Beach Sand is Really Just Fancy Dirt

I'm going to start this post with a statement that may offend some of you: I don't like going to the beach.

There, I said it.

Admitting you don't like going to the beach is kind of like admitting you don't like kittens, small children or apple pie. It's almost Un-American.

First, some admissions: the ocean is beautiful, the weather and temperature are perfect and it is a lot of fun for most- but not for me.

Let me explain. We love going to Newport Beach's Balboa pier. Its my favorite beach to visit, albeit even there it's a reluctant trip. Why is it my favorite? Just one reason - great parking. That's right, Balboa could force me to walk over rotting corpses but as long as the parking is good, I'll take it.

When you arrive at the beach or just before you leave, we all know the first thing you have to do is to smear suntan lotion all over. I hate this. And if you have kids, you get to rub it into them. I hate that more. Of course if you don't do this right all you're risking is potential DEATH from skin cancer. Is that something you have to contemplate while relaxing at home?

Despite all of the rubbing and smearing, somehow, some way, you inevitably miss covering something and end up with a blazing farmer's tan or worse a sun burn. Nothing like spending the week afterwards being reminded of your mistake with every subsequent twitch of your neck!

After lubing up, it's time to grab everything you brought with you. What is about the beach that requires so much stuff? Are we moving? How is it a trip to the public pool requires a towel and flip-flops, but the beach requires every member of the family to saddle themselves like domesticated pachyderms heading out on some sort of Saharan trek?

You finally get everyone loaded and then you step onto the sand. Suddenly your walking like you're drunk in public and you feel like your feet have 50 weights on them (which is ironic because each arm is carrying at least that in supplies). And the sand! I know most of you love walking on the beach with the sand between your toes. To you, the sands of the beach are almost mythical, therapeutic even.

Folks I hate to break it to you: it's just dirt. Yep dirt. You know, the stuff you yell at your kids for throwing at each other. Dirt.

Trust me on this one, I'm a lifer in the Mojave Desert. We know dirt. And beach sand is just fancy dirt.

Some of you may not know this, but your body has magnetic reaction to beach sand. Really this is true! That's why within four steps you've got sand wedged into orifices and cavities you didn't even know you had. And the best part is, it's not coming off until you actually get in the car, wherein the same sand on children spontaneously demagnetizes and works its way into every nook and cranny of the car where it remains for life.

Have you ever tried eating at the beach? Do you like your chips gritty?

Does anyone really enjoy swimming at the beach? The water is freezing, full of seaweed and who knows what else. I mean really, all of our storm water drains to the ocean. You've seen storm drains before a storm - do they look clean to you?

Finally the blessed hour arrives when your kids have so much sand on them that they look like they might start barking and chasing after Jawas that it is time to go.

Balboa has a public restroom. It also has outdoor shower. However, what you soon realize is this shower will be unlike any other shower you've taken. This one will have an audience! There's nothing better than trying to excise this demon dirt from the afore mentioned orifices and cavities with twelve complete strangers watching you, all of whom are waiting for their turn at futility in the shower.

Then you go into the restroom to the change. Thanks to perverts of the world, Newport Beach has removed all of the stall doors from the Men's Restroom. Because of the omnipresent dirt, er, sand, the floor has turned into a substance that looks like it was created when someone accidentally tipped over a rent-a-john. So there you are, trying to change, with no privacy, no shame and no chance of actually getting clean, when a complete stranger rounds the corner (he has no idea you're there because there's no door). Awkward!

Yes everyone has a good time, especially the kids. But the happiest moment for me is always getting in the car to come home .

Marnie would love to move to the beach (easier said than done). Maybe someday we will, but in the mean time I try to point out that where we live now is a lot like living at the beach.

After all, we've got plenty of dirt.