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My dad needed help moving the shed at my parent's beach house in South
Jersey. So I took the train out to north Jersey to meet up
with my brother and we headed down to the shore together
late Friday night.
 .
Burger King. New Jersey Turnpike Rest Stop. 2:27am. Arguing over who
should have to eat *burp* the last cheeseburger.
We ended up going halfsies on it which left plenty o' room for the Good Humor
robotic ice cream machine on the way out.
The face of a treat-addict.
Snickers Ice Cream bar National Lampoon's European Vacation style.
See? Just like Clarke W. Griswold.
On Saturday afternoon, our dad woke us up and informed us that our
street was having a block party. Check me hitting up the root beer
keg. Aw, yeah.
Here's my dad cold kicking it with his aqua shades.
Little brother Brett.
Me and dad prepping for the big 'tater race. (The object is to cross
the finish line first. If your pototo falls off your spoon, you're
immediately disqualified.)
The women's heat.
After the tater race (I lost, but only because of my lumpy pototo,
I swear), it was time for the water balloon toss. (aka - the best game
ever invented). Here's the twelve and under heat preparing to sqaure
off.
Action shots.
Look out red-shirt, she's coming in fast...
Booyah! You're out!
Then the adults squared off. My brother (in the gray shirt) teamed
up with my dad...
...who shit the bed on the next toss by throwing short to my dad (the
balloon exploded on his foot). Check me out laughing at him while he
gives my brother the ol' stink eye.
Here's me preparing to make the winning catch.
Here's my parent's boat, the "SS Weak Moment" (named after what my
mom must've been having when she "allowed" my dad to buy a boat) parked
at the house's dock.
Saturday evening we went to the Stafford Diner for some authentic Jersey
Diner grub. Bonus points to me for having a shirt with an NJ logo on
it.
Bonus points to Pappi for also having a Jersey shirt on. Beach Haven
West Reprazent, yo. (Unfortunately for him, he also loses the same
amount of Bonus Points for actually reading a menu in a diner. In a
real NJ diner, you're just supposed to think about what you want to
eat and rest assured knowing that they'll have it.).
Saturday night, my brother and I crossed the bridge to experience some
Long Beach Island night life action. We went to some club and managed
to catch a clutch Bruce Springsteen cover band (I shit you not). Even
though faux-Bruce rocked the house, the night didn't come close to
last year's LBI Nightlife
Antics.
Sunday morning we got up early and set out on our mission: move the
goddamned shed. Mom was complaining that the placement of the new shed
was blocking her view of the water from the porch and wanted it moved
to that it was parallel to the house (instead of perpendicular). Here's
me manning the jack.
Thumbs up from Pappi, the shed in its new place is level.
Mission accomplished.
My brother always gets shit because he looks, walks, talks and acts
like a little Mini-Me version of my dad. I tried to snap a sneaky picture
of them watching TV together while eating matching sandwiches and wearing
matching white shirts and blue baseball hats, but I started laughing
right before the cam went off and gave Brett time to flip me the bird.
They look like the goddamned Bobsie Twins though, right?
After lunch we took out the boat, here's Skipper large and in charge
at the wheel...
...and I got to drive using the new fancy GPS navigation system. Ooooooh!
Here's Skipper Jr. chilling on the *heh* poop deck. (Okay, I don't
know if that's technically what the little back area's called, but
I just wanted to say "poop deck.")
On the way back inland, I took Brett on a trip down "Torturous Big
Brother Memory Lane" by waking him from his slumber with a long-range
shot to the balls with the 25' gaff pole. Hehehehe.
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