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Having arrived at the beach after a drive down I37, we’ve taken up a station just over the dune from the beach in a condo furnished with all of the amenities (spell check isn’t working on the limited wifi sources so just deal with the grammar assault here) required for a witty yet lethargic blogger to plop his rump on a couch and thumb a dispatch to the web.
You should be glad. Last night I saw an advertisement on SyFy for a movie featuring Jersey doosh bag look alikes fighting sharks. In my opinion, this is just a signal that the end of the world is a little closer than the Mayans previously suggested.
None the less, estamos aqui.
The condo is decorated in a motif consistent with “Hmmm, what’s that smell?” Wifey and I managed to squat the bedroom with the full/queen sized bed. Wifey’s twin and her husband will be gettin’ busy in the other bedroom pushing the two twin beds together before they can get to gettin’ busy.
There’s a horse shoe pit down in the yard. Close counts in horse shoes, so if I just happen to thump someone on the cabeza, I’ll still rack up a point or two.
More to come.
