There's been a lot going on at la casa de Yellaphant recently. It's pretty much officially summer, which means the New England weather no longer makes me want to hang myself from the shower rod. This also means that it's officially visiting season for those of us who live at the beach. NooOO0o one came to see me when I was threatening to drink cyanide in February. But now that the sun is shining strong and the ocean water is almost bearable enough to go swimming, everyone wants to stop by for a little weekend stay. In other words, I bribe my friends with promises of beach days and clam bakes. I'm not ashamed.
The first of those visitors was my mom (obviously). And then came Bossy. And that was boss. And now the friends and family are streaming in from every angle, like sweet little college freshman to a free kegger. Come to me, my little chickadees.
And that's because my house is like vacation. Yes, my commute is a bitch and a half. And yes, I do often work around 12 hours a day. But when I get home, the shoes come off, the ocean air hits my face, and it feels good. My weekends are spent at the beach and when I'm at the beach, I'm about as happy as a starving dog let loose in a bacon factory.
This probably explains why the past few weekends, I've mentally vacationed myself into a state of mental retardation. Which, in turn, would explain my recent state of mental well-being. Let me explain. Not only is shaking a week's worth of cobwebs out good for the soul, but after a few too many cocktails, I start to ponder what I consider at the time to be "profound thoughts." Upon further reflection, I was just drunk. But at those moments, I feel like the stars have aligned and everything is as it should be. It's like I'm spinning along on my little axis and then BOOM. I suddenly feel like fate has dropped me into that exact place at that exact time and dang that feels good.
Case in point: Memorial Day Weekend. After The Winter of My Discontent, I was more than ready for my first official weekend at the beach for the summer of 2010. The beach of choice in my town is most easily accessible via boat. People pull up in just about every floatable device imaginable -- from kayaks to lobster boats -- drop anchor, and jump on land with coolers, bbqs, and dogs. Heaven? Heaven.
After a full day of sun, sand, and far too many cans of light beer than necessary, my friends and I hopped on the boat and headed back to the harbor. Cruising along, the sun began to set. The music was playing, my skin was lightly sunburned. Then that new Jay-Z song come on. Typically, it really burns my toast when hip hop artists take a one-time hit, add some hip hop bridges, and turn it into a new hip hop hit. Gah knows I dig me some Jay-Z (dude has SKILLZ), but the first time I heard "Forever Young" I wasn't sure if I should pull over to the side of the road, turn off the car, and throw up in my mouth or turn it up, throw back my head, and sing along. So naturally, I did what I do every time something makes me slightly uncomfortable. I ignored it.
But when that song come on during the boat ride back from the beach and I heard that chorus, I nearly peed myself I thought it was so profound. It hit me straight to the core. Straight. To. The. Core. At that moment, that song was meant for US. For every young soul riding a boat back to the harbor after a perfect day at the beach. How did Alphaville know when they first wrote that chorus? How did Jay-Z know I would want a revival of this cheesy song at that exact moment? Surely, he created this cheap knock off with us in mind. It was genius. Brother, it was DEEP. It was like being smacked in the face with a little I think therefore I am. Yes, I really DO want to live forever, forever, forever young. I mean, come on, just the thought of mini vans, arthritis, and nursing homes make me want to drive a car into the closest telephone pole. I'm young therefore I am. More like I think therefore I'm drunk. HA. Heavy, Jay. Heavy. And then I tried to pee off the ladder on the back of the boat and fell into the water. No big deal.