A night at the shore...

The New Jersey shore scene is a paradox of sorts, as it seems to operate on two contrasting principles:

1. What happens at the shore stays at the shore. People will always act as if what they do on vacation has no chance of biting them in the butt when they return home. It's a fundamental human instinct - if you don't believe me, then tell me who you made out with on Spring Break. And then their last name. Yeah, I won't get a chorus of answers on that second one.

2. What happens at the shore might has well have happened in the middle of Broad Street. Everyone - and I repeat, everyone who lives in the Philadelphia area - ends up there at some point in the summer. Since Philadelphia's citizens are way less than 6 degrees of separation apart, anything you do follows you back home from Sea Isle City, Ocean City, Avalon, LBI or Stone Harbor like sand in that beach bag. And when any story involves anything embarrassing, you might as well tattoo it on your forehead, because it will haunt you forEVER.

This, my friend, is why I have employed the "on my best behavior" strategy at the shore. I don't EVER go there to pick anyone up, and for the most part, I just go to hang out with my friends and hit the beach. Yeah, I hit the bars at nights from time to time, but I pay for every single drink I get and pretty much ignore the guys there unless I know someone from "real life."

There are, however, creatures that roam the bars that are just...prowlers. One can usually spot them a mile away, as they usually do "the loop" around the bar, find a group of girls that has just as many (if not more) members than their group. Over and over til the end of the night, and they might even end up at Wawa, trying to pick up the REALLY drunk girls.

Identifying details of these guys:

1. White Tennis Shoes that somehow stay on their feet, despite looking completely unlaced.
2. Cargo shorts that extend way past the knee.
3. A polo shirt, usually in a garish horizontal stripe, that is approximately two sizes too big.
4. Hair with way too much gel.
5. Possible Gold Chains.
6. The belief that any woman in that bar should be clamoring to take him home.

They're everywhere.

Enter Thursday night. My roommate and I went over to Sea Isle, because Ocean City, where we were staying, is a dry island, with no nightlife except for the ice cream stand. We were thinking that we were going to see Mr Greengenes at Ocean Drive, but unfortunately, I think I had read the poster wrong earlier in the week - Greengenes was on Friday, and another cover band, Burnt Sienna, was playing on Thursday. Ordinarily, we would have been a little cranky, but we were actually a little relieved - while Greengenes is a little more popular, we actually know the lead guy in Burnt Sienna, as their homebase is in Newark, DE, where Melissa and Kate went to college at the University of Delaware. Burnt Sienna plays every Sunday at the Rudder, so it was like seeing an old friend again. Plus, Greengenes tends to bring a CROWD. We actually had room to move with Burnt Sienna.

Anyway. Melissa and I are standing between the dance floor and the bar, enjoying the music. I was very slightly tipsy (working on the second beer) and two guys like I've just described come up right behind us and try to dance with us.

Hold the phone. I should explain. I don't really DANCE all that much. I'm a white girl with little rhythm, and my size means that I can very easily get hurt in any sizable drunk crowd. Additionally, my roommate, who was blessed with a bottom that you could balance a shelf on, tends to attract...shall I say...the wrong men who want to dance with her. Finally, I generally DON'T like people that I don't know touching me. I don't apologize for it - I don't see why "being nice" has to involve letting some strange man grope me. So we tend to just enjoy the music and stand back. I held out as long as I could, danced a little with them, and mentioned to Melissa that there was no way they were even 21, let alone in our age ranges. I finally get too creeped out, and start to make my way back toward the bar. The guy who had grabbed me gives me a strange look.

NJ Douchebag 1: "Where are you going?"

Me: "Just back over here"

DB1: "Why?"

Me: "I'm really not that much of a dancer, I'm sorry"

DB1:"whatever. You're a bitch."

Let me interject - I never - repeat NEVER - put up with that word coming out of a guy's mouth. I consider it demeaning, ugly and borderline abusive to women. I've had one guy - EVER - tell me I was "being a bitch about" something, and he was cut loose immediately. It's not acceptable, be it referring to me or any other woman for that matter.

Melissa (whispering in my ear, but not having heard that last comment):"you okay?"

Me: "yeah, I just don't want to dance with this guy, he's kind of creepy and way too close"

Melissa: "oh, ok."

Me: "it's okay, I'm just going to go to the bathroom"

Melissa: "You want me to go with you?"

Me: "no, it's okay, stay here, maybe the one who was trying to dance with me will move on"

Douchebag 2 (butting into our conversation): "where'd you guys go?"

Me: "I'm just going to the ladies room"

DB2: "Hey, I really hope that Brad Pitt comes walking through the door of the OD, but it's probably not gonna happen, maybe you should hang out with my friend"

Me: "DUDE. I'm going to PEE. I'm not insulting your friend."

I walk off. Use the facilities. I come back and Melissa's still talking to DB2. She turns to me and says "hey, they live in Philly!". Melissa hasn't rented a shore house before, so she kind of doesn't know...everyone at the shore lives in Philly. I might have been a little rude to her, but I tell her what DB1 and DB2 said to me earlier and that they've been on the prowl all night. They're not looking for good girls, if you know what I mean. DB2 comes up to me and interrupts yet again another conversation.

DB2: "hey, I was just playing around with you earlier."

Me: "No, you weren't, you were being an asshole, it's okay."

DB2: "Seriously, go talk to my friend - do you guys ever go to 'Philly Sips'?"

Melissa: "what is THAT?"

DB2: "it's the happy hour thing in the city"

Melissa: "no, I WORK for a living. I don't get to go to happy hours."

DB2: "you don't go? EVERYONE goes." (very sneery looking face at us at this point)

Me: "no, not everyone goes, and she just said she doesn't go. And by the way, it's NOT called Philly Sips. It's Center City Sips or Summer in the City." (yes, I know I'm being mean at this point, but WHY, oh WHY are we still forced to talk to them?)

DB2: "so you guys don't want to hang out?"

Me: "well, put it this way - she's sober. And driving home to stay at her family's place in Ocean City. We're not going home with you. And your boy over there has NO chance. Give him some dating advice - if he calls another woman a bitch around me, I will kick him in the teeth."

DB2: "okay we'll see you later."

DB1: "God you're such a bitch."

Me: "Yeah I'm giving you ONE warning to get away from me after using that word TWICE. Tell me, what would you think if someone was coming up to your sister and grabbing her, cornering her into a crowded dance floor, then trying the SAME OLD TIRED TRICKS to get her and her friend to come home with y'all? Then calling her demeaning and insulting names?"

DB1: silence.

We see them half an hour later striking out with another set of two girls. They see us laugh when we watch their "game" and DB1 spends the rest of the night giving me the finger while he walks by us.

I give it three weeks before one or both of us run into them in the city. And people wonder why I have had such a slow dating life here. Pardon me, but I'd rather join a nunnery.