I finally got my beach nap by default. My housemates decided to feed their hangovers by going out for burgers for lunch and two of us chose to stay behind at the beach instead. I spread out my beach towel under the umbrella and told my companion I was taking a little nap.
When I awakened an hour and a half later, he said he'd taken two walks and gone in the water three times waiting for me to get up. I'd slept so hard that I had a crick in my neck from the uneven sand and not moving for so long, but it was a small price to pay for finally getting my nap.
I'd been awakened by my sister announcing it was happy hour, a pleasant enough event since we did it today on the beach, enjoying the beautiful late afternoon weather and absence of crowds. One of the guys commented that the abundance of empty peanut shells surrounding our encampment made it look like the circus had been through.
For the last night, the tradition is to go to a local steakhouse, JK's, for red meat. We took over an alcove in the bar, putting a collection of little bar tables together to accommodate us. With so many guys, it became a competition of who was eating the biggest hunk o' meat.
I was more than satisfied with a 6 ounce petite fillet, but one guy got the cowboy steak (26-28 oz.) and another the bone-in rib eye, a 20-ounce wonder. Of course the meat was perfectly seasoned and cooked; isn't that why people go to steakhouses? It can't be for the skull and lasso decor. With the accompanying Red Bliss mashed potatoes and broccolini with Hollandaise sauce, we were all in a food coma by the time we left.
Because this is a group that believes that alcohol cuts that full feeling, we headed back to the Lucky 12 for a nightcap...or several. Our bartender from last night was off-duty but drinking in the bar and he came over to say hello and continue our music chat from last night. Now that we were on the same side of the bar, he wanted to further discuss some of the bands we had begun talking about last night.
That, and tease me about some of my housemates' inebriation last evening. I told him about my surprise of a snoring roommate last night. I got no empathy from him, however; he picked up my left hand, pointed to the absence of a ring, grinned and shrugged (unattached = fair game?).
Once home, we went down to the beach for a leisurely walk and enjoyed fireworks courtesy of some new arrivals. When we came back up, we splintered into groups, some to the pool, some to the hot tub and others to the deck to enjoy the view of the moon and the stars.
It was all so civilized that I almost forgot that I was staying in what amounts to a frat house but with good wine.
All the same, I'm locking my bedroom door tonight.
Showing posts with label lucky 12. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lucky 12. Show all posts
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Beach House Chatter
That beach nap I was counting on so much never quite happened.
Oh, I made it here just fine and spent the afternoon on the beach with my sister and brother-in-law and their seven guy friends (why they have nothing but guy friends is a sociological study in and of itself), but things were too social to sleep.
If I'm only here for 48 hours, it's too tempting to talk rather than catch up on sleep.
Like in RVA, storms had blown through yesterday, resulting in a very breezy afternoon on the beach, with a choppy surf perfect for windsurfing.
The ocean was dotted with brave souls hanging on to their "kites."
We're staying almost on top of the Nags Head pier, so it was fascinating/terrifying to watch the windsurfers maneuver around the pier without slamming into it.
By the time we got cleaned up (and while I was happy they had an outside shower, it's under the house, so there was no sky view, much less sound of surf) and ready to go out, it was after 8.
We took two cabs to the Red Drum for dinner and gradually took up the entire bar, stool by stool.
I ended up next to a tipsy local who shared the very sad story of the love of his life dying unexpectedly from a heart attack six years ago.
He has a new girlfriend, but she's not the one.
Asking about my love life, he gave me all kinds of advice about how to proceed.
We decided to make Lucky 12 our last stop because it's a block from the cottage.
The music was decent, the drinks reasonable and I had seven new housemates to talk to.
Highlight: one of the guys telling me, "You'd never know you two are sisters" and he wasn't talking about our looks.
I feel obligated to get some sleep tonight since tomorrow is a full day and my last day here, so one of the guys walked me back.
Sitting here on the deck with the ocean two houses and a road away, it feels a world way from last night.
The music isn't nearly as good, but I have loads more company, some new to me, some familiar and all talkative.
And I do love to talk.
