I did something unbelievable a couple of weekends ago.

Even shocking to some.

(Mom, if you are reading this, I did not get that tattoo I have been talking about for the past few years or get any additional piercing.)

I didn’t cut my hair off or dye it jet black - my person remains intact.

I didn’t sell my car or quit my job - nothing that life altering.

I didn’t venture into NYC and explore a sex club. And I didn’t fly off to Bora Bora, even though that sounds nice.

No, what I did a couple of weekends ago was perfectly normal to some but down right sacrilegious to others.

I stayed in Hoboken and didn’t go to my shore house.

(I can hear the collective gasps now. Someone get Concha a chair before he collapses completely on the floor.)

Okay, let me give you some background. I am a full share in my beach house. I have been to Sea Girt every weekend since Memorial Day (actually the weekend before). Even working on the weekend hasn’t kept me from getting in my car, heading down the Turnpike and then the Parkway to Exit 98. Edgar’s on Fridays. Leggett’s on Saturdays and most Sundays. The Parker House every night.

I love going down to the shore, sitting on the beach, gossiping with the girls and discussing the latest in the celebrity weekly mags, such as what we think of Brad, Angelina and Jen (and I’d can say with relative confidence that we all think he’s a class A asshole). Then heading back to the house to grill on the back deck, drink some cold Miller Lites and debate whether to wear jeans or a skirt for the evening’s escapades. Life is indeed good down the Jersey Shore.

But for some reason, as Friday approached that week, I just didn’t feel that desire to pay $30 to fill my gas tank before hittin’ the highway and making my way to Monmouth County.

Granted, I had been sick but after a visit to the doctor and getting the ever-popular Z-Pak, I was feeling much better. And feeling slightly under the weather hasn’t really ever kept me from spending the weekend down the shore.

However, I did plan on taking it easy and not doing the complete weekend schedule. My original plan was to stay home that Friday night to get some rest and either a.) drive down Saturday morning for a day at the beach and not go out that night or b.) if the weather wasn’t nice, drive down for just Saturday night and hope that Sunday was better.

After a delightful Friday evening consisting of a little shopping (such cute shoes out for fall!), my favorite pizza (small pie with roasted red peppers from DelFino’s), a little white wine and various episodes of "Law & Order", I crawled into bed, content to have not one stamp on my wrist.

Mother Nature must have had a conversation with my subconscious because when I woke up that Saturday morning, the weather didn’t inspire me to put the key in the ignition. After a quick check with my friend Kathleen on the weather in the greater Manasquan area, my fate was sealed – I was spending the day in Hoboken.

I set out to re-acquaint myself with the town I call home, an activity usually reserved for September. I discovered a new place for breakfast – The Cup Joint (8^th and Jefferson) –bought a necklace off a street vendor, sipped a Cherry Coke from Johnny Rockets and basically enjoyed walking around town, despite the numerous couples determined to depress me by serving as a reminder of my perpetual single status – a mystery that has many perplexed.

Soon the bewitching hour came - time to decide if I would venture to Sea Girt for some night time socializing.

"You can rest in September!"

"You’ll have the next nine months to hang out in Hoboken!"

"Com’ on – you know you’ll have fun…"

Those were the sentiments of the friends I consulted but in the end, a never ending stream of Captain and Coke just wasn’t enough to draw me down. Because the weekends had become somewhat like Groundhog Day – the same thing, over and over and over and over and over and over………………………………. kind of like the soundtrack at Leggett’s on a Saturday night. And while some believe that the Parker House is "where dreams come true," for some, it’s where they fade away. I decided to stay home – my heart wasn’t in it.

In the end, I realized that I needed some downtime, "Me" time or whatever you want to call it. Not having to deal with the normal rigmarole of a weekend down the shore felt like a load off my shoulders. Not living out a bag for the first time in weeks, I revealed in watching bad movies (Starship Troopers – what the hell was that? How do movies like that get made?), figuring out my new IPod, sleeping, thinking, more sleeping, reading - it really was a wonderful weekend. Except for the thinking because at one point I thought "Maybe the guy I am supposed to meet is at the Parker House right now and I’m not there….," when I realize "Yeah, right, like that ever happens." Sometimes I think too much.

Of course, Sunday turned out to be a beautiful day - a perfect beach day in fact - but I didn’t regret my decision. I certainly don’t need anymore freckles. The chance to recharge as we headed into the last 2 weekends of the summer house season left me with a new sense of hope and excitement about what each weekend might hold. My love for all things Jersey shore has been re-ignited.

The weekend ended with the movie "Friday Night Lights." Not the greatest movie I have ever seen, and I definitely had some issues with a few of the football scenes, but in the end, it got me fired up for the up coming football season, which, thankfully, we have a seamless transition into from the summer house season. Ah, football……. Let’s Go Irish! Let’s Go Irish!

(Sorry, got distracted there for a second.)

Anyway, I will indeed be sad this Labor Day weekend as we clean out our belongings from the house but now I know I will appreciate the end of the season more.

Now excuse me, I have to go - the shot wheel at Leggett’s is calling my name.

Amanda Dwyer is a regular contributor to realhoboken.com. For proof of her time in Sea Girt, just check out the photo gallery. You can contact her at ad94irish@msn.com or post your comments in the message forum.