They were titled:
- Boys can't handle the C word
- Zig-a-zig AHHHHHHH
Now I can't really remember what each of the last three was going to be about and in the case of the first one, I'm not really sure I'm ready to write about it. So they will have to remain in draft for another day.
They do look rather funny listed like that though.
Today I went to the beach. I haven't been to the beach yet this summer. I'm more of a pool girl. I like the beach but I do not like sand in my bikini, strong undercurrents and stingers in the water. All of which are common occurrences at Sydney beaches. I grew up in Adelaide, a stone's throw from a beach where the only thing you needed to worry about was sharks. And sharks are easy to spot from a distance, therefore really quite harmless provided you're a fast swimmer. No, when in Sydney, I prefer the pool to the beach. And, quite conveniently, there is one just a brief bus ride from my house. Or a slightly longer, sedately paced 25 minute walk, depending on how energetic I am feeling.
But my lovely flatmate (as opposed to the pain in the arse flatmate), was hell bent on a trip to Coogee, so off we went. Took us thirty minutes to find a park, by which time I felt like I was roasting in lard, having liberally doused myself in Reef Oil before leaving the house. Then we had to trek for another ten minutes to find a spot on the sand which was sufficiently near the water and sufficiently far away from the hairy, annoying, lecherous blokes who seemed to be sitting on every second beach towel.
Almost the second I sat down on my towel for a spot of tan-topping-upping, I was covered in sand from my feet to the backs of my knees. I find this incredibly annoying and detrimental to even tanning. I know its partially my own fault, as after all, I am a slave to the Reef Oil, which is quite sticky and sand-attracting. But I do think it is much maligned and quite brilliant for achieving the stunning golden glow I am currently sporting.
All you anti-cancer, melanoma-warning do gooders out there can just pipe down by the way. I am well aware of the risks I am exposing myself to, but as someone who has recently gone through a kick-ass bout with the big C, I am not going to listen to you. I look and feel much better when I have a tan. I may not look good in twenty years time when I am riddled with the stuff but having gone a few rounds with the fucker late last year I am increasingly aware that life is too short not to look and feel good. I will worry about how I will look in twenty years time, in twenty years time. Of course that is pre-supposing I'm still around and let's face it, how many of us can actually guarantee that? A bit morbid, but true. Live for the moment, seize the day. Carpe diem and all that jazz.
So. Where was I? And do I have a point? No. As a matter of fact I don't. Other that than the whole beach experience was a pain in the ass and I will be sticking to the pool in future.
As you were. I'm off to slather myself in cocoa butter and tuck up in bed with my book.
Maybe I'll be more inspired and less ranty tomorrow.