We didn't start the Fire (Island).

What happens in Fire Island, stays in Fire Island! And that is mostly due to the fact that I only remember about eleven percent of this past weekend spent there. As per usual, I was with my best travel companions, (BGbabe and Meelzy). Two-thirds of the people staying in our hotel room (with twin beds) made Fire Island weekend boyfriends. So what if the Fire Island bf's didn't remember us the next night? We didn't care! We were in it, to win it.

The weekend simply put; was a barrel of laughs, a barrel of good sirs, (I'll take your finest wine), a barrel of cheese doodles, a barrel of vodker, and a barrel of vomit. (My vomit). I loved every minute of my Fire Island experience (minus the nineteen consecutive minutes of vomiting). My besties and I stayed at the W Hotel. (Aka--Clegg's Motel). A perfect little hellhole, with bikes to ride and a continental breakfast fit for queens. (Stale bagels and day old doughnuts). Each morning, we took our daily morning photos, while we tried to piece together the events of the night before. We loved our weekend home, and never wanted to leave, (until this morning when we were so hungover, and exhausted that we all wanted to die, (but only a little bit).

The nightlife of Fire Island is fantastical. House party pregame culture was perfect, and the bars were fun and laid back. And, perhaps most importantly of all, each bar played California Girls a multitude of times. In short, we had an amazing time sitting in our rainbow colored chairs; people watching, kitty-cats in pouches watching, and laughing about lots of things, none of which I remember. Until next summer, I'll miss you, Fire Island.