On the water

I'm a giant scaredy-cat when it comes to the ocean.

I wasn't always. In fact, I've only been this way for two years. Two summers ago, the ex and I were at Pt. Pleasant and the water was especially rough. He's not a big water guy - he prefers sand. I get extremely bored laying on the beach and have to go frolic in the water every 1/2 hour or so. So I'm frolicking solo when the Biggest Wave Ever takes me down, pulls me under, holds me there and fills me up with salt water for entirely too long. I emerge coughing and panicked with one breast hanging out of my bikini (and yes, I was the LAST person on the beach to notice that). Ever since then, when the waves start rolling up I jump out of the water as fast as my little legs can carry me.

I do still go in the water, though. I'm determined to conquer my fear, little by little. In fact, I'll be at Pt. Pleasant with Curly this weekend, conquering away. She too is a sea-fearer.

Before Fahrenheit 9/11, there was a preview for a little flick called Open Water. Based on a true story, it's the tale of a pair of scuba divers who get left behind by the boat. Left as in, in the middle of the fucking ocean. Sharks, storms, and I'm guessing not much hilarity ensue. This movie looks So. Completely. Horrifying. And I cannot wait to see it.