Friday, June 4, 2004

Lessons in Love: Hampton-style

Memorial Day weekend was fuuun. So I went to stay with Pat—The Ex—in Long Island. Anne and I got our asses burned at the beach on Saturday, and then we soothed our aching blisters over cocktails that night. Anne really hit if off with Pat's middle-aged uncle, and he proceeded to get her blitzed to the point that she could hardly stand. Needless to say, our night o' fun concluded at 12—poor Anne—and I made the possible mistake of sleeping in the same bed as The Ex. He proceeded to jump my bones, at which point I pretended to doze off. Didn't last long, because he uttered those words I've longed to hear—just not from The Ex. "I love you." Eek!

I awoke to the birds chirping and The Ex...tickling my feet. "Get up, get up!" Sometimes, boys are like little kids. Dude, let me sleep. I'm not a morning person. It reminds me why I don't mind being single sometimes. Maybe I will purchase 47 plants and 9 obnxious cats and live alone for the rest of my life.

But Sunday proved to be uberfun! Pat and I drive to his cousin's house at 11 a.m. There, on the front lawn, is 12 dudes in combat boots and crude shirts (Klitty Litter: Freshens her box!) drinking the New York equivalent of Natty Light. So 13 dudes and I cram into a rented van and head to the Hamptons. Boy-oh-boy did I miss out on all the sorority spring breaks! We went to this oceanside beach club that looked eerily similar to the MTV club in the Hamptons...after six $4 cans of Bud Light, I dedice it's time for a romp on the beach. I threw sand in Pat's hair, and he screamed like a girl. It was fun.

Then we crammed back in the van at about 3 p.m. and head to a tent called The Boardy sounds shady, but apparently it's the place to be because while standing in line to enter this prestigious establishment, Pat thinks it's a good time to check his voicemail. We immediately hear a booming voice, "Get out! No cell phones allowed!" And do you know what this asshole's reasoning was? He didn't want people to call their friends and tell them to come to The Boardy Barn. It would get overcrowded. Gimme a break! Who runs a business like that?! So we got kicked out. Could I possibly get kicked out of any more New York bars? I wonder...

So Pat and I are half-drunk wandering around the Hamptons. His uncle rescued us, and then we went to dinner. Pat took this alone-time to explain his reasoning for saying "I love you." Apparently he just cares about me, after all, I'm not only his Ex, but an uberclose friend, too. Well Pat, if that's what "I love you" means, then ditto.

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