Guys that have shore-houses after twenty-seven

We feel ya buddy, five years out of college, subtle gut from beer and bad Hoboken pizza, locked into your sales job, waiting for that Friday happy hour.  Highlights of your day include eating lunch, greeting that “smoking” chick who sits four cubicles over and inappropriate e-mails from other workers. That’s it.  Welcome to twenty-seven.

Then December rolls around…its shore house shopping time.  You gather the boys at one of the sixty-three cheesy Hoboken bars (Black Bear, Lana Lounge, 10^th and Willow) to discuss amount of people in shore house, area of South Jersey (“The Squan”, Belmar, Point Pleasant) and length of stay. There’s usually a ring leader, the guy that has the house, area and people picked out.  He most likely rocks sunglasses backwards on his head, too many Facebook pictures and a couple tickets for public intoxication in his “college days”. This guy’s gotta go too. 

Shore house purchased.  You guys agree that you’re older now, more mature, so you get a quaint little joint in Spring Lake with two less guys (the ones you never really liked are out).

There’s hope for your lethargic life, there’s a shore house coming your way Memorial Day, take a breath compadre. It’s all gravy, except you're twenty-seven, you spend all your time in Belmar and Manasquan, and you’re still playing flip-cup.  The house in Spring Lake was to falsely convince yourself you’re an adult now.

“Yeah, we got a house in Spring Lake.  Belmar's too crazy for my blood now.  I’m an old man.”

Suit-man by day, Summer All-Star by night, almost thirty and still writing with a sharpie on your passed out buddy.

Let it go pal.