How Did I Get Here?

Sunday

A day at the beach. You’ve heard the saying, right? It’s the quality metric to all days.

Good day: like a day at the beach
Bad day: ain’t no day at the beach.

I’ve even heard “A bad day at the beach beats a good day at work.”

Well, today was a day at the beach. Coronado beach to be exact.

I’ve been here almost a year and this is the first time I hit this particular beach and I have to say I’m impressed. After jockeying for two parking spaces (Scott and Kristine wanted to stay in a hotel by the beach so we loaned them Truckasaurus) we found ourselves hauling our beach accessories out to one of the best beaches I’ve seen.

Let me rant a little though: to the guy who decided that he should take up two parking spots on a crowded parking nightmare along the street, I’ll have you know that your children WILL have webbed toes.

OK, now that that unpleasantness is complete, let’s move on.

Now don’t get the wrong idea, I didn’t exactly go out in the WATER. Oh no, Silly Reader, that would be insane. It’s scared-turtle-cold out there meant only for kids who obviously have no adversity to sub-arctic water temperatures.

My place was firmly on the warm sand where I could people-watch, nap, and … well, that’s about it.

A day at the beach.

I don’t get the whole hole-digging thing on the beach. Maybe the kids, OK, I can see that. Kids love to dig.

But Adult Guy? Why, Adult Guy? Why?

I mean, you are putting a whole hell of a lot of work into digging a hole and for what? I mean, it’s a day at the beach, dude!

OK, let’s put it this way. If I went over to Adult Guy and lowered my voice a few octaves and commanded him “Dig a hole, right there! And Don’t stop until I tell you, you dumbass!”

What do you think would happen? I mean, you wouldn’t do this menial, manual labor if told to so why did you come all the way out here on the beach and start digging with your hands?

But he dug his little heart out like there was no tomorrow and then after awhile when it was like hip deep, he climbed out, gathered his stuff, and left.

Yeah, great job, Adult Guy. You are going to be sore tomorrow and when you wince at work picking up a pencil, someone is going to ask you what’s wrong.

“Dug a hole.”
“Really? Gardening?”
“No, at the beach.”

Silence.

“Why?”
“Because I’m a dumbass.”

Today was also April Fool’s Day but I forgot about it. The kids reminded me of this fact but they know; I’m not exactly an April Fool’s Day kind of guy. In fact, as much as I’m a go-in-the-arctic-waters-of-San-Diego-in-April kind of guy.

So they have now reached the age where they are smart enough not to do the whole April Fools thing on Dad.

Dad don’t play dat.

The last time I was really “got” was way back when OddTodd messed with his webpage a few years ago and had me believing the law had confiscated his site due to MP3 copyright infringement. I instantly logged into mine on the off chance….

OK, he got me.

Maybe that’s what happened to Dumbass Hole-Digging Guy. Maybe someone convinced him that if he dug a hole, he would, I don’t know, earn millions from a South African banking fund exchange scheme or something.

I bet he falls for that on the web, too.

Free Advice for Today: “Regarding rental property, remember that an unrented house is better than a bad tenant.”