[If you have a slow internet connection, I apologize. This entry is totally going to screw you over.]
This is how my weekends usually look.
Friday night: have a social life
Saturday: Work 8 hours at Dick’s folding clothing for ungrateful people, hang out with Rocky
Sunday: Work 8 hours at Dick’s again,
UCTF, hang out with Rocky again
Consequently, between VAI and Dick’s and tutoring I had worked 8+ hours every day for 5 weeks straight, and decided that I was probably justified in taking a day off for once. So last week I told Dick’s that my extended family (which would have been, like, 9 people anyways) was coming into town and I had to entertain them on Sunday.
This was a lie. No, I do not feel guilty.
So with the prospect of a full day off, I was pretty pumped going into work at 8 am Saturday, even though I woke up 15 minutes before I had to be there because I had been up way too late playing cards the night before (with Rocky, shockingly) and then I skipped breakfast and didn’t pack a lunch and didn’t even have a chance to shower. That’s how excited I was about this day off. That, and I was going to the Coast Guard Festival in Grand Haven that night for the first time ever with Rocky and his sisters and a friend right after work, and I hadn’t been in direct sunlight for more than 5 minutes in over a month, and I was just really excited about the next 36 hours.
So around 11:30 or so (man,
good things just seem to happen to me at work around then), my boss comes back to my cave in apparel and notifies me that there have been payroll cuts for the weekend and “I don’t think anyone told you, but you can go home at noon.”
Most people would be exceptionally unhappy about having their hours cut in half. It just about made my day.
At exactly 12:00 pm, I leave behind my mounds of clothing processing
and head off into the great outdoors and the 30 second walk to my car which has constituted the majority of my sun exposure during the entire month of July. Eight minutes later, I’m home and have no idea what to do with myself. I mean, what are you supposed to do with free time
during the day?
Clearly, catch up on laundry and watch the Food Network for an hour and a half while eating cereal, which was not a bad way to spend a Saturday afternoon. Headed over to Rocky’s to play cards yet again with his family, and by 3:30 we were on the road to Coast Guard.
Fun Fact: The Coast Guard was actually founded in Grand Haven, a mere 45 minutes away from where I grew up, hence it hosting the national Festival and headquarters. Rocky, his older sister Sam, and I were informed of this by a very unhappy native ahead of us in line while waiting for Pronto Pups.
But I digress.
The point is that for a week every year, Grand Haven becomes a veritable carnival- art fair, carnival rides, carnival games, enough greasy food to kill small children, and some of the best people watching this side of the Cuyahoga. Despite having lived a cumulative 9ish years in the area, I’ve never been to the Coast Guard Festival and Rocky apparently felt that this was some crime against humanity, hence my going.
Admittedly, I really sucked on the picture taking front- Rocky knows I blog, but I’ve never really hung out with Sam and figured my constantly stopping to take pictures of what is normal stuff for us wouldn’t go over fantastically well.
If you don’t feel like spending money, there’s really not a whole lot you can do at Coast Guard- we had to get Pronto Pups (more on those later), and we had to stay for fireworks, but that still left like 6 hours for us to burn. So we walked out to the pier, past the Coast Guard cutter that was open for tours,
and out to the end where the waves were crashing over the break wall
and heading down the channel.
Unfortunately, any record of the rest of the night is lost here because my camera died, but in summary: food, playing cards on the grass by the car, fireworks, 2 hours of traffic, singing outrageously loud to the radio with the windows down, and general frivolity. I got home completely exhausted but still grinning because I had so much fun.
And remember, this wasn’t even my day off. For that, Rocky and I had tried to get a group together for the beach, which was an epic fail. Basically, we have a few friends that we hang with who in turn hang out with a lot people which was how we were going to get a group together. FAIL. Our friend Ashley had a family function, which in and of itself pretty much knocked like 10 people off our list. We’d invited our friend Kevin at CTF the week before, and Rocky had invited our friend Nicole earlier in the week.
And that’s who we ended up going to the beach with.
Now, people outside of Michigan don’t seem to believe that we have beaches. We do. Lake Michigan is pretty much just as effective, if not more so, than the oceans in creating good beaches. We don’t have salt, we have tons of beautiful dunes (ever heard of
Sleeping Bear Dunes?), and you’re never more than 2 hours away from one. It’s a good gig.
