Tiana Reads...Fire Island
Not everyone is dying to get to Fire Island this summer...
By Tiana Reeves
When do I keep my mouth shut? Never! So, here we go—and I probably know that a lot of people might be afraid that I’m reading a little bit too much. Newsflash: I don’t really care.
I was asked years ago to go to Fire Island, not really knowing what the place was all about. My roommate and I got into my car for the journey to Sayville. We then had to get in line for the ferry, take that ferry across to the island and make our way to the Cherry Grove. I must say, at first I kind of enjoyed the fact that Fire Island had boardwalks and houses made out of that weathered wood (very Cape Cod) and gorgeous beaches. But that’s pretty much where it ended.
Once on the beach, I felt like Cherry Grove was filled with much older, show tune-lovin’ gay men and way too many lesbians. I stumbled upon two men who decided to just tan buck ass naked on the beach. I guess they thought that was just fine with everybody else. Newsflash honey! Not everybody thinks that your body is that great and your penis that cute. Next time, please do us a favor and keep the trunks on!
After our day of laying out—the highlights of which included me almost throwing up after looking at certain people that should never be in bathing suits—we decided to head back to the city. This was my experience on Fire Island, and I didn’t revisit for the next nine years.
Flash forward to 2007, when I was invited once more to the island, and after much bitching and venting I was finally kidnapped by my friends. We were on our way, but of course, this time my friends had the genius idea to take the Long Island Rail Road. Oh my god. What a shit show that was! We waited in Penn Station forever, only to get on a sweaty non-air conditioned train only to realize we had to transfer at the Jamaica station. We got on another train (which, thank god, was air conditioned) and for an hour and half we traveled only to have to get on a bus at Sayville that brings you too a ferry and then once again we are on the boat, but this time heading to the Pines! Excuse me? What?
After the windy, nauseating ride, we finally got to the Pines. I was pleasantly surprised as we pulled up as I saw a cute little complex with everything a small town could ever want. There was a hotel, a restaurant, pantry, alcohol. In the Pines, I decided to stay with friends at a fabulous house, but as I found out too quickly, I just do not mingle well with new people. I am crammed into a house with people who cannot afford to rent their own house. Awful!
Thank goodness I was sharing a room with such a close friend (my little Siamese cat), and like naughty kittens will do, we decided to make everyone else’s life a living hell until about half of the people couldn’t stand us and fled the house.
Then came our first night and first house party. In the Pines. Excuse me, how the hell do people get around this island in the evening? All the boardwalks have absolutely no street lighting. This town should have a book that reads “How to Kill Yourself in Three Easy Steps.” Why wouldn’t the city just invest in solar powered streetlights or something less invasive, but still safe? I’ll tell you why: It’s because some douche bag preservationist decided that a well-lit boardwalk might ruin the beauty of the island.”
Then, there are guys at the end of the island, completely naked, no condoms, full-on orgy going on. Is that preserving the beauty of the island as well?
We then stumble upon the house of an older man enjoying the company of 50–60 twink boys. As we started to read how pathetic this man seemed, an argument began, and my Siamese cat and I darted from the drama.
If you decide to venture to that little sandbar called Fire Island, I recommend going about it two ways: Rent your own home with your friends—close friends—or go by yourself. If you go with 10 douche bags and you want to get laid, and some asshole is sitting next to you breathing down your neck, it won’t be cute. Don’t fuck in public! You’ll get ticks on your balls, or attacked by a dear. Hello!
Fire Island is very nice for people who need a vacation from New York City, but still want to feel very Chelsea with a body of water. If you are a fabulous city dweller, nightlife club crawler, upscale lounge seeker, or just plain decent, I say don’t even think about going to Fire Island. You will leave the island just like I did: Hoping a tsunami would just wash away the whole place. And really, who needs a vacation from their vacation?
Good glamour!
