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Thursday, August 23, 2012

How to Behave at the Beach

How to Behave at the Beach

Subtitle: Have some decorum here people!! Half nekked or not, we are in public.  This is civil society, isn’t it?

Blogger's Note: To answer your question, I am not over this weekend. Not by a LONG shot.  But, I need to pretend I am so carry on...

Step 1: Select the proper attire.  Now, I thought I had already covered this in my “How to Vacation in Style” entry (click here if you need a reminder) but apparently my advice was not heeded. With that in mind, let’s recap, shall we? I wear a bikini.  I wear a bikini because I work out 1-2 hours a day. Yes HOURS. And I still don’t look like Beyonce, but what I am not is hanging all out of my bathing suit like marshmallows out of a Moon Pie (dammit, I bet you actually HEARD my twang while reading that, didn’t you?). Most of my fellow bikini wearers are. Leaking that is. It’s not pretty. We don’t want to see that, ok?

Step 2: Wear sunscreen. Besides the fact that forgoing the sunscreen can give you the cancer (note the usage of the definite article, this be serious business), burns hurt like a bitch and your wife does not want to listen to your ass whine for the rest of the trip.  And not to mention, aloe vera is a gross green sticky mess that I don’t want in my bed and I am fairly certain that I am not gonna like the smell either. So, do us all a favor. Leave the lobster for dinner. 

Step 3: Bring TWO towels per person, because without fail, some snot nosed kid is going to blast by your little set up and kick sand all over your towel, cooler, and cover-up, while their parent sits and does nothing because his acting like an asshat out in public is perfectly acceptable here since it is out of doors. It’s not. But I digress.  If you have an extra towel stored away for safe keeping, when said evert occurs, and trust me, it will, you are prepared to dry your body without given yourself the beach equivalent of a sugar scrub all over your sensitive parts.  

Step 4: Children. I would like to preface this step by saying I am a proud mommy of two, however, I am not a loon.  First, my kids are not the little asshats in step 3 because with one cut of my eye or one cleverly worded Spanish phrase MY little asshats are trembling at my feet (I have the POWER... sorry, He-Man moment). Secondly, I am also not hovering, no literally, like standing behind, bending over peering down and walking bent around the edge of the water doing this strange duck waddle thing and as you shoot a glare over at me because I am not doing the same. Suck it.  You go ahead and hover over you little baby and we’ll see whose kid is living in the basement when they are 35. Won’t be mine...

Step 5: Leave yo bling at home.  Yes, on TV we get to watch all of the beach hottie shows and reality programming where they’re just a tweetin and textin to beat the band, covered in their huge gold chains and diamond rings.  Go ahead, try to impersonate the Jersey Shore, because that wave is gonna knock you down once and adios valuables.  Don’t believe me? There are actually people who make a living over metal detecting on beaches to find that stupid shit you lose.  See?? And this was JUST one website of hundreds: But fine, if you like to replace $5000 rings after every trip, knock yourself out.  Oh, and I want a 1965-72 Volkswagen Beetle for my birthday. Thanks. Hell, you can afford it. 

Step 6: Know your physical limits.  Most likely, you are not a surfer since only a very small percentage of the population really is. So, do not go to the beach and buy yourself the newest board, a can of sex wax (yep, it’s called that, and I am just immature enough to laugh at it) and a wet suit and head out into the waves. You will fall flat on your face.  The life guard, who is NOT Pam Anderson, will have to come and save you.  They will call 911 and you will play $2375903 for the trip to the hospital. And once, again, I will laugh at you.  I really can be kinda a jerk, can’t I?

Step 7: Be realistic. Ok, so we’ve talked about the clothes, surf boards, Snooki and her pals, but you are you and this is a beach. Nothing drives me crazier than going to the beach with a person who acts one way and then turns into Baywatch the minute their toes touch the sand.  Dude, you live in the city, practically a parking lot. You know nothing about the beach and stop naming tides and shit like you do. Go back and sit on your towel. But we can dream right? Pretend we are someone else? (Silently, to ourselves..) There I am. On the beach. In my purple bikini.  And here comes Mr. Canadian Hot Pants...dear Athena I can STILL feel his arms around me.. (dream censored at this point....turn away, give me a sec, be right with you...) 

Step 8: Don’t try non beach activities. On of the things I find the strangest about going to the beach is the sheer number of people who act like their lounge chair on the sand is their personal living room and in some cases, bathroom.  Do not paint your toe nails. There is sand here, and it will get into your paint, and I am sitting and listening to you curse and swear like you expected it not to do that.  Or shave your legs. I don’t want to see that anymore than I wanted to see your marshmallow waves cascading from your waterproof Spandex.  I’m still not over that yet as you can tell. 

Step 9: Find seafood. I mean you’re at the beach right, you gotta have seafood. However, I must caution you to throughly research your place of choice BEFORE you go.  First, there are seafood places on the beach that are getting their food shipped in from other beaches.  That means that fish has been going, all, well fishy to get to you because someone if too lazy to go stick a pole in the water. But you also want to make sure to go to a place where when they plop a lobster on your plate you don’t want it looking at you. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love meat, way too much to give up but I like to pretend it didn’t use to be alive.  To me, it’s just easier to pretend everything is just tofu. Leave me alone. Stop telling me otherwise. Fingers in ears *lalalalala*

Step 10: And, without fail, don’t forget your wine. Or beer. Or pre-made Margarita in a plastic bottles. What? No booze allowed on the beach? Uh...hello...soda bottles. Throw some rum in the coke and bring it with you. Because no one is going to read this list. No one ever takes my advice the first time.  You’re gonna need to deal with the pain.  

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