Fourth of July '04: Wildwood

Just for the hell of it, me and Josh, one of my coworkers at the time decide that it would be a good idea to get a hotel room in Wildwood for the Fourth of July. Of course, deciding this on July 3rd kind of limits our options, but whatever. We both had the 4th off from work, so after he got off at 7 in the morning, we drove down, and started hotel hunting.

We found a room that was $100, which, for the Jersey shore, on a last minute lark, during the holiday, wasn't terrible. Especially considering the first few places we checked out wanted close to $200. Also, neither of us planned to be in the room long, other than to take a nap before going out, and obviously for a place to crash after the bars.

The afternoon was rather uneventful, just a quick trip out to the boardwalk for lunch, before passing out for a nap. We wake up at around 6, and head to McDonald's for dinner. I will be regretting that one tomorrow.

Me and Josh go bar-hunting. We find a place that is advertising "beat the clock" night. Intrigued, we go inside. The special is that beer starts at $.25 a bottle at 8. It goes up a quarter every hour. This is right up our alley. The bar, however, is totally dead. Undaunted, we go back to the hotel room, and do a power hour. We make it back to the bar at about 9:30, and proceed to get positively shitfaced. We're just walking around, pounding back a beer every 10 minutes or so. With the added effect of the power hour, I am barely functional, and Josh is even worse. For some reason, the ladies weren't feeling us that night. I have a sneaky suspicion that us barely being able to communicate with other people played a major role in that. Josh left before me. Josh doesn't remember leaving the bar, or going back to the hotel room. I don't remember the walk back from the bar.

I get back to the hotel room, and Josh is passed out. I decide to go for a walk down to the beach. I just like to get out and do stuff like that when I'm at the shore, regardless of time or state of consciousness. Obviously, there are very few people (read: no one) out on the section of beach I am at at 3:30 in the morning. I just kind of zone out for a while, before remembering that I have to get some sleep before we drive back, because I have to work the next day at 2. On my way back to the hotel, some random guy on the boardwalk asks me to go out on the beach to smoke weed with him. I don't smoke weed, so I'm not interested. And if I did smoke weed, I wouldn't trust some person I don't know to supply me with weed. I had enough pot head friends to know the "always know your dealer" credo.

Anyway, fast forward to next morning. I wake up, take a shower, and start to pack. All of a sudden, Ronald's Revenge hits me. Those double cheeseburgers I ate don't mix with Coors Light, apparently. A full 45 minutes after waking up, I am puking in the hotel room toilet. This sucks. We check out, and start driving back. We get maybe five miles inland before I make Josh pull over. It is 10am, and I am puking into the bushes on the side of the highway in broad daylight. I am very unhappy with McDonald's right now.

The moral of this story is: Jeff shouldn't eat McDonald's before a night of drinking. Jeff forgets these sorts of things, though.