Is there, I ask you, a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than romping in the ocean until you're so giddy and seaswept (and practically drowned but still happy about that fact) that it is all you can do to stumble up the beach and situate yourself on your beach mat without getting sand all over everything? Then snuggling your head into your towel and letting the hot sun warm up your chicken skin before drifting off into an exhaustion induced nap?
Aaahhh! I love it! The Beach! I feel shame that I don't make it a higher priority in my life. I mean, really, what the hell am I doing with my time?
Answer: Nothing as important as regular beach attendance.
It's a shame that this past Saturday was the first time I've been to the beach all season. Especially considering that I'm all tricked out with the essential beach-going gear, as seen below. Check out my sweet Jesus tote. It works great as a beach bag! Plus I enjoyed its holy protection all day. No jellyfish or skanky metal-detector dudes on it's watch!
You can also see my most beloved beach item, my grass beach mat. What did people do before grass beach mats? I can't believe that a towel was ever sufficient. Towels are for wadding up and using as a pillow. Grass mats are for burrowing your nose into so you can smell their sweet grassy smell mixed in with salt and sun. If that doesn't lull you to sleep, its probably because there are some annoying people near you who are talking about their aunt Peggy's affair with her boss. And you'd be right to stay awake to hear those details, despite the lull of the sweet beach grass mat smell.
In addition to my mat and beach bag, you see some other trinkets that are useful: my No-Ad sunscreen, which I always bring but hardly ever use (sorry future skin!)
And my orange hoodie cleverly draped over my iPod and a couple of magazines, items that might tempt thieves who would dare to do their thievery right out from under Jesus' nose! If you can believe that.
The only other required item is my swimming suit (not pictured above because it was on me a the time, and really, I want you to continue to visit this site. No need to sear your eyes out.)
I like this suit (I sometimes call it The Green Monster, whether for the jealousy it induces or the resemblance to Fenway Park I'll leave up to you to decide), and it's relatively flattering except for the part where it lets my fat show. But in the fatscape of the beach, I'm never the biggest offender. In fact, I'm a little pissed off that I spend all winter freaking out about getting into a swimsuit because it appears that the no one else on the beach has had this concern. I could have saved myself a lot of trouble.
I'll be posting some pictures over the next few days of my visit and the goings on at Ocean City, Maryland. The REAL OC, as we like to call it, is a goldmine of tackiness. A true treasure trove of the absurd. Walking its boardwalk will open your eyes to things you never considered possible. As well as answer the age old question "WHO in the WORLD would buy this ugly-ass shirt?" People the go to Ocean City, my friend. That's who.