Wednesday, July 25

Tales From Somewhere In Chesapeake Bay I Think?

I went to a house somewhere in Maryland the weekend before last to spend time with my boyfriend's family, most of whom I had not met before, but all of whom, thankfully, ended up being super cool. Being locked in a house in a tiny town with the Wisels is basically like fast-forwarding the Donner Party's tales of woe and replacing the need to kill for food with, simply, the need to kill, so I was completely surprised by how fun and great and overnight camp-y it all turned out to be.

I reference the days of month-long Midwestern good times because, just like then, I ate about seven s'mores in one sitting, did my nails with whatever nail polish was within my wingspan and, in my own personal ode to Wet Hot American Summer, made sure I was taken along during a trip into town to get more toilet paper/booze/tomato rations.

It is always fun to get away and we were only gone for one hour, and while I didn't get to shiver in a heroin den alongside my favorite comedians, I did get to schlep home three big ol' jars of bona fide moonshine. Which, I accidentally charged to my parents' credit card and had to explain that, no, that $65 small-town east coast purchase at Buehler's Package Goods was not from a stolen card but just their daughter not being able to make a decision and needing to come home with multiple glass jugs full of hooch.

(Speaking of which, need to put a Moonshine fiesta on the calendar for next month. Don't know why I'd even bother going to a bar for a juice box-y glass of wine when I can have drink five sips of the stuff and immediately pass out on a cushion or comforter that i own instead of at a bar stool.)

One other thing that blew me away about the weekend — during the forty minutes we spent at the beach (it rained the whole time, i was the only one not related, we have a famous "Wisel cloud" hanging over us for outdoor vacations, moving on), some kids were filling buckets up with jellyfish and PLAYING WITH THEM. Now, I don't know much about sea creatures, but I do know that my brother was allergic for our entire lives to the point that we weren't allowed near the water when there was even a fucking shark attack-level chance of there being a jellyfish, and that the glass outside of their aquarium tanks is SO THICK, like INCHES THICK because they sting like killer bees only gloopier and in water and less obsessed with taking a dive straight into a poolside cup of Coca-Cola. The entire scenario would have been the most horrifying thing I saw in those 36 hours if it wasn't for this gem, tucked into the bookshelf at the rental house:

I'd go into further detail about Phoebe's oatmeal raisin cookies and Naked Guy nachos, but I'm too busy writing a proposal for a Seinfeld-themed cookbook complete with every type of cereal bar imaginable and a supplemental This Split Pea Soup Is For You! booklet of slow-cooker recipes.

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