I don’t rely on harsh fluorescent dorm lighting during my morning primping routine; the warm sun’s reflection on the slow morning waves brightens up my room at my beach house.
I’m no longer waking up to those chirping birds outside of Regis, trash pickup at 8 a.m. on the dot or the lawn mowers on Saturday mornings at the townhouses.
Instead, I have the calming pleasure of waves rolling over the sand and the squawking of seagulls in the morning hours.
On Saturday my roommates and I wake up only hours after having passed out from the night before to take a nap.
We throw on our closest bikini and a pair of sunglasses and hit up the dormant behavior of bronzing. Oh, but we don’t even have to brush our teeth because our backyard is sand and the questionably clean pool Long Island created. Wireless iPod speakers were made for atmospheres like this.
Just as the Advil and the bagel have finished curing the previous night’s hangover, there’s a boom a short distance away; the DJ has arrived at the Point, or at least Tyson is awake.
No one complains about the noise level or perhaps a song that may be overplayed on the radio because we all know our senior year is awaiting us!
And then you see it – fellow classmates utilizing dollies for kegs, the freezer at the liquor store has pounds of ice gone and red is the color of Solo cups for today.
When you finally reach the point, there are more kegs than the parking tickets I’ve acquired in my college career; maybe we’re all enticed by that free keg we receive after buying 25. You don’t have to worry about a swarm of men on bicycles dressed in red and white showing up.
The new men in navy still remember their glory days, though one in particular seems to have a stellar memory of the fun he had some 50 years back and is more than ready to relive those years.
The first weekend back topped Fairfield high school and camp Fairfield and seemed to evolve into Spring Break at Fairfield.
I don’t recall any wet T-shirt contests or a Mexican man with a bottle of tequila and an obnoxious whistle, but there certainly was dancing, drinking and good looking, half-naked people who still have a tan.
Tables had been brought out for games, the volleyball net was up and a game of corn hole was already underway.
Instead of cement, rocks and grass beneath your feet as it was at the townhouses during outdoor festivities, sand between your toes really took the cake.
Even as the sky starts to hit the shades of pink, everyone is dancing to “Crank That” with the same enthusiasm as they were three hours prior.
Soon enough a power nap, shower and dinner are needed to keep going strong into the night. Behind us is the Red Sea (of Solo cups) … maybe I should invest in Solo stock?
After changing out of your sandy and salt water-soaked bathing suit and into your heels, you’re ready to hit up a certain notorious bar.
No longer is “Alison McKenny” from Lake Placid, N.Y., needed, nor is the excessive amount of makeup needed to recreate her visage on my own.
The change of scenery for the night is needed, but the faces are still the same.
Come Sunday morning, my porch and living room have become home to cups, leftovers from dinner, a random tap, shoes, candy wrappers and of course the random boys who were good looking at the late-night dance party after the bar.
Still, waking up and putting on a swimsuit, taking Advil and bronzing in the sand, but today we have to do a bit of cleaning and, maybe, homework?
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