The problem, though, is that they’re only usable for like 2 months out of the year and everyone tries to go at least a few times. Lots of cars + not a lot of parking spaces = creative parking solutions. There’s this one spot I found by a grave yard a quarter of a mile from the beach that, oddly enough, no one really seems to park at, and we always park there.
Yay beach!
"Henrietta is such a cop-out name. It's like, 'well, we really wanted to have a son and name him Henry, but since you were born we'll just call you Henrietta.'" "Dude, Henry is a weird name."
Almost there.
Michigan is gorgeous . Enough said.
(In case you were curious.)
So we hiked over to the beach,
set up camp, went for a swim, and ran out of things to do after a half hour. And because it’s just that type of destination, we decided to walk to the pier again- when bored at the beach, that’s just what you do. So we walked out to the end again, hung around for about a minute, and turned back.
Kevin: You know, I’ve always wanted to go pier jumping.
Rocky: I’ve never done it.
Nicole: Aren’t there rocks?
Me: Uh, if you break your legs, it’s not my fault.
After finding a spot sans rocks and with a 6 foot sandy bottom, though, Kevin, our resident Marine (he’s in ROTC), decides to give it a try.
Well, if Kevin goes, then clearly Rocky has to go,
and Nicole’s iPhone is taking really good pictures so I clearly have to give this a try, too.
But tied for my favorite pictures of the entire day:
and
I have weird friends.
I’m actually not sure
pier jumping is entirely legal, especially in Coast Guard City USA, but whatever. Green flag conditions, sandy bottom? I think we were okay.
As fun as flying off cement structures is though, we had to make our way back to our spot eventually,
which understandably worked up a bit of an appetite. And this is where I must introduce the wonder that is Pronto Pups.
(This is Cholesterol COUNTRY. Health addicts please continue on and have a nice day.)
First of all, we don’t pronounce it like “pron-TOE.” Here in West Michigan, we have a tendency to just drop t’s in the middle of words. For instance, one intersection by my house is that of the roads Burton and Breton: if you heard me say it, you wouldn’t think there was a t in either word. Mitten, kitten… the list goes on. We either just insert a handy
glottal stop or ignore it all together. In the case of Grand Haven’s beloved high calorie delicacy, we pronounce it prahno pups. Don’t ask me why. I just live here.
They’re pretty much the best way to get a heart attack ever, though, and you can’t really get just one.
And in case that picture can’t quite get your taste buds dying for a bite of the greasy goodness, just think, even John McCain stopped for one a little while back.
And if anything, that probably killed that appetite even more. Remember, I live in Republican country. This was, quite literally, front page news in the Grand Rapids Press.
Our trip back out was far less eventful than the night before’s- with Coast Guard ending Saturday, the city had pretty much cleared out. We managed to get home in time for Nicole, Rocky, and I to go to mass (no way was I waking up early for it after the ungodly hour I went to bed the night before), and then Rocky and I had to haul to UCTF.
In case you didn’t catch McCain’s eating corndogs making front page news as indicative of Grand Rapids not having a whole lot of newsworthy happenings, let me make this quite clear- nothing happens in Grand Rapids. Namely, running around downtown on a Sunday will not get you shot, involved in gang violence, mugged, or pregnant. I’m serious. This town is home of the Christian Reformed Church- how crazy do you think it gets around here? Half the town is still in church when we’re running around.
The basic premise is simple- you run around downtown Grand Rapids playing capture the flag. We divide into Red and Yellow teams, of which yellow is clearly superior
and then hide the flag somewhere on our territory of several city blocks.
Our team tends to like parking garages- they’re abandoned on Sunday nights, easily defendable, and all over the place. We switch it up, though. Parking lots are good, alleys with two access points, the like. We play until it gets too dark (read: 10:30) and then we head our separate ways, most of which involve eating in some capacity.
After Pronto Pups two days in a row, food at the beach, and reheated chicken from Rocky’s mom on our way to CTF, though, I admittedly wasn’t that hungry afterwards. And considering I have one more week of work and stress left, I figured I’d had my fair share of cholesterol for the month.
And on that note, in a month from now classes will have started. Scared shitless? Heck yes. Totally pumped? You bet. Will I miss weekends like this? You have no idea.
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