Man, if there was ever any doubt as to how much of a geek I am, it's pretty much settled now. Dave and Ben are attempting to teach D how to surf, whilst I'm sitting here on the beach blogging. All the bikini-clad sheilas are undoubtedly checking out the fully clothed pasty geek hunched over his tiny green toy laptop typing away furiously. I can tell that they want me.
I'm not much of a swimmer and thusly am not much of an enthusiast of water sports, but I have to admit that it looks like fun. I never really liked swimming much in the first place, but after nearly drowning around the same time my man-boobs began to come in, I abandoned it altogether. I told them that I probably wouldn't be going out, but my resolve is weakening. They did bring a lycra surf top thingy, though... that might both suppress the man-boobs and protect my pasty white torso from the sun's harmful rays...
Oh, look's like they're headed back in, so mayhap I'll give it a go.
Oh man. Surfing is fun. And tiring. I'm positively knackered after only about an hour or so of learning. I managed to get to my feet a few times -- which balances out the few times I completely nose-dived into the wave, coming up sputtering and red-eyed. I only mowed over two children in the process, but don't worry: the little tykes were waaay too good at surfing and deserved it for showing us all up. Cheeky little blighters.
Ben and Dave left me a board, so I may give it another go tomorrow morning before brekkie. Surfing before brekkie. I think I'm fitting in here rather well.
We have to leave in just over two days, which -- despite this being the longest holiday upon which I've ever been and that I'm usually ready to head home right away -- makes me a very sad panda. It's been less than two weeks and I've already adopted much of the lingo, the dress, the laid-back attitude and even the disdain for American culture. (Did you know that Americans don't like beet-root on their hamburgers? That's complete lunacy!) I even enjoyed the heck out of the ham in my eggs Florentine yesterday. Now I just have to figure out a way to move here permanently some day, because it's clear that I was born in the wrong part of the world.
This post is beginning to reach the epic length all mine have been as of late and I lack the time to make it shorter, so I'll go ahead and bid you farewell once again.
The author lives in Vancouver, Washington, USA with his girlfriend and a menagerie of cats, rats, fish, birds, guinea pigs and robots.
Among other inanities, he strives to use investigative techniques to work young starlet breasts into every aspect of rational discourse -- focusing on the discourse, thus making it not perverted. Also, has recently begun a career as "Internet hairstylist."
He can be contacted via email and Jabber IM at 'firstname.lastname@example.org'. He likes to be contacted.
(All press inquiries, however, ought be directed towards the author's agent, Alistair Hoel, via email to email@example.com.)