But, we do not have sandbars that can handle 13-14 second swells.
Hurricane Gondola, or whatever the hell its name is, made me feel stupid and inadequate and tired. I used the 40 person catering excuse on Friday when I tackled the building swell with half-hearted abandon with Andy at the park... YES I CATERED A LUAU FOR 40 RICH PEOPLE ON THURSDAY!
Stupid. What was I thinking?
I mean really, who does something like that? Who do I think I am?
Oh, hi! I am Nancy, and I can nanny all week, bake 100 vegan cookies by Saturday, and then stand on my feet for twelve hours straight on Thursday making the equivalent of every goddamned Thanksgiving feast I have created for the past ten years in one day on one frozen burrito with a parakeet flying all over the kitchen landing on my shoulder and head the whole time whispering random and weird things in my ear (wait, was that my own thoughts or the bird's?) and mimic water running while whispering and making kissing sounds in my ear.
Good God, now it is staring at my feet! WHY is he pecking at my sandals?
What, it is already FIVE O'CLOCK? HOLY SHIT, I still have to finish the three layer carrot cake, bake three different yeast breads, all in various stages of rising, do three salads, and two more side dishes... and dear lord, my heart is beating so fast. DO NOT LET ME TOUCH THAT PORK LOIN... I REFUSE! That thing was walking around a few days ago, breathing the air and looking at the world.
And, the entire time I could not and WOULD NOT check the report or my phone to see if the waves from the storm had arrived yet, as outside a glorious sunny day unfolded and faded away.
So, I made my way through it. I only failed to deliver one dish, the Broccoli Quinoa, and never got to mix up the drink, the "Painkiller," that I planned to have ready for the bartender who had to mix it up herself.
But, everyone was having food orgasms by around 7:30 pm. I could hear the compliments out there in the crowd.
And then some of them, mostly all women, came into the kitchen to rave about my skills, but honestly I was so overwhelmed and exhausted by then that it is all a blur. Except for the one huge man who walked up to the decimated carrot cake and made some hilarious face and moaned, pointing to the cake's remains, "THIS! THIS! Ohhhhhh!"
There was a woman who was also quite memorable, named Jan, who moaned, returning again and again, blaming me for her eating too much and saying she could not get enough of everything. And, then it was over and I drove home and fell right into bed. In the morning, I looked at the check I was handed as I stumbled out the night before, and noticed I had gotten a $100 tip. SWEET!
Then suddenly it was dawn, and Andy and I were pedaling our bikes into the park and paddling into thumping swells that clamped down on us like relentless slabs of rushing cement. Owwwww.
We left there, the rip currents were relentless, the current taking us down the beach at a pace impossible to paddle against, and we tried, to look at Summerhaven. Crap, it was crowd city. We saw Bob's car and watched a long time, but never saw him catch a wave. I said, "Well, if Bob is not catching anything, I won't either." We decided to check out 12th street, where Mark said he was scoring "BARRELS." WHAT? Ok, let us go see this for ourselves.
Well, that was a lesson in humiliation. I felt thoroughly inadequate and weak, and missed so many big screaming walls that I backed out of and missed like a lazy ass dork. Meanwhile, Chuck Lanham was scoring rides that made me want to cry. Floaters, slashes off the top! Ugh. Andy tried to make me feel better, saying the guy doesn't have a job, just surfs, and exercises all the time, he's like a surf pro, he said. Damn him!! I hate him. But, even Chuck said something to me about it being a 14 second swell and not breaking right.
This day was better left forgotten, and I already practically have. Then, I came back to shore to bake about 100 cookies for the Farmer's Market.
The next day dawned with offshore winds and swells that had worked themselves out into more manageable clean walls. I went with plan B, which was paying Lindsey $15 and hour to sell my cookies at the market. I could not imagine myself sitting there while a swell was going off and I had worked so hard to have time to... SURF!
I was rewarded for all the disappointment and humble pie I had eaten the day before. I had been thinking I was either getting too old for this, or that I was truly more tired than I have ever been in my entire life. After the goddamned LUAU from hell.
Maybe it was a little of both.
But, there was one hour, as low tide turned into incoming, where I got giddy and insane and cackling and Andy told me to "CALM DOWN!" and I felt like an idiot for being so happy, but no matter, to hell with him, I was finally getting stand up barreling waves that felt insanely unreal even if I wasn't making it out of them every time.
Then I rolled into the market at 12:30 pm and Lindsey had broken the Bluebird Cookie sales record! Woo hoo!
And, I didn't even care that I had to pay her $60 and probably didn't make a bit of profit.
There were finally decent waves and, G
od damn it, I was there.
