"The Beach Kicked My Ass!" or "I Ate Shit On PCH"

I think the first photo does a pretty good job of capturing the basic idea of what went down. haha. Me!
I think this one shows how truly difficult it is going to be for me to have lost those beautiful (trashy, ugly, chewed to Hell by Mazzy) chunky sandals.

This one captures the tragic smashing of the crackers. Breathtaking.

So I was really excited for Sunday Beachday, yesterday. I got my little beach kit ready (chair, umbrella, blankets, towels, magazines, scripts and food, of course). Around 11:30am, Gavin and I set off. We parked along PCH, maybe 10 minutes North of Santa Monica, and lugged our stuff down to the sand. Spent all day hanging out, drinking (ahem), and lolling about. I, like an idiot, forgot to reapply sunscreen and got effing burned. But the real tragedy of the day is when I ate shit. Hard.

Since Gavin is usually just in charge of the cooler, because it gets so frickin' heavy, I am in charge of the other crap. So here I am, in those ridiculous, Rocket Dog ( I think they are Lucky Brand but they look trashy so call them "chunky sandals" -gross- if you want to) flip flops that give me like 4 inches of height, heading back to the car after a good 5hrs on the beach. I'm balancing my purse, beach bag, umbrella, the beach chair bag and, for some odd reason, a box of crackers. Gavin is maybe 10ft in front of me. I'm getting a little wobbly on those retarded ass shoes of mine and just as I yell to Gavin, "Be careful. Don't fall down", I step on a good size rock and that was all it took. My ankle gave way and as I was falling I just thought to myself, "Well, this is it, you're eating shit so don't throw your hands out to save yourself because you just have wayyyyy too much going on here. Just see where the fall takes you." The fall took me to my motherfucking left knee. All my weight and the weight of the bullshit I was carrying. I'm not sure how Gavin knew I had eaten it. Perhaps I yelped or he just heard the crashing of the "beach kit". The crackers went flying and my shoe was busted to Hell! As much as it hurt, as kind of embarrassing as it was, being right next to PCH at ,like, Super Sunday Traffic time, I couldn't stop laughing. I think the smashed crackers really did it for me. I kind of, sort of, brushed myself off and Gavin, laughing as well, helped me up. My shoes were gonners. I just left them. The crackers were a tragedy and were filled with dirt now anyhow. So I slowly limped along to the car and left the situation behind me. Gavin, the gentleman that he is, insisted on going back for a photo of the crime scene. I wouldn't have done anything differently if he had eaten it. So please, enjoy my little story, relish the photos and wish you had been there to witness it firsthand.

THE END