Remember how I said I like to go shelling? Well I do. I go out on my own and stake out the best spots on the Island. I bring my net, water shoes, sunscreen, power bar and some water. I take my phone and at my husband's insistence, it's double or triple bagged in Ziplocs so it won't get wet or sandy. I chuck it all into a small string backpack and I'm off.
Remember how I met the awesome sheller from one of my last posts? Well, we did a lot of shelling together and she always had her husband with her. I even mentioned that I thought he had her micro-chipped as he always seemed to know exactly where she was. Anyway, she was telling me the reason he's with her is that she was out here one time and some guy came out buck naked and streaked from the shrubs to the ocean and back.
That freaked my shit since there weren't any houses around.
And between you, me and the walls, I was a little miffed that no one came streaking out from the undergrowth when I was around. I mean really, he couldn't just give me a courtesy run?
He was coming up to me and talking.
So much for a peaceful day at the beach.
He starts to say all this stuff and I'm stuck between this guy and the ocean. I can't hear a damn thing he's saying with the surf smashing me around. Against my better judgement I get out of the water and am like, "Hi!" Trying to play off that I'm not all alone.
Did you ever meet someone and you just didn't feel right about them? Like your gut was telling you something (like RUN) but you had to use your brain and figure it out? The whole time you just didn't feel right. This was one of those times.
"Hey how are ya? Good, yeah? Nice day to be out. I'm in from Jupiter for the day and thought I'd see what I could find. Everyone says Sanibel's great for shells but I'm not seeing much. How bout you? You finding anything?"
Ummm, yeah....Jupiter you say. That sounds about right. Christ. No need to check, my freak magnet's on.
"Yeah, I'm good. Just out for some shells. Found a few things" I say keeping my head low, trying to ignore the shell bag in my hand. Trying not to appear interested. At all.
"Yeah, what'd ya find?" He continues, looking right at my bag, "Cool, is that a sand-dollar? That sure is! You're really lucky to have found one of those. They're hard to find."
"Sure is." I say as I reluctantly acknowledge my shell bag and the sand-dollar within. I start trying to head back to the beach with more people, starting to wonder how I can inconspicusly get my phone un-triple-Ziploced without being too obvious.
"It's really nice to see people like yourself getting out and exploring things. Did you know there is a lagoon right up there?" he says nudging his shoulder, pointing right up and over the bluff. "Did you want to go and see it? I hear it's pretty neat. Come on, I'll take you, it's right up there."
This is where I lost my shit. Answered the question if he thought I was alone. This freak wanted to go explore a lagoon and slice me up six ways to China. In that time I'd be lucky to unZiplock one bag from my phone. One bag. I'm screwed. And it's so frigging hot, I'd decompose in like, twenty minutes. I know this, I've watched all the CSI's. Some bird's going to swoop down and eat my eyeball. I should never have watched all those CSI's. Damn you Anthony Zuiker. Maybe I can start leaving PowerBar crumbs. Seagulls don't eat PowerBar's do they? Crap, they eat anything, who am I kidding? I just fed them half my nail polish from my toes as a joke and they ate it. Great, now PITA's going to be up my ass-hole if I live. And I can't even dial my phone since its bubble wrapped six ways to China to protect it from the elements. Accckkk. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME??? Why am I fascinated with China, six different ways when I am about to die? That's totally weirding me out. That $300 piece of shit phone is going to be the only thing left of me, all wrapped up nice and neat. Maybe the phones made in China? Acccckkkk. Thank you Ziploc and your I-can't-open-you-in-an-emergency-but-my-meat-won't-get-freezer-burn-but-it-won't-matter-when-I'm-dead-bags. Maybe you can market that after I'm good and gone.
I hate you I-phone. I hate you Ziploc.
Crazy man from Jupiter is still NOT SHUTTING UP about the damn lagoon. Now what?? I promised Alex I'd make home-made pizza for dinner. Who's going to make my kid dinner if I don't get back?
"I think I'm going to have to get going" I say. "I bet it's nice but I have to be heading back."
This freak followed me all the way back to Blind Pass where some guy named Lou started talking to me and telling me how pretty I was.
|See Spanx lady in the background???|
I am not pretty.
See look. Skinny, yes. Pretty no.
Of course I've not shown you a picture of my face but rather my ass but hey, in my defense, my ass is prettier than my face.
And for the record, I felt like I was in some fucked up temporal vortex. I had to actually look around and see if this new guy was really talking to me.
Yup. Yup, he was.
Truth be told, I was never so happy to see Lou in my entire life. He shook loose the psychopath from Jupiter so I went with it. I let him go on with his crazy-ass self till I found my way back to the car.
The next day I went back. This time with my husband in tow. And guess who's naked hump I saw running out to the ocean?
Yup you guessed it. I found my streaker.
Note: I have no idea why I decided to share this story. It clearly shows how much weirdness I attract and all the thing I do wrong to magnify my situation. But in my defense, I didn't want to bring my husband with me. Sometimes you just want to get out and be alone. Clearly that did not happen. I'm thinking of going back in November or December with my sister for a long weekend. Anyone wanna come? It would be like BlogHer, but not.
Oh, and that sand-dollar Jupiter was checking out? When we got home Gracie stepped on it and smashed it to a million little bits.