The Jersey Shore (what you won't see on MTV)

Aside from my love for Chinatown street vendors and the cheap-but-high-quality manicures, there's only one thing that keeps me loyal to the East Coast: The Jersey Shore. And it's not the fist-pumping, mesh-shirt-wearing guidos in Belmar, mind you. Quite simply? The beach. Coming from Missouri where all you have is a grassy knoll near Blue Springs Lake, this excites me. Which brings me to... last weekend. 

Friday 
I pack up and head down with my friends Andy (above, right) and Steve (above, left) to Andy's shore house in Manasquan. We arrive only to immediately drop off our stuff and go out. Fun times. But nothing really worth blogging about. Ew. The fact that I just used "blog" as a verb officially makes me a tech-y Internet loser.

Saturday

Awake moderately early and walk to the beach. The local deli we stopped at for breakfast explains the summer-shore-house phenomenon perfectly. Along with bagels, coffee and assorted breakfast sandwiches, this deli had a few necessities for sale behind the checkout counter: Ping-pong balls labeled "Beer pong balls," tampons, a few decks of playing cards and an opened box of 40 condoms, which led me to believe they were selling the salami slings individually. Nothing else. No sunscreen for forgetful beach goers. Just balls, tampons, cards and condoms. But my bagel was delish. The beach was nice, too. I love that you can find seashells, something that lake beaches just can't duplicate, no matter how great the men make it. Anyway, after the beach, we got ready to head out to the one major club in Manasquan. Which leads me to The Story of Man Whore...

Saturday Night (aka, The Story of Man Whore)

We arrive to The Club and start jamming out to one of Jersey's many famed cover bands. Andy, Steve and I are trying our best to appear cool next to the swarm of popped-collar-polo-wearing males and tiny-dress-clad females. But unfortunately, Andy and Steve forgot their collared shirts with the alligator insignia, and I forgot my really tight, really short open-back dress. So we stood out like a sore thumb. But sometimes... standing out can be a good thing, because then you might have the pleasure of meeting Man Whore.

MW approaches me.

MW: Um, looks like I forgot my polo shirt. Can you believe these people? They all look the same.

Score! I think. This guy's cool and actually realizes how ridiculous these people are. Andy and Steve are slowly walking away so as not to ruin my game. God bless my wingmen.

Me: I know, right? I was cursing myself earlier because I forgot my tiny spandex dress.

We carry on for a bit and go our separate ways. I find Andy and Steve and the night progresses... An hour later, I spot Man Whore again. He's grinning at me. I giggle because that's what I do. MW grabs my hand.

MW: Let's get out of here. There's a cool bar next door.

What the hell? Andy and Steve will understand and probably encourage it. So we start walking...

MW takes me around the block to the back entrance of The Cool Bar, so we don't have to shell out another $10 cover. We pass some chicks eating pizza, and MW rudely says, "They're eating pizza because they couldn't get laid." What do you say to that?! Does this douche expect me to... do what girls who don't eat pizza do? I don't think so. That's when I spot It. He's wearing a lone blue rubber bracelet on his left wrist with the words "Man Whore" written in white. I quickly second guess my decision to leave my friends for Man Whore.

Me: OK, I think I'm going to go back and meet my friends now.

MW: Aw, well, can I come with you?

Me: I guess.

We go back, I find my friends. They're ready to jet. I am, too.

Me: Well, it was nice to meet you.

MW: Maybe our paths will cross again this summer?

Me: Perhaps. Bye!

Aaand, there you have it. Call me a tease if you'd like. But I have a feeling that with all of those spandex-clad chicks around, Man Whore felt right at home and did just fine that night. Us on the other hand? We got some pizza.