While walking the streets of Oceanside with my surfboard this week, I was asked by not one but TWO seemingly homeless gentlemen if I was going to surf the upcoming contest. While it's flattering that I look like a ripper to people who are homeless or have given up trying not to look like a homeless person, it's not so flattering when you consider the contest in question is a 6-Star WQS SuperGirl Pro, complete with a Paul Mitchell banner hanging from the pier.
There were three scenarios as to why they were asking me that:
A) They were messing with me.
B) They were unaware the contest was innies-only
C) My bitch tits had increased in size since last night's mirror pose-down before my nightly shower. Thus they genuinely thought I was a woman and were making conversation so as to seduce me (not my type guys, sorry).
I reached the bottom of the ramp and saw stillness. It was, poetically speaking, beautiful. As usual, my loins' desires trumped my intellect's need to appreciate beauty, wherever that may be, and I was bummed by the lack of surf.
A third seemingly homeless man approached me and asked me if I was surfing the contest. He looked like Santa Claus might after a three-month bender. I told him no, and he said I should go down towards the pier, the waves are better. I thanked him for the info and walked north.
The closer I got to the pier, the better it was looking, but still not great.
There were lots of heads out at the pier. From far away I saw someone in an orange rashie drop down a drainer confidently, square up and absolutely SMASH it. Oof, I'll stay over here where it's a little less aggro.
I paddled out, and though there were some waves around me, I was drowning in a relative sea of bodies. Granted, there were about five people within a ten-yard radius, but I've been spoiled by my solace.
I kept glancing towards the pier, where some fun ones were being ridden by some of the best female surfers in the world. I watched Carissa Moore (orange rashie) take the top off another one. Eventually, I quit fighting the current and floated down where the waves were head high and sometimes peeling.
Another female ripper dropped in and did a fins-out snap, recovering, then floating over a closeout section. Pretty sick!
Carissa caught another one, and I was on the one right after. Ever the nose for it, the wave I caught closed out, though I did a stylish drop. I'm sure Carissa was impressed.
After paddling for, and pulling back from, several waves, I caught another one, which faded into oblivion.
During my wait for waves, I had an epiphany. I did a quick count and counted fifteen women and four other guys, without question the highest (best?) ratio I'd ever experienced. It was as though I'd paddled out, got sucked into a vortex, and came out at a break just off the mythical island of Lesbos (though there were four other dudes).
Towards the end of my session, I saw Bethany Hamilton, famous for her tenacity as well as being the victim of a shark attack nearly ten years ago in which she lost her arm. She was talking to another girl and seemed very nice, improving my opinion of her. She's a huge Jesus freak, so she had automatically lost points.
My first surfing website was called "Soul_Surfer's Soul Surfing Site!!!". Bethany Hamilton google-bombed me when she titled her autobiography and movie "Soul Surfer". Shortly after these came out, I received notice of an entry on my guestbook. A thirteen-year-old girl wrote, "You are such an inspiration. Thanks to you I no longer think of one-armed people as gross". I laughed so hard when I read this.
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