The smell of girls. Warm-water wax. Hooting interlopers into destruction…

I’ve got a ton of cleaning work ahead of me today. Visitors coming, gotta scrub the house top to bottom. Can’t let anyone see the squalor. Don’t like doing it, no sir, not one bit.

Makes me angry at my wife. How dare she leave my spearfishing stuff strewn about? Why can’t she convince me to stop tracking in ten pounds of sand each time I return from the beach? Laundry would be a hell of a lot easier if she’d stop leaving bits of wax in all my pockets.

I’m cranky, but I don’t want to be. And after this morning I don’t really feel like writing. But I gotta.

So let’s keep it light and breezy.

Women surfers always smell good: Is it conditioner? Lotion? Why does every surfer girl smell heavenly in the water?

I was at Costco a while back, smelled something heavenly. Sweet and delicious, wafting through the warehouse. Followed my nose to the back, found a giant pile of ripe pineapples. Had to buy two. Go home, chop ’em up. Ate until my mouth was shredded.

I love watching people learn to surf: It’s so amusing. Boards flying, spectacular carnage. I’ll often spend an easy hour sipping ice water from my magically insulated mug, enjoying the pain and hardship. I’m not laughing at them. Only with them, I swear. We’ve all been there, the entrance fee is stiff. Years of trying before you’re proficient. A lifetime of struggle to actually be good.

I will often hoot annoying interlopers into destruction, and that doesn’t come from a good place. But the best comedy has its roots in pain, right?

Wax down, fins forward: There’s only one right way to tie a board to your roof. Why does it seem like only a few people know that?

I don’t like tropical wax: Warm works better. Nice and sticky. Good grip, not too much. But the only shop in town only stocks Sticky Bumps Tropical. So frustrating. They’re got their own brand of wax, don’t know where it’s made. Stuff work great, best I’ve ever used. One dollar a bar! When’s the last time you got wax for a buck? I once let a friend borrow a board, he smeared that Fu Wax shit all over it. Terrible, terrible. Had to scrape it down and reapply. Which I hate doing, unless it’s a brand new ride. Then it’s a loving application, bordering on obsessive.

My car looks like shit: Wax covering the upholstery, stinking of mold because I never remember to roll up the windows. Finally put a spare tire in the thing. Waited ’til a flat left me stranded. But it’s a calculated move.

Who’s gonna bother pulling the smash and grab on a ride that looks like it belong to a homeless chronic? Worked well so far. Plenty of broken glass beachfront, my tattered ride’ still untouched.