Fire Island Recap: It Wasn’t Just About Sex. It Was About Liquor Too
The title to this post is a little misleading. I am a trickster–just ask anyone who has ever believed I have AIDS or am in Jail on April Fool’s Day can attest to. (That would be every single person of importance in my life–as evidenced HERE. )
As I may have mentioned the key components to an amazing vacation are equal parts crazy time and down time. This post is about the times when I thought to myself: “Well fuck my ass, I am really lucky to have best friends like these. Not bad for a kid who used to sit at home watching Queer As Folk in Panama City and think: ‘One day I will move somewhere bigger and have a group of gay friends that I can call family.’”
Logan got the drop on me. He pulled the wool over my eyes. He bamboozled the shit out of me. While I was chatting up some North Carolina guys he said “Can I talk to you privately for a second?” I assumed he wanted to talk shit and went with him, completely trusting since I am normally the only sneaky bitch in the group. He took me over towards the pool and shoved me the fuck in, right in front of god, drag queens and queers everywhere. I wasn’t even upset that I had a drink in my hand. This prank was that awesome.
I managed to steal Frecks away from his relationship at one point at 2 AM and go and sit by the water. We figured out where the milky way was (this is not a reference or allusion to cock in any way.) And talked about how much has changed since the first time we laid on the sand in Fire Island at 3 am. Truthfully not that much has changed. Something to be thankful for.
Shindia, Logan, Frecks and I spent one morning just laying in bed talking about shit and laughing our asses off. Yes, some names were mentioned. Yes, one of them was probably you.
At one point the four of us spent the day at the beach completely sober. The water was super cold–but when you get a chance to dip in the ocean you take it–this is sage Florida advice. We all held hands when we went in. The reason this was special is because two years ago the four of us did EVERYTHING together. Relationships, jobs, and time has gotten in the way but at the core of it we are all still great friends. It was nice being that again.
Frecks and I went dancing alone one night. If you have ever danced with this hot mess you know that it’s basically like Sharon Stone simulating sex against a pillar in her art deco apartment without any panties on. I didn’t realize how much I had missed it until both of our shirts were off and the people around us had formed a circle like we were Julia Stiles in Save the Last Dance. Which I am pretty sure is just like Dances with Wolves except less racist.
Logan and I went walking in the meat rack (since he had never been there. The last time I went there it was with my boyfriend of 10 months, and I got a tick on my balls from blowing him. True life story.) We did see some indigenous wildlife though– and by indigenous I mean an old Italian man standing on a dune with his wang flapping in the wind. We were close enough to see his foreskin but too far away to be in any danger. I felt like a confederate soldier. (yes, I am saying I will always be from the south no matter how far north I go).
At one point I jumped up and went walking on the beach by myself. My white chonies were basically see through at this point but Fire Island is the kind of place where it just doesn’t matter. I had my headphones, and I was staring at the ocean. I was thinking about how lucky I am to be living this life since I am really just some poor brown kid from a small town. Every time I go on vacation somewhere amazing–find myself ziplining in a jungle, or snorkeling at a Coral reef, or sitting on the Atlantic Ocean, or watching a sunset that I rarely ever get to see anymore I think about how far I have come and how far I am going. And how none of it even really matters as long as you have family around you.
And I had that this weekend.
And I don’t know what more I could possibly ask for.