let’s see, what else?

I saw the guy who told me that the next time he saw me, I’d have two kids and I was all “no way, Jose! I’m not having another kid!” and then yeah. Two kids, just like he said. Homeslice is totally his fault.

I talked to a very nice deaf lady who ironically could hear me but I couldn’t hear her. I did a lot of nodding and agreeing and she probably thought I was nuts but being odd is sort off my default so it was fine.

I got an unsolicited compliment on my new shoes, which I purchased because Melissa Lion said they’re comfortable and they are! Plus, men dig them and women think they’re cute. You need a pair.

Dansko people, you fucking owe me.

So yes. That was my day yesterday.

BEACH + FOOD+WINE= A LIFE (and a god damned hangover)

I have to go now, people. Homeslice and Henry have gotten into the cat food. They appear to be eating it. I’m not sure what that’s about.

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  1. I can’t tell you the last time I partied on the beach. Oh wait, yes I can. High School. And I’m old, so that was a long time ago. Sigh. Beach parties sound like so much fun.

    BTW, I have to rant about Comment Luv … it can go bite itself in the ass. If I see it pull up one more OLD post of mine and then tell all of you it’s the latest thing I wrote, I’m going to scream. Must uncheck that mother effer before I post this comment. /rant

  2. Next year you are totally throwing F-Hugh’s shoes in the ocean. Fuck burying them. Chuck them in the water. Someone has to.

  3. Are the heels on those sandals such that I would trip and fall or twist my ankle? I quit drinking, but I didn’t quit falling down. Would they increase the probability of falling do you think? Cause if they don’t, I’m totally getting some.
    .-= k8’s last blog post… And Another One =-.

  4. I have to take this to the source. My Chrissy, one of your loyal queefs, has been wearing CFM shoes to work for months. She emails me the link to those Danksos today saying she’s contemplating. I try to return her to her senses. She justifies them as “practical” shoes. WHAT!!! She learned a new word! After all the dildo reviews, ass punching video and pole dancing video, I think you are sending out mixed messages!

  5. Those do look like awesome summer shoes!
    PS – I think that you should throw F-Hugh’s shoes in the water as well… or burn them. Whichever is easiest. 😛

  6. It sounded like a great time even with Hugh Jass walking around on the beach until you got to Henry and Homeslice in the cat food. I don’t know about Homeslice, but cat food and dogs do not mix well. You should probably expect more dog poo in your basement. But it will be a stinky runny mess.

    The more you know.

  7. Huzzah! You got the Sissy’s. Men love those shoes. It’s like they’re the Bitch boots of the Dansko set. I don’t know what it is. I love my Sissys. LOVE THEM. Best purchase of the year!!!

  8. I read this post the other day, but was to lazy to comment then…so I’m doing it now. I would have told the fucktard to mind his own business too. If my kid will eat cracker covered in a bit of sand, well then who’s to tell her it’s gross? A little bit of dirt never killed anyone.

    Also, I wish we lived close to the beach…I miss the water.

  9. Totally jealous of the party- sounds awesome.
    Haaaaate those kind of dick-because-they’re-insecure-or-just-dicks kind of people. I am always a botch right back.
    Wish I could wear Dansko shoes- my feet are too flat.
    .-= The Sweetest’s last blog post… The Rest of the Story =-.

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