Iím a little scorched from todayís surfing. Once again, Iím back from the shore and dreading the wet, sandy wetsuit thatís still in my car.

I guess the extreme sport waterproof sun block (or whatever itís called) doesnít hold up against four hours of being pulverized by waves and thorough exfoliation (keep that in mind). It was a little rougher out there today.

Isnít treating ones sinuses with salt water is supposed to be healthy? I hope so, because I did a lot of that.

When the good surfers are excited, I know to be worried. They were really excited today. I made it back to type about it.

After all the jumping I did in karate this week, I was already sore waking up this morning. After battling waves all afternoon, Iím curious as to how the body will be feeling tomorrow.

It was a gorgeous, perfect day at the beach. Afterwards, while walking down the boardwalk towards my car, my friend turned me and said, ďLook at the people enjoying themselves here! Parasailing! Swimming! Surfing! This is freakiní paradise!Ē

I had to agree, it was freakiní paradise.

We stopped for lunch just outside of town. We changed into dry clothes, had a good meal and then drove back satisfied.

I love the beach. If I hadnít gotten too tired, Iíd probably still be there (well, probably not at 10pm), but I kept going until I was too exhausted to get back into the water. I barely slept all week. I think thatís contributing to the exhaustion and soreness.

I think Iíll sleep well tonight, though. Oh, that reminds me, last night, I dreamt that I went to LAís house. Iíve dreamt about diaryland people a few times, and many other people Iíve known from the internet that Iíve never met, over the years.

Oh, I guess Iíll update about Christians friend. On Tuesday (Iím not sure of the exact day here), when Christian asked me if Iíd meet his friend, he asked me if I wanted a picture. I declined and asked he write me an email instead. What a person has to say is more important to me than what he looks like. Besides, if he wants to meet me, Iíll have to see him, anyway, right? Thereís no way around that.

The next day, Christian forwards me a picture in an email. Itís encoded funny, like he copied and pasted it out of Word. Iím almost sure thatís what happened, actually. Nothing written.

First of all, he doesnít have web space anywhere he can upload an image? What is this? 1995?! Secondly, he didnít even attach it appropriately. It definitely was not attached appropriately if youíre sending it to a web developer.

I was more horrified by the improper attachment than the fact that he didnít follow directions. I know he didnít because I reminded Christian that I asked for him to write me, not send a picture. He said he knew that, and he told him so, but thatís what he sent, anyway.

After that little exchange, neither of us said anything about it again. There really wasnít much to say. Heís average looking. I figured that if he has more confidence in his photo than his written communication skills, weíre in trouble.

He sent me an email on Friday. It was short. I replied, and we exchanged a few messages.

He seems a lot nicer than the evil villain I imagined he must be for sending such an attachment.

I donít think any person who would send an image that way would understand my problem with it. Iíll never be able to explain that and sound sane.

Wow, I canít keep my eyes open anymore, and I think we have perfect sleeping weather right now, yay.

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Saturday, Aug. 11, 2007 at 10:42 PM