Oh, I made it here just fine and spent the afternoon on the beach with my sister and brother-in-law and their seven guy friends (why they have nothing but guy friends is a sociological study in and of itself), but things were too social to sleep.
If I'm only here for 48 hours, it's too tempting to talk rather than catch up on sleep.
Like in RVA, storms had blown through yesterday, resulting in a very breezy afternoon on the beach, with a choppy surf perfect for windsurfing.
The ocean was dotted with brave souls hanging on to their "kites."
We're staying almost on top of the Nags Head pier, so it was fascinating/terrifying to watch the windsurfers maneuver around the pier without slamming into it.
By the time we got cleaned up (and while I was happy they had an outside shower, it's under the house, so there was no sky view, much less sound of surf) and ready to go out, it was after 8.
We took two cabs to the Red Drum for dinner and gradually took up the entire bar, stool by stool.
I ended up next to a tipsy local who shared the very sad story of the love of his life dying unexpectedly from a heart attack six years ago.
He has a new girlfriend, but she's not the one.
Asking about my love life, he gave me all kinds of advice about how to proceed.
We decided to make Lucky 12 our last stop because it's a block from the cottage.
The music was decent, the drinks reasonable and I had seven new housemates to talk to.
Highlight: one of the guys telling me, "You'd never know you two are sisters" and he wasn't talking about our looks.
I feel obligated to get some sleep tonight since tomorrow is a full day and my last day here, so one of the guys walked me back.
Sitting here on the deck with the ocean two houses and a road away, it feels a world way from last night.
The music isn't nearly as good, but I have loads more company, some new to me, some familiar and all talkative.
And I do love to talk.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Poets, Yankees and Restaurant Owners
Ocean Temperature: 76 degrees (quite a change!)
Beach Read: Yankee Women: Gender Battles in the Civil War
Best song randomly heard on the radio: Poets, Tragically Hip
The beach gods smiled on Thing 3 and me today, lowering the air temperature to barely 80, raising the water temperature almost 20 degrees from 24 hours earlier and replacing yesterday's rolling beach fog with sunshine. Life indeed felt like a beach today, but then Thing 3 also knows how to have a good time anywhere.
Now that I've been here a few days, a couple of the locals have started recognizing me and one of the dog-walkers came over today to introduce himself and his dog while Thing 3 was on a beer run. Honestly, to a fly on the wall, our conversation could have happened at a bar instead of the beach, as he danced around finding out if I was single or not. The best thing about being hit on sitting in a beach chair is that at least the interested party knows what you look like scantily clad from the start...or is that a good thing?
For our evening's entertainment, we decided to do a beach pub crawl, figuring that lots of people would be out and about given the glorious weather. We were correct and found plenty of willing talkers everywhere we went.
The Kill Devil Grill (the former Millie's project) got us started and, despite Thing 3 having fixed us a superb meal before leaving, we indulged in the Philly Cheese steak eggrolls because, well because who ever heard of such a thing? As we sat at the bar, I couldn't help but notice that the guy next to me was reading Bon Appetit, which led to an interesting talk about how some men choose to attract women. I give him credit; he had a great sense of humor and a desire to spoil a girl in the kitchen, no minor qualities either one.
The Lucky 12 was loud and local and we had loads of fun taking a grilling about ourselves, the nature of our relationship and from whence we came from some of the more forward regulars, both male and female. Before long, though, Thing 3 looked at me in all seriousness and declared, "Drink up little guppy. It's time to hit the next place" and off we went.
Heading back up the beach, we made Ocean Boulevard our final stop because at barely half a mile from home, it offers the convenience of a leisurely beach walk home if necessary. Thing 3 and I got separated on entering the crowded bar and ended up at opposite ends for a while, giving us both a chance to meet people as if alone.
I was immediately addressed by a local who informed me that I was in his regular bar stool. Given its location, I told him that if we were in RVA, it would almost certainly be MY stool, given its position at the bar. He graciously agreed to let me stay in it if I'd give him my attention for a while.
As luck would have it, he's a local restaurant owner who moved here and found the beach vibe too appealing to go back, even after years of living all over the country in major cities and loving urban life. His restaurant here is over ten years old, although I wasn't familiar with it, being on one of the northern beaches which I don't frequent. His business card describes him as "Head Asshole," a title sure to elicit a smile from many a restaurant worker.
