8 Stories from Maine: Lee

Sunday afternoon on Maine’s Higgins Beach, while I nursed both a hangover and my second Heady Topper of the day, a friend said, “I’m not exactly sure because I’ve never had one, but this might have been the perfect weekend.”

It was, friends. It was.

And in order to commemorate our time in Portland, ME, I asked my friends Jon, Jessica, Roger, Heather, Lindsay, Erica, and Brett to each write a little piece about their experience. 8 people. 8 posts. 1 amazing weekend. Enjoy.

Lee writes:

Our weekend began with late notice that Erica’s cousin would indeed welcome Erica, Jon, and I to stay over the weekend. Saving the cost of the hotel was a nice surprise, but their hospitality was even better. Private bath, coffee and pastries for breakfast, and free? Suck it, La Quinta.

Jon had come up from Washington, D.C. on my urging, and we had both signed up to volunteer for all three sessions of The Festival. Following Friday night’s break-less, beer-less experience, changes were in order. I resumed my post Saturday afternoon; Jon redeemed his ‘complimentary session for volunteering’ offer for same. Neither were easy choices.

Erica was a dear throughout the entire weekend. She brought me a kielbasa and smiles. Nailed it.

Even stuff that sucked, didn’t. Not drinking while volunteering Friday night and Saturday afternoon meant that the weekend wasn’t just a sloppy mess. I have never waited so long for a lukewarm sandwich as I did at Amato’s (See Marc D.’s Foursquare tip), but it gave me some time to decompress with my friends. If Maine bars didn’t close at 1:00AM, there wouldn’t have been any stories of after-hours high jinks for my friends to regale me with the next morning.

In short, get your friends together and head on up to Maine for the weekend. Better yet, just send us money to go to Maine for the weekend. We’re kind of experts.

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