Tuesday, June 16, 2015

The Summer Turf of Sand and Surf . . .





Top: Lauren Conrad, Kohl's
Dress: Modcloth
Shoes: ELLE, Kohl's
Bag: Marshalls
Sunglasses: Candie's, Kohl's





 Avian Adventure Necklace

Top: Jessica Simpson, Boscov's
Pants: Sears
Shoes: Payless
Bag: Nine West, Marshalls
Belt: Wet Seal
Sunglasses: Michaels






Tee: Merona, Target
Jeans: Candie's, Kohl's
Shoes: Worthington, J. C. Penney's
Bag: Candie's, Kohl's
Sunglasses: Candie's, Kohl's


Some old, some new, some fun for you (well, mostly for me, but that doesn't rhyme, now does it?)


. . . is not something you'll see in these pictures.  But I did hit the waves this weekend, rekindling my love-hate relationship with the beach.  I usually make the first trip there in June on a cloudless, calendar-empty Saturday when staying inside seems like a waste.

Not that going to the beach is easy.  It's a commitment that demands more than your average bum is willing to sign up for.  There's the gathering of the paraphernalia, followed by the traffic-choked drive or the chair-chafing walk, depending on where you're coming from.  Then, just when you see the tops of the dunes, there's the trudge through the hot, hilly sand, the stuff spraying up in geysers to coat the backs of your legs.  This is followed by the choosing of the spot.  You know the one.  Not too sunny, not too far from the water, with plenty of distance between smokers and screaming five-year-olds.  Bonus points for one far from anyone hurling volleyballs, horseshoes, or Frisbees.  Then there's the unpacking and arranging of everything before you can finally plop in your chair -- and start applying sunscreen.  If you're the type who can't leave the house without slathering on the SPF 50, then you've probably had one of those moments where you think, "I'm not putting that stuff on today!  (Or, its seemingly more well-intentioned cousin, "I'll put some on later.")  What's the use of going to the beach if you're too worried about getting burned to enjoy it?"  Such bravado is usually spurred by 1) the desire for the all-elusive vitamin D absorption, and/or, 2) seeing some lobster-necked volleyball enthusiast (because you didn't nab that primo, no-sports zone spot after all) blatantly flouting UV protection.  He's big, he's athletic, he's as appealingly copper as a shiny new penny; nothing bad's going to happen to him!  To those people (and by "those people" I mostly mean me), I say: resist that urge.  Because after sundown, back in your bathroom, when the sun's angry red handiwork is glaring at you from the mirror, all of your worrywart ways will flock back to you, seagull style, in a tidal wave of self loathing.  And there's nothing carefree about that.

Still, despite its many nuisances, the beach has a lot going for it.  For starters, there's that scent of spandex, salt, and, yes, sunscreen, that makes you feel like the star of a Banana Boat ad.  Then there's the sun gleaming bright white on the surf.  The rumbling waves reminding you how wretched it would be to live anywhere land-locked.  The sand between your toes (and other places, but no need to go into that).  The horizon stripes of tan, green, and blue that look cheesy anywhere but in person (I'm talking to you, hotel art).  

It's quite the emotional roller coaster, the beach outing.  Much more so than that actual roller coaster roaring up on the boardwalk.  Whoever coined the phrase "a day at the beach" didn't do all of his homework.  But the guy who came up with "life's a beach"?  That guy was really onto something.

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