He came on strong, inviting me to his restaurant for dinner tomorrow (sans Thing 3, natch) and even suggesting he send the restaurant "car" for me so that I could indulge without having to drive home. Obviously beach restaurant owners have additional enticements in their bag of tricks should they meet someone they want to impress.
I teased the guy about meeting him in a restaurant other than his own, but he assured me that OB is his favorite beach bar precisely because it gets him out of his own business. That I could understand. Besides, would a restaurant owner really want to hit on his own customer? Check that; I know personally from a recent experience at home that it does happen.
Yankee women of yore might have had their gender battles, but in my humble experience, gender skirmishes continue, if of a different sort. Luckily, the playing field is so much more level today for us Yankee types.
Beach Read: Yankee Women: Gender Battles in the Civil War
Best song randomly heard on the radio: Poets, Tragically Hip
The beach gods smiled on Thing 3 and me today, lowering the air temperature to barely 80, raising the water temperature almost 20 degrees from 24 hours earlier and replacing yesterday's rolling beach fog with sunshine. Life indeed felt like a beach today, but then Thing 3 also knows how to have a good time anywhere.
Now that I've been here a few days, a couple of the locals have started recognizing me and one of the dog-walkers came over today to introduce himself and his dog while Thing 3 was on a beer run. Honestly, to a fly on the wall, our conversation could have happened at a bar instead of the beach, as he danced around finding out if I was single or not. The best thing about being hit on sitting in a beach chair is that at least the interested party knows what you look like scantily clad from the start...or is that a good thing?
For our evening's entertainment, we decided to do a beach pub crawl, figuring that lots of people would be out and about given the glorious weather. We were correct and found plenty of willing talkers everywhere we went.
The Kill Devil Grill (the former Millie's project) got us started and, despite Thing 3 having fixed us a superb meal before leaving, we indulged in the Philly Cheese steak eggrolls because, well because who ever heard of such a thing? As we sat at the bar, I couldn't help but notice that the guy next to me was reading Bon Appetit, which led to an interesting talk about how some men choose to attract women. I give him credit; he had a great sense of humor and a desire to spoil a girl in the kitchen, no minor qualities either one.
The Lucky 12 was loud and local and we had loads of fun taking a grilling about ourselves, the nature of our relationship and from whence we came from some of the more forward regulars, both male and female. Before long, though, Thing 3 looked at me in all seriousness and declared, "Drink up little guppy. It's time to hit the next place" and off we went.
Heading back up the beach, we made Ocean Boulevard our final stop because at barely half a mile from home, it offers the convenience of a leisurely beach walk home if necessary. Thing 3 and I got separated on entering the crowded bar and ended up at opposite ends for a while, giving us both a chance to meet people as if alone.
I was immediately addressed by a local who informed me that I was in his regular bar stool. Given its location, I told him that if we were in RVA, it would almost certainly be MY stool, given its position at the bar. He graciously agreed to let me stay in it if I'd give him my attention for a while.
As luck would have it, he's a local restaurant owner who moved here and found the beach vibe too appealing to go back, even after years of living all over the country in major cities and loving urban life. His restaurant here is over ten years old, although I wasn't familiar with it, being on one of the northern beaches which I don't frequent. His business card describes him as "Head Asshole," a title sure to elicit a smile from many a restaurant worker.
He came on strong, inviting me to his restaurant for dinner tomorrow (sans Thing 3, natch) and even suggesting he send the restaurant "car" for me so that I could indulge without having to drive home. Obviously beach restaurant owners have additional enticements in their bag of tricks should they meet someone they want to impress.
I teased the guy about meeting him in a restaurant other than his own, but he assured me that OB is his favorite beach bar precisely because it gets him out of his own business. That I could understand. Besides, would a restaurant owner really want to hit on his own customer? Check that; I know personally from a recent experience at home that it does happen.
Yankee women of yore might have had their gender battles, but in my humble experience, gender skirmishes continue, if of a different sort. Luckily, the playing field is so much more level today for us Yankee types.
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