>>> The Hard Way
By staff writer Mike Faerber
June 13, 2005
Mikey has spent too much time working or not going on dates or something and asked me to fill in for him again. Lucky me! But also lucky you because for once you don’t have to read about his boring life. My life, on the other hand, is beachin’!
Every piece of my skin hurts and now matches my lipstick, and my hair is tangled and smells like a drunken jellyfish tried to mate with it…which I’m not too sure isn’t the case, since I did bring a bottle out into the surf and lost it. Lastly, I have so much sand on me that I’m mad enough to spit…which I do because it’s in my mouth too. I don’t know how it got in there.
Oh wait yes I do, Chris mentioned having the same problem right before we made out.
So it was a long trip, and I did miss my straightener, but DAMN do I love the beach. It’s like it’s a different world out there. Something about the air, the water and the sunlight reflecting off of it makes you forget all about the fact that you’re wearing a tie-on bikini, and that it just came loose.
But here’s where it all went GREAT!
Less is Whore
Oh Michelle, you're such a poser!
We all know why we go to the beach. The water’s great and the sun looks at you with a big bright smile on his face, especially if you go for no tan lines. Most importantly, however, we come for the half-naked hunks and babes that gather to make vain pick-up attempts. Sorry boys, don’t think we don’t enjoy the flattery, though.
Yes it’s true, us girls want attention, who doesn’t. So basically the beach becomes a big game of “dress the sexiest.” Yeah I’ll admit, it’s kinda ridiculous that our purse, towel, sandals, suit, and lacy beach cover wrap all match, but maybe you and your friends could come over and add some color. Mingle your red trunks with my white two-piece and just maybe you’ll get to see some pink. I’m foreseeing a multi-colored heap on the floor later tonight. Whoa, nevermind. From the smell of your breath, apparently you are too. Move it along, Drunky.
So girls are somewhat teasy, our bad. Guys aren’t off the hook either. Look at you, rubbing sunscreen on yourself merely for that oily shine. How stupid and vain is that! Although, I must say skin cancer on such a fine bod as yours would be a shame. I also noticed how low you guys sag those board shorts. Just because it’s harder to tell where your belly hair stops and your pubic hair begins, doesn’t mean that it’s appropriate— OOOH, what's that? The area has been deforested? Huh…well it seems they left one tree still standing.
Wood you let me see it?
Groveling in the Gravel
My friend Anna told me on my trip that sand is actually made from crushed up little stones. And crushed up little stones are made from perverts who think that Sundown at the beach and Pantsdown at the beach are the same thing. Sand and boys are at the same level of annoyance factor in my book. You see pictures of them, and think how nice and comforting they’ll be, but the next thing you know they’re irritating the hell out of you. Lying down with either of them just means having a sleepless night and waking up feeling dirty. One wants to bury you with kisses, the other wants to just bury you. Actually they both like that, because then he forms a fake sand body around your head and squeezes the boobs. That always makes me giggle.
I don’t know who I’m kidding. I can’t stay mad at boys. Sure, their exterior is coarse and abrasive, but unlike sand, boys (and conch shells) can whisper sweet nothings into your ear. If you try to listen to sand, all you hear is your finger for the next few hours trying to dig it out. Boys can also hold you and watch the tide come in without crumbling away. Lastly, at least when boys get in your pants, it can be very pleasurable.
Still can’t say I like either in my mouth, however.
If there was one thing about the beach I love, it’s the water…which is good, because without it, it’s not a beach. The cool, gentle waves of the ocean curling around me…I could stay there forever… or at least until I get all wrinkly. If there’s one thing better than spending all day in the cool surf, it’s coming back to a warm fire on the shore…and then some lukewarm sex.
Even when I’m not in the water, I still love watching light from the moon dance across its surface, or hear it crash on the nearby rocks. In that moment, I can almost feel the cold foamy water run between my toes— What the! Who spilled their beer? Dammit, now some jellyfish is going to make moves on me. You know what, forget it guys. You’re ruining all these perfect moments for me. I’m going out in the water. Why? Oh I don’t know. Maybe because it has never gotten drunk and danced around like an idiot. Or maybe because it doesn’t lift up my top and flash everyone before saying “C’mon baby, just having a little fun!” And maybe it doesn’t have excuses like “It’s not the size of the wave….”
And the ocean may taste like saltwater, but it doesn’t make me swallow it.
Sun: Hey baby, come with me and I’ll brighten up your life.
Sand: When it comes down to the nitty gritty, you’ll see that I’m the finest one here.
Ocean: Now I’m not one to make waves or fight over you, I’m the Pacific type. But I think that I could really float your boat.
Michelle: You guys are pathetic.
Jellyfish: Heyyyy, want to see my tentacles? …I am so gone right now. Good thing I don’t have a liver.