Holly Holly Holly Holly Holly Holly Beach

Contributed by Kris:

Thursday

Friends!  Hugs and Air Kisses.  Stairs of death.  Visors with our nicknames!  Freezable drink bags and coozies!  How do we get all of these groceries in the fridge?  There is NO room.  You cannot see the table.  I need a drink.  We all need a drink.  Rocking chairs!!  And a view of brown waves crashing along the shore.  This is a ghost town.  Catch up.  Refills.  Spillage down cleavage (this motif will repeat often).  Linda, get the hose!  Laughter.  International sign for Waffles.  We are learning new things.  Time to break in the Fry Daddy.  Tater tots wrapped in bacon

and kissed with jalapeno.  Delicious.  Time to walk the beach with Linda.  Dead fish.  Dead fish smell.  Seriously, like baby dolphins except not.  Porta-potties on the beach.  Genius.  Back to the porch.  iPod time.  And singing.  And Chicago popcorn.   I’ll make love to you!  I mean it.  T likes Jim and Ginger too!  Bonding.  Feeding the legendary Puddin’ Pop Hush Puppy Catherine Grace Halbert of the Alexandria Halbert Sea Pee-ers a bite of Chicago.  Probably drunk.  More laughter.  Fritters.  Put them in our face.  Decide to make banana pudding (confirms drunken state).  Passing out commences.  How does this get any better?

Friday

Nobody is sleeping late.  Wait, what?  Gulf breeze is keeping it pleasant.  It’s close to 9.  We need a drink.  Fritter and Peaches start cooking.  The fear of the chicken liver is real.  But it is overcome.  Mimosas may have a helping hand.  How many bottles of champagne?  A bunch.  It’s not even noon,  but we’ve found our drunk.  She Keep Her Body Clean.  She Keep Her Body Clean.  Porch Twerkin’ with the gang.  Not ready for advanced.  But we learn where our Twerk buttons are.  Porch Twerkin’ commences.  Wally Wally Wally World.  Keep your feet turnt out.  Sweet ‘Tater gets mechanical.  Found a good use for the outdoor shower, ahem.  That man on the plow is circling again.  Drunk crafting with Puddin’ and Lucy.  Oh, it’s a competition.  Paint on Grace’s elbows… and fingers… and maybe face.  She is winning.  Plow Man is in a cement truck now.  Hot Dawg and Waffles and Fritter brave the beach with the sweetest beach cart known to humankind.  It can hold up to 4 beach chairs and a cooler.  Or 4 dead children.  Some bananas need a nap.  And a snack in bed.  Check on the

beach crew.  There is burning.  And the birds are crazy.  Dead fish smell.  People can drive on this beach.  Mostly in trucks with Confederate flags.  That’s right, plural.  Back to the safety of the porch and those rocking chairs.  Linda, get the hose!  Realize we actually forgot a few groceries.  How is that possible?  Trip to the store.  Plus we need ice.  That poor ice maker has had it.  Waffles takes a cat nap on the drive through the marsh.  Is laughed at cuz it’s adorable.  Lucy and Matt make crawfish dip.  Drink it up.  Where did those kids next door come from?  We can get louder.  She Keep Her Body Clean.  Ready for advanced twerkin now.  Cards Against Humanity.  Sweet ‘Tater is killing.  Laughter.  T is drunk, and funny as hell.  The Blood of Christ ends it.

  Smell Yo’ Dick.  Funky Fresh Senior Choir sings Hey Ya’ and Ridin’ Dirty.  See, we’re louder than those kids.  Find crumbs from Puddin’s lunch nap snack.  We were warned.

Saturday

Early to rise.  Everyone.  This never happens.  Wait, Lucy is still asleep.  Someone has to represent.  Crock pot tater tot casserole.  Yes please.  And we all need the recipe.  And we need to finish these bottles of champagne.  Wally Wally Wally Wally Wally World.  Feet are still turnt out.  Get low.  Drunk.  Grace is still wearing crafting paint.  Rocking in the chairs and listening to the Gulf.  People are parking trucks and RVs on the beach.  Only in Lousiana.  Booze spillage.  Don’t tell Linda.  Hot Dawg is experiencing swelling.  The sun is cruel to fair skinned folks.  Headed to beach with Guac and Hush Puppy.  Load on the sunscreen.  Roll over every 20 minutes.  Gotta finish this drink before the Jim gets too hot.  Sun is stealing my buzz.  Back to house.  Time to bbq.  Fritter is grilling hot dogs and vegetables.  We need the roughage.  Neighbors won’t let Fritter feed the pug a hot dog.  Poor, mistreated mutt.  Lucy to brussell sprouts:  ‘how does it work?’  That happened.  Laughter.  We are all vegetable experts, so we tell her how it works.  She has no love for the grilled sprout.  Eating is becoming work.  Full time job.  The sun and booze have zapped us.  Energy is

Have A Cow

flagging.  Pictionary and drinking and rocking on the porch.  We are definitely louder than the kids.  We are definitely tired.  We are definitely gonna have a lot of food leftover.  We are still laughing.

Sunday

Last day with our Chicago family.  Boo!  More porch sitting.  We have run out of champagne.  Shit’s getting real ya’ll.  Wonderful Gulf Breeze.  The Fry Daddy has a very regimented fry schedule til the girls fly out.  Grace does not have paint on her anymore.  When did that happen?  Lucy is done crafting.  That pergola will take what she gives it.  Hush Puppy finally gets hush puppies.  TV time and drinking.  Brother starts circling.  Quick trip to soak up some sun.  Drinking has become a job.  I need water.  Maybe I’ll stay sober tonight.  Back to house.  Hot Dawg’s ankles are still swollen.  Some kind of Bates Motel marathon is happening.  T and Waffles are heading out.  (Throw up International Waffle sign now.  Seriously, do it!)  So much laughter and so many stories.  UP is thrown out as possible location for next year’s trip.  Kinda like we have an exchange student program happening.  She Keep Her Body Clean.  Brother and Jackie land at the same time as our girls depart.  Guess I could have one more drink.  The bottle is almost empty.  Cut to Lucy stories on the porch.  Scooby!!  Puddin’ dating stories.  Asbergers!  Brother stories.  Tchefuncte!  Laughter.  I gotta cook shrimp creole.  Holy Hell… I’m

drunk.  This was not supposed to happen tonight.  What this creole needs is more heat… ummmm…. Nope.  You can see the table.  Dinner happens.  It is good.  Our faces are melting off.  Grace decides she wants to live, so she takes a nap.  Smart girl.  Sarah gets  nicknamed T.T. by Brother.  We are once again in peak form and rocking on the porch.  Oh no.  Peach Moonshine.  Bonds of friendship dictate that you drink from the jar.  Oh no.  That jar is empty and I’m taking pictures with Jesus.  Stairs of death… especially when you’re hammered.  Seep Seep Nigh Nigh.  My feet are turnt out.

Monday

Shut ‘er down.   Holly Beach, you have been everything I needed.