Confession: I Hate Beach Vacations
Most people's idea of vacation heaven is my idea of personal hell.
As someone who's always marched to the beat of my own drum, I'm very well used to being in the "minority" when it comes to a few things. I absolutely hate fruit in my dessert, I prefer old dogs to puppies and here's the real bombshell: if you ask me if I want to go on a one-week, all-expenses-paid beach vacation in the Caribbean, I would pretty much say "meh."
Cue the zomgz chorus now.
I get that 99.9-percent of you all love the beach. Like more-than-a-friend love. And I completely celebrate and support your ability to sit around in sandy bathing suits, get scorched by the sun and write out your pro/con lists about whether or not you should use the bathroom in the ocean (because the public bathrooms are too far of a walk). Your idea of fun just ain't my idea of fun.
I Get Bored
Look, I'm not blind. I can happily admit that many beaches are gorgeous to admire. The water is a mesmerizing moody blue, the sugar-white sand is so soft on your feet, snorkeling is a dream...blah, blah, blah.
But here's a typical day for me at the beach:
9:00 a.m.: Arrive with all of my stuff in a bag. The walk from the hotel to the beach was not short, so my back already hurts.
9:13 a.m.: Sit down in my chair underneath the umbrella and start reading my book.
9:28 a.m.: Realize I don't like the book I brought. What I really want to read is the one magazine I decided to leave in the hotel room because it was too heavy.
9:28 a.m. to 9:32 a.m.: Stew over the fact that I don't like my book.
9:29 a.m.: Pull out my phone and try to watch all my friends' Insta Stories. Realize I can't see a damn thing and get more annoyed.
9:30 a.m.: Take one Insta photo so I can pretend I'm having the time of my life.
9:39 a.m.: Make an excuse about why I need to go back up to the hotel room. Once I get there, watch reruns of The Real Housewives (of anywhere), as long as I don't have to go back to the beach.
Burn, Baby! Burn!
Usually the lightest color of foundation they offer at your favorite makeup counter is called "Fair." Mine should probably be called "Casper." This means that I can easily get a sunburn after spending, like, 42 seconds in the sun — even with sunblock. So yes, the fact that I can't really ever let my skin be exposed to the blazing, beachy UV rays definitely plays into my general beach malaise.
But also, sun ages your skin! And causes cancer! And is very, very, very bright when it shines in your eyes!
The other thing I can't stand about the beach is that almost everyone there seems to be drunk. I mean, there are fruity, colorful drinks available with adorable names like "The WaveRunner Margarita." How can you say no to that?
Honestly, I don't want you to say "no." I want you to order your white wine slush with raspberries floating on top, and drink it until you think the ocean is sending you personal messages about your life with each crashing wave. I just want to be sitting on a lounge chair at the pool when you do it.
So, if you're thinking of inviting me to your fab, fun and beachy girls' getaway or your island destination wedding, you can probably save yourself the stamp. I'm over here drinking my tall, frosty, delicious glass of "Beach Haterade."