In May I saw the Pacific Ocean. I haven’t seen the Atlantic Ocean, the one that’s closest to me and the one I’ve spent the most time in, since last October. I’ve been close. Less than a mile close, but there were trees in the way and things to do and a drive back home to get to and anyway, I was wearing combat boots and a uniform and couldn’t have enjoyed it had I been able to see it. I miss it. Enormously.
Tomorrow, Andrew and I, together with a group of our friends, are going to Ocean City, MD. I went, years ago, with a friend. We were in high school. We were all about the debauchery and the ridiculousness.
Stupid shit I did the last time I went to Ocean City, Maryland back when I was 15:
//Â Played spin the bottle with a group of college students.
// Told everyone I was 17 when I was actually 15.
// Stole beer from my friend’s mom.
//Â Told everyone my friend and I were sisters.
// Almost lost my bikini top to the ocean.
//Â Had fun. Stupid fun. Underage, teenager fun.
To say I’m looking forward to going back again is an understatement. I desperately need some ocean time. I need to get in the water, to try out playing in the waves now that I don’t have to worry about losing a contact lens. I want to come back with sand still stuck to my toes and with my hair smelling like the ocean. I want to spend some time reading a book on the beach. I want to laugh with my friends. I want to go out for drinks and celebrate life in a city that’s not my own. I want to drink white wine spritzers on the beach. I want to have fun.