(pics to follow later)
Independence Day 2007 began with me waking up at 7:15, groggily stumbling to the bathroom, gazing upon my face in the mirror and recoiling in disgust. What the flip happened to my FACE? And why does it seem like I am always saying that?
My hands reached up to my badly swollen, nearly unopenable left eye. Since my mom is out of town and is also a cavewoman without a cell phone, I checked the other easily accessible, accurate, dependable source for medical diagnoses: WebMD. According to the experts, I either had an allergic reaction or a welding injury - but it was tough to tell in my traumatized state. Mentally retracing my steps from the night before, I couldn’t recall anything out of the ordinary aside from an awesome celebrity sighting. In fact, I’d gone to bed early in anticipation of Independence Day at the Beach 2007.
Despite becoming Quasimodo overnight, I had already made plans with Jamie & Lauren to hit up the Island of Fire via the Island of Long (sounds so much more exotic when you put it that way) via train & bus and I’m not one to back out even though I was suddenly freakishly deformed. With plans to crispify my skin and roast in a glorious summer’s day, I put on my swimsuit, a little cotton sundress and my darkest tinted sunglasses (to hide the ghastly eye monster.) Ah, summer. As I walked outside, I detected an unseasonable chill in the air. Attributing it to the early morning fog, I ran back in to get a sweatshirt and hoofed it over to meet the gals at Penn Station.
Clad in sundresses and goose bumps, we congregated outside of the station. It was bloody freezing - 65 degrees and windy. The gals claimed the clouds would burn off and the sun would come out at the beach. Al Rokers, they are not. We spent the first cold Independence Day of my life huddled on a beach, in rented aluminum chairs, wearing sweatshirts, wrapped in towels with our feet buried in the sand. We had to eat 16 Dunkin Donuts Munchkins per friend just to stay warm. Had to.
Anyhow, after about an hour and a half of suffering in the cold, we gave up and took the bus back to “town” to find some lunch and catch the train to Penn Station. With the train leaving in 11 minutes, we decided to quickly order up some Cold Stone for the ride home. Haste, thy name is not Cold Stone Creamery Worker #2. After we finally had our “Like It” size treats in-hand, we had only two minutes to make it to the train. We sprinted across streets, trying to eat the Sweet Cream & Cheesecake ice cream that was now melty and dripping down our arms, through the parking lot, up about four flights worth of stairs and onto the train. Then the doors closed.
Not exactly the 4th I had in mind, but always an adventure with J & L.
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