So it's no secret the weather here is a rainstorm a minute. It's not uncommon for me to enter the subway sunny and leave in a downpour. ANYWAY.... this weekend the weather finally decided to not be lame, which could only mean one thing: Cony Island (I have no idea if I'm spelling that correctly and am far too lazy to look it up)
Those of you that know me shouldn't be too surprised to find out that I love all things tacky and over the top. So when I was informed that the national hot dog eating contest was a mere subway ride away, I blocked out my day accordingly.
My friend and I got there super early, so as to watch the THOUSANDS of people arrive. We were standing next to these drunk guys (shocker) who were narrating the contest like it was a life or death situation (which it very easily could have turned into)
Let me throw a number at you: 68.
Is that how many minutes I was out in the sun before I began to burn? No*
Is it how many hot dogs one Joey Chestnut ate in 10 minutes? Yes. There is really nothing more american than stuffing your face with food to the point of vomit while an audience cheers and camaras look on. 'MERICA!
It's a good thing I ate beforehand, because I have a new diet idea. Watching people eat that much food made me never want to eat again. Effective, yes?
But a day of tacky fun couldn't be complete without a ride on the deathtrap, err, roller coaster. I think my poor body is still recovering.
I dragged my burnt and whiplashed body home, then headed out to my very first roof party. Happy Birthday, America. Glad your party didn't suck.
*That would be 12
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