Loc: Old Mans
Crew: Bri
Time: 1615-1815
Conditions:
2-3 FT, low tide, sideshore, consistent, minimal crowd, sunny, cool.
REFUEL:
This morning, we decided not to buy a
humungous, Homer Simpson sandwich that’s the size of one of my thighs. Bri
bought a salad and a sandwich, and I got two sandwiches. We devour them in
minutes. Ideally, I should see if I can at least get some of my readings out of
the way for school, but Bri says, “Nap time!” I spread out our beach blanket
and lay our sleeping bags on top of them. I also bust out the pillows. I
prepared for the wind warning, and I must say, the snivel gear has made all the
difference.
Eventually, we wake up. I knock out half of
an essay while Bri struggles to stay awake. The wind keeps blowing our pages
around, so we sit in the car until 1600 when we suit up for the evening sesh.
#
Opposite of this morning’s swampy
conditions, the tide is now drained out. So drained out that we walk to Old
Mans via the flat shore instead of the road. The northern most peak looks
doable with just a few heads there. The surf is two-to-three feet, barely that,
but it’s working. The wind from the north makes for choppy conditions, but the
shape still holds.
A couple groms and longboarders share the
peak with us, but we’re pretty spread out. The waves are mostly walled, but
mooshy and slow, holding to at least get one turn off. I spend more time
walking the nose, attempting to spin and ride the board facing backwards. I can’t
do it without falling. Occasionally I get a decent wave with an end section
that I can carve.
We’re surfing the lefts at Old Mans, and
then Briana catches a wave. She’s going down the line again, going left. In one
day, she’s made two major milestones. It took forever for me to go down the
line, and she’s achieved this considerably fast given the limited time she gets
in the water.
As the tide rises, the wind calms, and the
rides get a little longer. It gets a little more consistent too. I catch a
long, two-turn left, but I’m tired. We’re both tired. Even though it’s barely
1800, the sun’s already low. It feels weird to call the session this early. In
past evening sessions, we would have barely just gotten to the lineup.
We catch our waves in. I offer to treat Bri
to Zenko Sushi.
“Do they have the banana ice cream desert
there too?” she asks.
“No, no. Only Hana Sushi has it, but the
sushi quality at Zenkos is better.”
It’s quiet. We had originally planned on
Soup Plantation in Aliso Viejo.
“Damn,” she says, “because I kind of had
soup in mind . . . but I guess I could just get some miso soup.”
All I can think about is their ice cream
machine and brownie muffins; I have a serious sweet tooth. “Nah, we’ll just do
sushi next time.”
At Soup Plantation, I go straight for the
clam chowder. Best of all, they have chocolate lava cake on the dessert menu. I
stuff myself within the first hour but save enough room for three rounds of
chocolate lava cake ala mode. On the drive back home I can barely sit up
straight without my stomach hurting; it even hurts to talk.
#
When we get home we unload the wagon and take
a shower. I put in Jack McCoy’s Blue
Horizon (2004), letting Bri know that it’s my favorite A.I.
movie/documentary. We stop the movie during Rasta’s sequence in Bali.
Late that night, I push out a fart while I’m
half asleep, but instead I feel a little bit of shit come out. I slide off the
side of the bed while cupping my hand near my asshole. It’s dry. I wipe my ass,
and luckily there’s just a dab of chili on the toilet paper. But for the
Staycation Friday that Bri and I had, I’d gladly shart to pay the price for it
any day. As long as it happens when I’m home. Worth it.
I swear I've wrote this before. And . . . I get the yellow-clearish liquid too. I thought it was just me. It smells like cat shit.
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