You must have seen her dancing in the sand.

I am a beach bunny.

That is all.

Just kidding. I am at the beach, but I am sitting inside the lobby of my Motel and typing to you guys because I am afeared of the beach. Okay, I have to admit that I have never been one that is super excited about the beach. Too many experiences with feet cut on shells, jellyfish stings, and wicked undertows that challenged my already challenged swimming abilities. This sends me off on a tangent (who me? on a tangent?). I was in the water with my brother and my friend Mark, when I felt something brush past my legs. We were at Nags Head and had seen shark pods earlier that morning. (Probably the eggs of a nurse shark or something). We were floating about on our rafts and I suddenly grabbed my raft and headed rapidly for shore. Once safely on dry land, I hollered to my companions "SHARK". Nice, huh? I am a save my own butt person first. Keep that in mind.

I loved being in the water when I was but a buglet. They used to have to physically remove me from the water when I was little. I had an indicator, much like the poking out device that is found on butterball turkeys - er...though nothing poked out of me. That would just be weird. My lips turned blue when I was in the cold water too long. This sends me off on another tangent about when I was teeny and my belly button turned blue. Seems my mother left me alone for a split second and the next thing she saw was an empty blue marker and a wee li'l girl with a bright blue belly button. Hmm, not much of story here, but when my mother tells it, it is rather hilarious. Unfortunately, she has many such stories about me and I would prefer that you all just stay away from her.

I got to Myrtle Beach yesterday and slathered myself in SPF 1,000,000 and put on my bikini. I had stopped by one of the ubiquitous beach stores to pay $6.99 for an already inflated raft. Yay! I also got some bright blue bahama shorts. I am now wearing them and looking rather fine (in the South Carolina/beach vacation/unwashed kind of way). Which leads me to yet another tangent when Marci , Angel and I went to Rehobeth and Marci and I decided it would be a great weekend to do no grooming at all, while Angel sat and primped for 4 hours straight. Again, guess you had to be there. It struck us (me and Marci) as ridiculously funny, while Angel was highly displeased with her consorts.

I got out the water yesterday and struggled against an extreme undertow. I tried bringing my raft out there, but the waves were breaking so far out that by the time I got the raft into the water after recovering from the previous wave, I would be pulled under and get tangled up in the raft's cords. Bah. So I deposited it on the beach and just attempted to hop the waves. That was fun.

Today, I got up and reslathered. I contemplated my bikinis because honestly, the ocean is a friend to the Girl's Gone Wild guy and keeps trying to tear my top off! Ocean Gone Wild! I hit the water newly ambitious, raft dragging behind me. Smack! Bikini up... raft gone... me on my bottom fumbling for everything at once. Oh, who am I kidding? When I noticed the assault, I righted my clothing and slapped the water for being fresh. Then as I attempted to regain my footing the ocean came right back at me, tugged me down, and slapped me in the face. EXCUSE ME! So I got out. I grabbed the raft and sat on the sand for a bit. After a few minutes, I gathered my resolve (once again) and entered the ocean alone (without the raft). The sand is gone! Gone! Replaced with rough pieces of broken shell. What the..? It seems that the hurricane is not only making the waves choppier and the ocean sassier, but all the shells of the entire ocean have been placed at my feet. Is it a gift? Is it a punishment? Is the ocean telling me to be nice or it will cut me? (I'll cut you!) I dunno, but I gave up. That's why I am sitting here talking to you.