Every Memorial weekend I always end up getting a little twitchin going in my drinking arm from summers long gone. 22 years ago and for 3 consecutive summers after that, this was the weekend that you moved into your summer house down on CAPE COD and drink your face off for 3 months straight, then move out on Labor Day weekend and try to figure out what the hell you were going to do with your life (thank GOD for Steamboat.) You'd wake up with your liver sore, go to work, hit the gym, eat pasta or a grinda for suppa and then share a case of Golden Anniversary brews ($7.95 a case at the packy) before you went out to the bars. Course money was tight so when the dance songs played, we'd scoure the tables for lipstick cups, cause beers stolen from beatches aren't as nasty as beers stolen from dudes.
Things are a little different now than the days on the Cape, but this weekend I will pour some suds out in respect of all them lipstick beers.
Chip, the Rug Stud and I with the Bud girls at the Improper Bostonian, 1989. Notice Chips black eye from getting our asses kicked. Happy Memorial Weekend.
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