Warner Bros., NBC Universal Television Distribution, Universal Pictures
So my day started out like this: Janet Livermore sunbathing on her rooftop in Singles. Minding my own business, I tried to escape the latest heat wave with a few apples, a book and an oversized beach umbrella - which I've owned for two years, but had yet to break out of package. However, today I was determined to embrace the sun, rather than resorting to my usual cursing tirades. Squished into my bathing suit that had not made it out of my closet in over a year and ten pounds, I walked toward the water bracing myself for the chilly Pacific. A boogie boarder - so that still exists - boogied by - I guess that’s what they do - and called out to me. He encouraged me to get in the water. I however, was lost in my own thoughts. Hardly knee deep, I realized 1. I hadn't been in the ocean in at least a year and 2. this year I was more scared of sharks than last. I stood in the water, waves lapping at my thighs while I considered my options. After a few boogie boarder fly-bys, while I was still knee deep, he grabbed my hand and pulled me out further into the ocean. And I, uncharacteristically, let him.
Then my day became this: Amber and Ryan frolicking in the waves in Parenthood. Let’s make one thing clear - I do not frolic, ever, certainly not with strangers. But there I was, frolicking, arms around my waist and shoulders – with a stranger. I still maintain the waves made me do it. After about forty minutes of frolicking, the boogie boarder had to leave. Numbers were exchanged and a meet-up was set for the following day. Sure, I was certain everything he was telling me was a lie, but check me out, being all open minded and such.
The following evening began like this: Jacob scolding Cal to ‘be better than the Gap’ in Crazy Stupid Love. The question I needed to answer was this: how does one dress for a guy who you met on the beach, who is new to town, and who insists you join him at his friend's place where he was crashing. In an attempt to embrace the new, I shelved rational, instead focused my efforts on emptying my closet in fashion-frenzied frustration. I achieved 'better than the Gap,' but didn’t venture much further than basic black. I did manage a dress, because you know, open minded and such.
Upon arrival, the conversation unraveled swiftly like this: A level of awkwardness only matched by Mark Zuckerberg and Erica Albright in the opening scene of The Social Network – without the benefit of sizzling Sorkinian dialog and White Stripes soundtrack. What the boogie boarder translated as insta-girlfriend, I translated as a first date. Despite numerous texts that afternoon, our expectations of the night were grossly misaligned. After fifteen minutes, of getting to know one another, he wanted to go straight in for a night of cuddling in front of a movie, even anticipating making breakfast the next morning. After fifteen minutes, I couldn’t understand the rush.
The end of the night looked like this: Torrance pleading, left in Cliff’s dust in Bring It On. Accused of not being the same person I was yesterday, tonight’s version was a stark disappointment. Without the safety of the sun and fellow beachgoers, I wasn’t ready to frolic. No amount of waves crashing us together could make a stranger’s home any less strange. The date ended in under an hour with him vowing to lose my number. For all our bickering and misalignment, I must give him credit, he kept his word.
So to my fellow ladies braving the beaches to beat the next heat wave, all I can say is this – swim with caution.
