Thanks for you Patience

I actually do have a good excuse for making you wait a week to hear the second part of a vacation that’s already a month old. See, waaaay back in June, I signed up for an Insurance class for work, which I had 90 days to complete. I was supposed to be given time at work to study for it, but our branch has been so short-handed this summer that it wasn’t until I got back from vacation that I was really able to get started. So for the last three weeks I’ve been studying like mad for it, since that deadline was fast approaching. Well, last night I took the final exam online, and passed it. It was an incredible relief, although I still have to take the state exam (and then take the other two insurance classes, but that’s a problem for next month). But, for the immediate future, I’m massively relieved.

Anyway, back to the story: Sunday, the first full day of vacation, allowed us a few morning beach hours before dumping rain on us for the rest of the afternoon. Making good use of the time, Brooks arranged a fishing expedition for Tuesday morning, issuing invitations to all of us and receiving acceptances from Sean, Jackson, Christopher, and myself. Fishing Champion Scott Sudnick decided to sit this one out, ostensibly because he didn’t want to forgo any beach time, but rumors swirled that he didn’t want to run the risk of being dethroned. Dad, upon being invited, shook his head ruefully and cited a similar expedition several years ago "out by the sunken barge" with Steve, Scott, Brooks, and I, wherein "you had 50 people putting down lines trying to catch the same three fish!" Brooks and I looked askance at each other, trying to remember this incident, as we haven’t gone on too many fishing trips on the Outer Banks, and none of them fit that description. Later on, Scott also failed to recollect this phantom fishing trip. The two prevailing theories are 1) Dad went on a trip like this at some point, possibly while on TDY, and misattributed it to the Outer Banks (Shelly’s theorem), or 2) we asked him to take us on a trip meeting that description, and he refused due to the cost, thinking the above scenario is what would occur (Brooks’ hypothesis). I guess it’s also possible that the trip did occur as Dad said and we all experienced first contact with an extraterrestrial race and had our memories wiped by the government, but that seems somewhat less likely.

But I digress. On Tuesday, we woke up way earlier than was decent for a vacation day and drove to the marina. The captain opted to take us an hour south because "that’s where the fish are". Jackson, after about 45 minutes, expressed frustration with this, complaining "There are fish everywhere!!"

Still, though, our party did decently, with most of us pulling up two fish apiece, though I think Jackson might have caught three. I managed to catch a croaker and a flounder, though neither of them were of legal size; Sean was the only one who caught a keeper, which we grilled and ate the next evening. The lady beside us actually caught two different puffer fish, and one of the mates showed us some hilarious things you can do with them before throwing them back, though PETA probably wouldn’t have found them too amusing.

Hmm, I see I’ve neglected to mention Monday’s raison d’tere, which, as shown in my last post, was Scott and I’s annual trip to Hooters! Despite having had dinner a mere half hour before hand, between us we still managed to put away an order of crab legs, cheese sticks, and a twenty piece bucket of 911 wings. We did have some help from our waitress on the latter, though I think Scott probably just offered so she'd sit beside him. Having deigned to grace us with her presence, she also posed for this picture:

Alas, cold, pitiless Experience has not yet taught Scott that his chances of scoring with Hooters waitresses are not increased no matter how massive a tip he leaves.

Afterwards, Scott and I had our annual post-Hooters pool bash; we’ve as yet never had any additional attendees to it aside from the two of us, though (this year, Tina had said she wouldn’t mind if Brooks had gone with us, but Brooks, recognizing this for the clear trap that it was, declined). Much later, I found a door that my brother had mercifully forgotten to lock, and stumbled upstairs to my room, barely stirring the long-sleeping Shelly (she knows better than to wait up for me on Hooters night).

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the generosity of my Uncle Dave, who took Scott, Aunts Jean, Ann, and Tickie, and Shelly and myself out to dinner at Henry’s on Tuesday. Unexpectedly (and I mean that in its most profound sense; this was akin suddenly and accidentally discovering cold fusion), Uncle Dave treated us all, which almost backfired by causing heart attacks for the rest of the party. Unfortunately, I think that might have been the last I saw of them the rest of the week, as they were staying at Scott and Tick’s house.

Thursday brought with it an almost full day of rain, leading us to pursue indoor activities, which for me meant a whole afternoon of Punch Out, and also some reading. I chose one of the house’s books, Water for Elephants, which chronicled a Depression-era college student who, after the death of his parents, leaves school and hooks up with a traveling circus over a summer. I would highly recommend this book; it really makes you feel like you’re there in 1930’s America, riding trains around to different towns, and dealing with the complex (and sometimes very cruel) internal politics of a traveling circus. The author put a LOT of research into this book, and it really shows. Also, in a neat twist, the author writes the climatic scene first, which led me to wonder why in the world she would do this, as it took all the suspense out of the ending. However, when you get to the part in the story where the scene would chronologically take place, the author retells it with only a slight variation, which changes everything… kind of like M. Night Shyamalan, except that the rest of the story is coherent.

(I actually just read the wikipedia article I linked to in the above paragraph. Contrary to what the "Literary significance & criticism" section says, the novel does not leave the identity of the killer ambiguous.)

On a random note, whilst on the beach, I took the following picture just to show lil' living room-befouling Sonny what a real greyhound looks like:

So take that, you piebold b******!

Let's see... there's lots of other beach pictures that unfortunately are unpublishable, as they feature me without a shirt on, the sight of which gets less pretty every year. But's here's some of my other fellow travelers.

Well, as pictures are worth a thousand words, I'd say I've written a mighty tome with this post, so I'll sign off now.

One last thing: Yes, it finally happened. I'm on Facebook. So if you want slightly more current, yet much less verbose, updates from me, and I haven't already friended you, just send me a friend request there.