07/17/2026
I've been kicking around this idea for a while, and I think it's finally time.
Welcome to Jersey Stories with AQ.
Every week, I'm going to share a story from growing up, working, living, dating, or simply surviving here in the Garden State. Some will be hilarious. Some will be nostalgic. Some will make you shake your head and say, "Yep... that's Jersey."
If you've ever spent a summer at the Shore, argued over pork roll versus Taylor Ham, gotten lost on a jughandle, or met someone who could tell what exit you lived off of within thirty seconds... you'll probably feel right at home.
These won't be polished memoir chapters.
Just real stories, real people (with a few names changed when necessary), and the little moments that somehow only seem to happen in New Jersey.
So grab a cup of coffee—or a slice of boardwalk pizza if you're lucky—and join me every week for Jersey Stories with AQ.
Let's see where the memories take us.
🌊 This week's story: The Summer We All Moved to the Shore.
From about 18 to 25, “going down the Shore” wasn’t a weekend getaway.
It was basically a seasonal relocation with absolutely no adult supervision.
Every summer, my friend group would rent a shore house for a month or two—sometimes the entire summer if we could somehow pull the money together. Most years, it was Seaside because it was close, convenient, and offered plenty of opportunities to make decisions we would later describe as “character building.”
Other years, we rented in Sea Isle because it was right in the middle of all the cool Shore towns—and apparently, at that age, strategic access to multiple bars counted as urban planning.
We’d move down, find summer jobs bartending, waiting tables, or doing whatever paid the rent, and spend the next several weeks crammed into a house with too many people, too few beds, and absolutely no concern for anyone’s security deposit.
We worked all day, went out all night, and routinely announced that we were “only having one drink.”
Nobody believed us.
We weren’t making much money. We were exhausted. Half the house was usually asleep in places not legally recognized as bedrooms.
But we had freedom, friendship, the Jersey Shore, and the kind of summers you don’t realize were magical until your life starts involving mortgages, work meetings, back pain, and a very specific pillow arrangement.
Would I live like that now?
Absolutely not.
Would I do one weekend for research purposes?
That depends entirely on who’s bartending.
🌊 **Jersey Stories**
