About two weeks ago, my dear friend Amanda triumphantly graduated from Suffolk Law School in Boston and was graciously rewarded with a 12-hour day at the immeasurable Ocean Shitty Maryland with yours truly, an hour-long lunch at Hooters, and a sunset dinner at Seacrets overlooking an embarrassing number of over-fed, tribal-tattooed, spiky-haired 30-somethings whom we assumed accidentally wandered into the eating area after some serious audience participation at a neighboring bikini contest.
I imagine it went something like this:
"WOOOOOO! YEAHHHHH! OWWWWWWW! SHAKE IT GIRL!!!" Tribal-tattoo dude throws back a sloppy gulp of his beer just as a passer-by abruptly runs into him, causing him to throw his head forward letting out a string of emphysema-laced coughs and stumble a few paces from his front row spot. He suddenly becomes entranced with a pool of beer that landed perfectly in the middle of his big furry toe and wonders how it's maintained such a flawless circle whilst jerking his body around. He decides to test the liquid's density and carefully points his foot out in front of him. The pool of beer jostled slightly but remained in tact. He laughed a terrible laugh that nearly brought tears to his eyes and downed the rest of his beer while keeping his eyes on his toe. He started walking, eyes down, arms out, weaving in and out of unnecessarily loud conversations and pounding reggae music. He had gone nearly 20 paces without breaking the beer pool when he nearly ran into a very pretty girl with chestnut-blonde hair and a very displeased look on her face.
"Watch it, beefer," the girl jabbed with disdain.
He snorted. "Beefer..." He smiled and then pointed at his foot. "Look!" He hiccuped. "Look at that."
"Look. At. What." The girl's face was frozen with repulsion.
"The beer, the toe," he said louder, still smiling. "It's a survivor..." He knew the words sounded familiar, like a song. "It's gonna make it...he's a survivor...she's on survival..." He wondered if this girl knew the same song or if he was just making it up on the spot. He looked at her now disgusted face.
"What." He smiled. She was really cute.
"First of all, the words are: 'I'M a survivor, not 'it' or 'he'; second of all, that's not beer, it's sand you mother-doucher; the stuff you've been putting your crusty feet in for hours now. I'm surprised the earth hasn't disintegrated under those Flinstones you call toes. Blech." She shivered. "Get lost, Beef." She flicked his forehead rather fiercely and walked away.
"Yow," he stumbled back and rubbed his hand over his face vigorously. "Pbbttt, pbbtttt," he shook his head back and forth. "Sand?!" He repeated the word slowly and looked down at his toe, squinting for clarity. The beer he once saw was gone and instead, his feet were just as she had said, covered in sand. "Whattt..." he burped and hiccuped at the same time. His chest hurt. He looked up to see a sea of dining tables and people moving past him with trays of food. He was suddenly hungry. He heard cheering and a voice over a microphone in the distance. It sounded like something he had heard before. He quickly dismissed the thought as he now had an instant craving for a delicious juicy burger, but he had no idea why.
Back to law school and graduation and pseudo-vacations. So, after this very brief celebratory vacay, Amanda is now holed up at her house for a rigorous two months of studying before she takes the notorious beast that is the bar. She studies from 6 in the morning until 9 or later at night all while living with her family (parents and 19-year-old brother) plus a dementia-ed grandmother who Mandy describes as "rebooting every 30 seconds" who thinks she's on vacation by Mandy's mother.
Needless to say, this girl needs some support and love and encouragement. And I'd like her to not kill herself anytime soon. So a care package is in order and ideas are welcome. The more creative the better. You're probably thinking a huge bottle of vodka or equally potent liquor but I don't want to kill her brain cells too much pre-bar or else I'll be on the chopping block. To be continued....