Yeah, I took that picture. I'm artsy.Well, we're down to our last few days out here on The Big Sandbar called The Outer Banks. It's been quite an eventful summer with lots of visitors and lots of fun. Some stayed with us and some stayed elswhere, but I think everbody had a good time. We're cutting out of here soon (after arriving in June) and I suppose it's time. Hey, a guy's gotta make a living.
Some highlights:
At one point I was found in a Karaoke Bar called Sunburn's (I hate Karaoke Bars) singing "Hang On Sloopy" with a 4-girl backing group. It was sort of cool seeing a bar full of drunk vacationers doing the O-H! I-O! signs though.
Though gone now, at one point I had a spectacular goatee that rivaled that dude from Anthrax. It has since gone down the drain though. Can't frighten my kindergartners ya know.
My man SB spent a memorable 4-days with us in July, and I know he'll love what he remembers of Kill Devil Hills and The Outer Banks. Good times my friend. Our buddies at Chilipepper's, Awful Arthur's, Tortugas Lie, Mulligan's, Goombay's, Black Pelican, Hurricane Mo's, and Barefoot Bernie's remember you fondly. In addition, SB and I took a WWII biplane ride that was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
And oh yeah, I should mention that I shattered something in my elbow in early July. I slipped at the bottom of our steps (it had been raining) early one morning and went down hard. I had a lump on my head the size of an egg, my jaw didn't work right for a couple of weeks, and there are still things moving around in my elbow that shouldn't be moving. The doc? No way. He could wait until I got home. The good news? I was holding my dog Poe when I took the header and I held on. He didn't suffer a scratch.
A couple more things. You know, people on vacation never change. You can always count on certain behavior. For instance . . .
Guys on vacation wear funny hats. Seriously, you always see guys in hats that you just know they would never wear back home. Usually it's the Indiana Jones style hat but made of straw. Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout. Pure comedy.
People who obviously never run, run on the beach. You constantly see them jogging by, struggling to look cool for the ladies. I don't know if they're trying to work off the big seafood meals or what, but it's amusing to watch.
They can't drive a lick. On Highway 12, which is The Beach Road, you're supposed to stop so the people crossing the road can get to the beach. Locals stop, most tourists (or Tourons as they are called down there) do not. I like to yell at them like a grumpy old man but Marianne doesn't like that, so I just scowl instead and try and kick their car as they pass.
They fish in the swimming areas. You know, it's disrespectful to throw a line in and basically take up the ocean 20-yards in both directions. Go to the freakin' pier. We're trying to get drunk and swim here.
They don't respect the beach. They abuse the beach house they're renting, they litter, and they let their dogs shit on the beach without picking it up. Disgusting. More scowling.
But hey, all in all it's been another great summer. In a week or so I'll be in a gym with a bunch of kids, playing dodgeball, and The Outer Banks will seem far, far away. Sigh.
Man, I can't wait until next summer.
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