Locals Only
It's late Monday and my precious Routine is already fucked up beyond all recognition.

Luckily we've had lots of events planned to keep my mind off the stress of deviation from the patterns I would normally hold to without regard to distraction, hygiene or even personal safety. I nearly made it through the whole day without cutting.

Today, as it has been what meteorological experts call "hot as balls" here in the Inland Empire, Mrs. Pops decided it would be a good day to head west and enjoy us some salty, sandy, skin-irritatin' fun at one of our local beaches.

We went to Salt Creek, a county park beach out in Orange County right below the Ritz-Carlton hotel out that way in Dana Point. It was a beach I went to often as a kid, but some things have changed. Mostly the fact that I am no longer a kid.

I'd forgotten the half-mile trek down (and then, horrifically, inevitably, up on the way out) the 60-percent grade hill to get to the water. Also: less fun with exhausted and sun-addled children in tow.

We left tired and thirsty and chafed and sniping at one another, just as all good beach excursions should. But not one tetanus shot was needed, so that counts as an exceptionally good day at the SoCal coast.

My wife and I take turns watching the kids kick around in the surf while the other lays on a towel and pretends we've all drowned so I/she can enjoy a few minutes of peace.

When I'm up, I play my favorite game One-Night Stand or Statutory Rape? It's the game that makes me glad I'm married and off the dating market so I don't have to figure out if the girls parading before me in skimpy two-piece bathing suits are 14 or 25. Frankly, I've completely lost the ability to tell. Playing this game makes me feel creepy and wrong, but I am comforted by the fact that I am with Mrs. Pops who a) also rocks a two-piece and b) has a birth certificate I can check if I'm ever unsure.

And just so you know, I'm not leering and ogling the girls on the beach. That's what the opaque sunglasses are for. As far as they know, I am clearly pretending to watch my kids who may or may not be tumbling ass-over-elbows through the surf. Did I mention none of my kids can swim? Details, people. Parenting is all in the details.

As a penance for what is sure to be crappy attendance this week, I have decided to grace you all with the first-ever live picture of me on the internet.

This photo is NOT DOCTORED. This is not a picture of "Pops," but of my actual self, Korvath Ganymede Macleish Horrington III. This was taken on a bluff above Laguna by my wife this very afternoon. I am breaking my anonymity. Tell no one.

Oh, before you go, know that when I go to the beach, I only wear three things: secret opaque ogling specs, sunscreen (SPF -11, which is basically bacon grease) and a white banana hammock. Enjoy.


Also important to note: I am not, in fact, a giant. I am simply in the foreground. If I were a giant, I would obviously be eating the people behind me by the handful.


This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.4


Pops
- posted by Pops @ 11:19 PM