Sunday, August 2, 2009


Beach days do not, in my present world, promote weight loss. It's a really weird thing to say out loud. Everything about the beach usually drives the slim seeker bananas. The bikinis. The gorgeous tan bodies in the bikinis. The water. The water drops on the gorgeous tan bodies in the bikinis. The shirtless frisbee throwers. The heat....
Me? I don't care... apparently. I was out at Carmel Beach the other day with family and friends. All the aforementioned intimidators were present. Well, the heat was absent, as it usually is in Carmel/Monterey. Seriously? Where is the sun, yo? Anyways, I digress.
We were all there, along with chips and cookies and hot dogs and bratwursts. I was warm and cozy in my jeans and ball cap and sweater. No skin exposure whatsoever, save the poor toe-end quarter of my foot that now has a nice sunburn for show.
I wasn't worried at all about what I looked like. Cause it was cold and windy and not motivating in the least.
But then enters the lovely picture monster. We had a great time. I hid under the umbrella most the day watching my kids and wishing I could strip down into my suit and body board with everyone. (Accutane = no sun for me.) Everyone was snapping pictures left and right. Good times. Save the cops being called on us for BBQing to far north on the beach. Stupids.
So later that night, all settled in at home I see on Fbook... more disgusting proof of the blob I'm becoming eating the way that I do. Crap.