Beachy Keen
Laziness and lack of degrading scenarios have prevented me from writing more entries. But have no fear, a new entry is here.
During the summer, people my age generally hang out with their friends at every opportunity - soaking in the sun's rays or drinking until the cool morning nips at their cheeks. However, there are those rare occassions when unrelenting guilt beckons reluctant youth into the dreaded "family activity."
In my world, my family decided on a "family-only" trip to the beach. Role call: Steve (58), Lora (50), Nick (19), Stephanie (17).
When going to the beach with friends, the trips tend to be spontaneous with few items along for the ride. This is not so true on family trips. Preparing for a family trip to the beach means preparing to stake out a not-so-hilly spot and then commence construction of our seaside accessories. I can sum this up by repeating what my Mom kept yelling at me, "Nick! Hurry up and set up the umbrella anchors!" Yes, it's true. We actually own an anchor-shaped piece of plastic fresh out of a Wal-Mart bargain bin specifically designed to hold down umbrellas. And yes, we actually own multiple anchors. These days, digging an umbrella hole in the sand is not enough. Plus, umbrella anchors really give people the impression that they're on the high seas. Anchors AWAY!
The beach we went to was more family-oriented (Crystal Cove for my MANY MANY geography buffs) compared to the many "eye-candy beaches" scattered along the coastlines of Orange County. Therefore, I am forced to interact with young kids - something I am not at all good at. To get away from my parents nagging me to apply sunscreen a fourth time, I meandered over to the nearby tidepools. I am like a little kid at heart, and I will touch every sea anemone in sight. At one tidepool, a little girl in a green bonnet was sitting down all cute-like when to my pseudo-environmentalist horror, I noticed her pulling off the mussels and scattering them across the sand. I immediately yelled "Hey you, stop that." However, this precocious toddler or whatever (my knowledge of little kiddie ages is crappy), flung a handful of mussels directly at my chest. AWWWW hell no. No daughter of Newport Coast yuppie scum flings sea fodder at me and lives to tell about it! Except of course when their dads are hot. Her dad, a yuppie, raven-haired adonis, scooped her up and took her by the hand into the sunset (minus the sunset, it was only like noon). And then everything was just beachy keen until I was continuously badgered into cleaning the umbrella anchors.
During the summer, people my age generally hang out with their friends at every opportunity - soaking in the sun's rays or drinking until the cool morning nips at their cheeks. However, there are those rare occassions when unrelenting guilt beckons reluctant youth into the dreaded "family activity."
In my world, my family decided on a "family-only" trip to the beach. Role call: Steve (58), Lora (50), Nick (19), Stephanie (17).
When going to the beach with friends, the trips tend to be spontaneous with few items along for the ride. This is not so true on family trips. Preparing for a family trip to the beach means preparing to stake out a not-so-hilly spot and then commence construction of our seaside accessories. I can sum this up by repeating what my Mom kept yelling at me, "Nick! Hurry up and set up the umbrella anchors!" Yes, it's true. We actually own an anchor-shaped piece of plastic fresh out of a Wal-Mart bargain bin specifically designed to hold down umbrellas. And yes, we actually own multiple anchors. These days, digging an umbrella hole in the sand is not enough. Plus, umbrella anchors really give people the impression that they're on the high seas. Anchors AWAY!
The beach we went to was more family-oriented (Crystal Cove for my MANY MANY geography buffs) compared to the many "eye-candy beaches" scattered along the coastlines of Orange County. Therefore, I am forced to interact with young kids - something I am not at all good at. To get away from my parents nagging me to apply sunscreen a fourth time, I meandered over to the nearby tidepools. I am like a little kid at heart, and I will touch every sea anemone in sight. At one tidepool, a little girl in a green bonnet was sitting down all cute-like when to my pseudo-environmentalist horror, I noticed her pulling off the mussels and scattering them across the sand. I immediately yelled "Hey you, stop that." However, this precocious toddler or whatever (my knowledge of little kiddie ages is crappy), flung a handful of mussels directly at my chest. AWWWW hell no. No daughter of Newport Coast yuppie scum flings sea fodder at me and lives to tell about it! Except of course when their dads are hot. Her dad, a yuppie, raven-haired adonis, scooped her up and took her by the hand into the sunset (minus the sunset, it was only like noon). And then everything was just beachy keen until I was continuously badgered into cleaning the umbrella anchors.