Ocean City USA

It's hard to have a bad trip to the beach, it turns out. Even with no sun, and when somebody's car breaks down on the way, the ish still rulez.

The ruling, it turns out, has much to do with being an adult and getting to do whatever you want.


Like, say, eating a snow cone and a caramel apple AT THE SAME TIME.


Or spending $20 on carnival games in exchange for a toy truck and three Dum-Dums.


Like this kid, who was enraptured by the claw.


Really, the entire point of going to the beach is to go to the bars. Or, in the case of Ocean City, the bar. The Bearded Clam, that is. The greatest bar in the world. Why, you ask? Because when you get up from your seats at the nearly-empty bar, they put a reserved sign. Cuz they know you're coming back.


And because they have all sorts of quasi-vintage beer paraphernalia, like this Bud sign which seems to have something grammatically wrong with it. Either way, though, it's still hard to argue with being Uniform and Distinctive at the same time. Just like America!




We stayed at Boss Boss's condo, which was likely built by Khrushchev, and which features a) the least-helpful exit diagram ever,


and b) the best beach-themed lamp ever.



Also, Ana was there!


Bad news.