I need a &%*$ing beach!!

Summer is almost upon us, and with it, the heat. Oh, the glorious wondrous heat. While some people run to their air-conditioned hovels to wait out nature's sauna, I luxuriate in the feel of my skin baking. I look forward to this time all year. No longer hidden behind layers of wool and fur, I'm finally free to wear as little as I possibly can and frolic amongst the newborn goose babies running around the metro area. Spring is ending, and with it goes the irritating downpours and wishy-washy "am I cold or warm this morning?" bullshit weather. Unfortunately, this also means that everyone is turning their air conditioning to maximum capacity and I've still got to pack a sweater if I want to be indoors.

Bethany Beach, DE

So now that it's getting warmer, I find myself drawn to the beach. I love the beach. I do not love wearing a swimsuit in front of people, being that I am not thin and probably never will be and I continue to feel like a beached whale amongst the skinny white beach-goers in their tiny revealing bikinis. Bitches. Still, I love being at the beach and wear what I feel comfortable in (which consists of, this year, the same black bikini shorts I've had for the past 10 years and a leopard print push-up top), and I'm looking forward to going. Unfortunately, for me, time is sparse. I have a busy weekend schedule. Shows and rehearsals and social obligations add up, so when I get a free weekend, I salivate at the idea of laying on a towel in the sun eating boardwalk fries while reading a sci fi novel.

This all stems from habit. My dad would wake us up before dawn to rush us out of the house and on the road so we could beat traffic on the Bay Bridge. We used to "vacation" in Ocean City, which for people of our means meant we pitched a tent at a nearby campground. That was camping for us. Camping at the beach. We'd go to the beach during the day, sleep in a tent, cook crabs over an open fire, go fishing.. that kinda thing. It was fun because I was too young to hate being poor.

Now the issue is that my extremely Irish husband burns in the shade, and I have an allergy to water that causes me to break out in hives unless I'm doped up on Benadryl. Which means I spend half of the time on the beach sleeping. Now, personally, that's fine with me. Unfortunately, it leaves my husband feeling bored and burned so now there's no way I can just escape to the beach unless I do so alone. Which sucks. I really want to go to the beach, if only for a day, because these summer days don't last very long. I've got a three month window where I can go lounge on the sand and listen to waves and seagulls, before it's taken away by fall's icy death grip. I really hate how short our summers are.

Mostly, I need an escape. I've been overworked for the past several months because the new album is fast approaching the release date. I've had to work my ass off to get things designed and laid out and we've hit a few snags on the way that nearly made the band want to murder each other. Now that it's coming to a finish, all I want to do is get a book and read on the sand. I think I deserve it after all the crap I've had to put up with, don't you?