Cause Down The Shore Everything's Alright
People watching is a sport and I consider myself a pro. Not only do I watch, I name people, give them voices and stories. I also wonder about them after they are gone.
This morning we ate a lovely breakfast at the retro beach house, you know, the cozy blue one nestled amongst the yuppydomes. After breakfast we headed to the beach to catch some rays, it seemed early,turns out it was 8:45am. We should be people watched as well. Usually there is arguing, wild hand gestures and occasionally things get chucked and sometimes if you're real lucky, one of us storms off seriously pissed off.
We settled in to get a little sun before the weather turned nasty. We were there maybe 45 minutes, perhaps an hour and The Donald called time and said he was headed back - speaking of back, he's still hurting although B&B seems to help. Ashlee followed soon after. And then there were two, Lauren and I, the two biggest morons in the family. The previous day we spotted a young lad beating the living daylights out of the sand with a shovel. We called him Tommy and thought he'd make a good mobster. Today we noticed an adorable tot, perhaps a year old little girl with big chocolate brown curls and thighs with deep creases, toddlers can pull that look off. She smiled from ear to ear, giggled and tossed wet sand into the air. As we walked by her father said, "That's it? All done with the sun?" We laughed, "Yup, check that off the list!"
After we were out of ear shot I turned to Lauren and said, "Didn't Phyllis's father look like A-Rod?" Lauren looked at me and laughed, "Phyllis Mom? Really?" Jerry Vale was there too, he's wicked tan and sits in his beach chair ALL day, aviators on, arms behind his head, I think that's so his pits get tan too, and he smokes like a chimney, it's not like he's singing anymore.
At lunchtime we headed to a joint claiming to have wonderful cheesesteaks. We ate lovely sandwiches, I had tomato, mozzarella and pesto on a gloriously crusty roll. The cook, Uncle Frankie, brought us apple cake. He's 65, was retired for 5 years and now is working 90 hours a week, he makes all the food, the bread, salads, the cheesesteak meat is fresh, he butchers his own chickens and frankly Uncle Frankie never shuts the hell up. Nice guy though, great cook.
Now back at the house chilling out and watching the landscapers across the street work. Jose' and Jos B. They work faster when the other dude shows up.
More to come...
This morning we ate a lovely breakfast at the retro beach house, you know, the cozy blue one nestled amongst the yuppydomes. After breakfast we headed to the beach to catch some rays, it seemed early,turns out it was 8:45am. We should be people watched as well. Usually there is arguing, wild hand gestures and occasionally things get chucked and sometimes if you're real lucky, one of us storms off seriously pissed off.
We settled in to get a little sun before the weather turned nasty. We were there maybe 45 minutes, perhaps an hour and The Donald called time and said he was headed back - speaking of back, he's still hurting although B&B seems to help. Ashlee followed soon after. And then there were two, Lauren and I, the two biggest morons in the family. The previous day we spotted a young lad beating the living daylights out of the sand with a shovel. We called him Tommy and thought he'd make a good mobster. Today we noticed an adorable tot, perhaps a year old little girl with big chocolate brown curls and thighs with deep creases, toddlers can pull that look off. She smiled from ear to ear, giggled and tossed wet sand into the air. As we walked by her father said, "That's it? All done with the sun?" We laughed, "Yup, check that off the list!"
After we were out of ear shot I turned to Lauren and said, "Didn't Phyllis's father look like A-Rod?" Lauren looked at me and laughed, "Phyllis Mom? Really?" Jerry Vale was there too, he's wicked tan and sits in his beach chair ALL day, aviators on, arms behind his head, I think that's so his pits get tan too, and he smokes like a chimney, it's not like he's singing anymore.
At lunchtime we headed to a joint claiming to have wonderful cheesesteaks. We ate lovely sandwiches, I had tomato, mozzarella and pesto on a gloriously crusty roll. The cook, Uncle Frankie, brought us apple cake. He's 65, was retired for 5 years and now is working 90 hours a week, he makes all the food, the bread, salads, the cheesesteak meat is fresh, he butchers his own chickens and frankly Uncle Frankie never shuts the hell up. Nice guy though, great cook.
Now back at the house chilling out and watching the landscapers across the street work. Jose' and Jos B. They work faster when the other dude shows up.
More to come...
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