Saturday was the typical Fire Island Pines day for me and the housemates. Our no room for errors fun agenda, at least for those who did not stay up all night dancing at the Pavilion, begins with Iced Starbucks Coffee and the New York Times at the Bay Bar, followed closely with manscaping and the applying of sunscreen, of course allowing for the inevitable “does this swimsuit make my butt look too big” wardrobe crisis. When the Fire House whistle blows at noon, if we are not already firmly ensconced on the beach at least we are on the boardwalk heading there. From there the day is spent catching up on the week’s gossip, rating the guys who walk by on a 1-10 hotness scale, walking the beach and risk being rated ourselves, fighting over the latest edition of “Vanity Fair”, making a run back to the house for Frozen Margaritas, and eventually passing out and hoping no one posts a picture of you on Facebook snoring.
The main event though are the Teas. During high summer that means three different DJs and plenty of Planters Punches flowing during Low at the Blue Whale, High on the upper deck of the Pavilion, and Middle in the Pavilion. Our house has the divide and conquer mentality and attends each of them with equal vigor, although sometimes blurred by too many Planters Punches before finally making it home in time to burn something on the grill.
After last Saturday’s dinner of dry Pork Chops a couple of us decided to see what Sip N Twirl had to offer. On the five minute walk to the harbor we could see lighting and hear the rumble of thunder across the Great South Bay. We quickened our pace as the trees began to sway from the wind and by the time we reached the outside deck of the bar our T-shirts chosen with such great deliberation only minutes ago were now thoroughly soaked from the rain. Needless to say it was the epitome of a bad hair day.
After bursting through the doors along with two equally drenched girls, with worse hair problems, we entered a room that had the look of a hurricane party and the driving rain and awnings that looked ready to take flight provided all the drama needed. The cast of stranded characters included the already shirtless Muscle Boys drinking Red Bull and waiting around for DJ Abel to make his Pavilion appearance, the gentlemen of a certain age nursing their Chardonnays under the now water dripping sky lights, the drunk 20 somethings who had been there since Tea and still sporting brightly colored sunglasses and a group of nervously laughing women wearing Sarongs and sandals. Realizing we needed substance and possibly needing to get away from these large windows we headed straight for the bar. Obviously this locked down crowd was good for business as Patrick, PJ and Tommy were a continuous blur of Martini Glasses, Vodka bottles and Shakers.
Two Jack Daniels on the rocks later and the removable of one wet T-shirt- I have a shaved head so I had escaped the hair disaster that had sent one housemate fleeing back to the elements- found me on a packed Dance Floor dancing to Beyonce’s Halo. As the rain pounded against the windows which were now steamed over from the locked down bar full of sweating bodies pressed against one another I had never felt so warm and safe.
Of course that could have also been the hot Muscle Bear with a stunning smile, blue eyes and killer goatee who was holding me tight to his chest!