I'm not sure what it even means but I've been saying it since college. For those close to me, you know I say some weird shit. And for some reason I can never split ways with these Aaronisms.
A few more: Jesus Crackers, the rain locker, Weakels Baneeckles, Jeez Luise.
Wow. Strange thoughts on this balmy Thursday night in paradise.
For a few close friends, this night is their first of many more back on the mainland.
So I was sitting at Caribbean Saloon in the early afternoon last week. No, it wasn't happy hour or anything like that. I watching World Cup soccer, so get off my case.
Anywhoo, I'm sitting at the bar and I got three island homies with me. Brianna, my girlfriend, said if I could rank them, they may fall atop my island bro-mance list.
Now I found out Carlos, my Mexican partner in crime, was leaving island for good about a day or two before. He's spending the summer in Chicago before something else pops.
But then Bill leans over and I notice he's trying to book an airline flight via his laptop.
"What gives?" I ask.
"Oh yeah ... Dude, I'm leaving St. Thomas. Like next week," he says very nonchalantly.
Turns out, Bill, an avid sailor and death-defying surface diver, was offered a sailing job in Nantucket where he will be able to work on his captain's license. Zach, the third homie there, said he was leaving too but not for two more weeks. Zach is headed back to school in South Carolina to finish up his medical degree or something like that.
And just like that, I was all alone.
"Damn, I'm happy for you guys but that sucks!" I yell.
Moments later (and this is totally unrelated) I lost a $20 rock-paper-scissors game in double overtime. My afternoon took a severe turn for the worse in a matter of minutes.
The first picture is of Bill and Zach getting rowdy and the next one is Carlos filling up a beer bong for some island vixen on a boat. Yes fellas, I straight jacked these photos from your facebook.
We celebrated their final night on St. Thomas last night and after shaking off a sharp headache this morning, it made me think about how delicate my time here is.
In life, people come and people go. I understand that. But I guess when you live on an island that is only 13 square miles, the feeling of a friend having beers with you one second and then being gone forever the next second stings a little more.
Now I need to find be some new island homies ... paging Nick Wassum. Mr. Wassum, where you be?
It also reminds me of random conversations I've had with people I just met here. When it's obvious the person didn't grow up on St. Thomas (not hard to spot them out) a question that is blurted out early on in any get-to-know-you conversation is "How long have you been here?"
The answer to that question can range from "Dude, I'm on one of those cruise boats" to "Maybe a month" to "What are you, some kind of private investigator?"
I've been here for exactly 136 days. Doesn't seem that long at all, huh?
Another word thrown around the campfire is that couples move here and break up fast -- that the island is hard for lovers. Well, I'm very glad my beautiful baby hasn't dropped me for some pirate or West Indian (they get all the hookups here on jewelry).
I'm better looking than those guys, anyway. And I'm the author of this killer blog. Now all I need to do is tighten up my rock-paper-scissor skills and I'll be irresistible.
Alright then Bill, Zach and Carlos. You guys take it easy and remember everything I taught you. Good luck, fellas.
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