January 19, 2025

My favorite grandma, my second mom, my ‘maia’ loved the beach. It was her happy place and she didn’t stop going to it every year till she got really, really sick, right before she died. Romania doesn’t have palm trees though, but she lived for almost 75 years dreaming about seeing one, one day. I remember her buying fabric with palm tree patterns for summer dresses. 

When I landed in America, 27 years ago today, life or fate, or some happenstance brought me to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. This is not where you dream of migrating when you dream about moving to America. You usually are told America is New York and Miami and Los Angeles, and anyone you know who moves here shoots for one of these places. Well, my story brought me to Myrtle Beach. My first home was on the beach - I thought I literally won the lottery. 

Every day, I would look at nothing but palm trees and think of ‘maia’. It kept me going, knowing she would never say ‘no’ to living on this new planet where it was so easy to take every tree for granted. 

Then (1998) and today (2025). A lifetime and the same shore at the same time. 

I had nothing but a head full of dreams and absolutely no idea how I would make them come true. Those who know my story know by now that dad had one dream for us: to make America our home. I went out into the world on his specific promise that America is the only place where our character, our education, our upbringing, our talents will not go to waste. This was our pie-in-the-sky. The possibility of failure was never factored in. That was not a chance in the world that would happen.  

Over the years, I have looked back, and realized every time that I did make those dreams come true. I was lucky enough to learn how, and I was even luckier to know people who helped me out to facilitate them. Those who did all that know who they are and they also know (I hope) that I will forever be grateful to them. 

This immigrant girl didn’t know how to put gas in a car, or how to write a check, much less how to get and pay for a mortgage or a car loan. I didn’t know how to pay taxes or how to navigate the complex and disorderly, a-logical dark alleys of health insurance companies. I learned everything from scratch, at the age of 23: how to get and keep a job with no credentials or history in one of the most competitive places on the planet, how to survive an abusive marriage, how to keep a household, how to make friends who had no cultural common ground with me, and so much more ... 

When I look back and think of the past 27 years, I literally shiver. It’s more than half my life! Where has it all gone and who am I today?! 

People have asked me over the years if I ever regretted coming here - if I ever got scared when I landed here, amongst strangers, in a foreign land, and wanted to run back. Are you freakin’ kidding me? Look where I landed! Palm trees, pools, and the roaring Atlantic Ocean in my backyard. I was 23! Do you think any 23 year old would say no to that? I knew I had to work hard to make all that my own (and I learned over the years that the beach is really not my jam), but I wanted nothing but to make this land my true home. 

America held such promise in 1998! Back then, I never even thought about the politics in America because its reputation preceded it. I knew politics-wise, America’s got it figured out. They would always offer the best place to live anywhere in the world, I was sure of it. From my small Romanian town, it was heaven on earth and things just “worked” here because everyone is responsible and everyone pulls together. Someone reaching out a hand to give you help to move here, in this blessed land was the type of fortune that movies are made of. That’s how you know what a dreamer I was ... 

I was a literature and music buff and America offered a never-ending playground for both. 

I came to walk in Jim Morrison’s steps on Venice Beach, California, and breathe in the chilly, piney breezes of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks magnificent Douglas firs in the Pacific Northwest. For me, New York and Los Angeles presented no pull. But I wanted more than anything to live in the desert of Arizona or the mountains of Montana. I wanted to live in and to understand the complicated South which I grew to love after reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Gone With the Wind, among other things.

I came here to drive on Route 66 and chase Elvis’s Tennessee-born music; I came here to be “on the road again” like Willie Nelson promised and take the vastness of this land in, to learn it like the back of my hand; I came here to see if the stories told by Mark Twain and the criticism of Henry James towards Americans bear any truth. I came here to see Hemingway’s hangouts, homes and learn where his kitties spent their days. I came here to hear the blues in Chicago and the zydeco in New Orleans. I came to make the land of original blue jeans and bandanas (some of my favorite pieces of clothing growing up) my own. 

More than anything in the world, I came here for freedom. True, unbridled freedom, the kind of which no nation under the sun promised to know how to make. As I found out later through knowing the work and activism of Martin Luther King, Jr. "the goal of America is freedom." I thought that and to some extent still do, to my core. I figured then as I figure it now, 27 years later, America't got what I am after, and I have what she needs to give her, too. How could it go wrong?!

In the past 27 years, I did all these and so much more. In the process of slowly making America my home, I have learned that there are few things in the world as decadently delicious as hushpuppies, or fresh backyard bar-b-que. I also learned that the worst thing you can ever put in your mouth is without a doubt a peanut butter sandwich. Now, this one is one of the things that America got wrong. 

It was not until recently that I doubted the freedom part, but that is now the saddest realization yet. As Bill Clinton was saying in an interview "no victory is ever eternal" (or something similar).

Happiness is a basket full of crispy fresh hushpuppies at Sea Captain's House

I lived in Myrtle Beach only for about 10 months after I came over. Life and my new family moved me around to North Carolina, to Utah and back to North Carolina. While I was living close still, I used to go to Myrtle Beach every year after 1998 on my “off the boat” anniversary, which is today - January 19. After moving away for some time and during the pandemic the tradition went stale, but I felt the strong pull to start it again today. 

We went to some new places that I had never visited before (who would have known that after visiting my first American home for almost 12 years after I came here, every year, there would be any “new” places to see?), and I recreated the journey from my first home to my old beach and further to my office back when I made it here, and to one of my favorite places for food - a little old place called Sea Captain’s House that is still there and still offers delicious food and quirky Southern hospitality. Walking around my old neighborhood felt so familiar and welcoming. Like time never washed over anything ... Just like the waves washing on the same shore - the wave, always different, the shore permanent and steadfast ... 

In front of my former home. Look at all the those palm trees.

We booked an ocean-front room when we got here. I woke up this morning yearning for a gorgeous sunrise. But it was so overcast I did not even see one ray of sunshine. It was so windy that all the birds were flying backwards. I thought to myself: what an interesting coincidence that the weather, and the general mood of the beach matches the world of today, January 19, 2025: not a ray of hope is left for so many of us today, on this day; and just like the birds going backwards, some of us want to go back for better times, some of us are taking all of us back from ignorance. But we’re all looking back, for one reason or another.

When they pushed me out of my home country and into America, they told me that this is the land of opportunity; that there is nothing you cannot achieve here if you set your mind to it and work hard. The one thing they didn’t mention is that the land of all opportunity also includes the opportunity to fail. The opportunity to lose sense of who you are and what right and wrong is and how to tell the difference. 

I didn’t fail, or at least I didn’t fail me, but at times this country that held so much promise and that I cherished, has failed me. 

But if I were given the opportunity to come here again, knowing what I know now, I would do it again in a heart-beat! Even if one day, I can say that I came to witness the fall of the greatest empire of my generation, that, too, is a (strange) privilege and a chance of a lifetime. So, I would do it again. 

I used to sit like the picture shows on my patio and look at the ocean in front of our condo, thinking that at the other end of all that water are the people I love but that I am here, in this safe boat and if I steer it right, I could make my own and their lives better, fuller, more meaningful.

Nowadays, I don’t feel like I’m on that safe boat anymore. I feel like not just me, the whole country is on The Titanic. The people who see the iceberg have no power, nor authority to steer the boat away and avoid hitting it. The people who have the authority and the power cannot see the iceberg and are heading straight for it, and they are so ignorant or controlling they are not listening to the people on the same boat to go around it. 

In the end, I feel like we’re all headed for peril. But only one half will know why and that it could have been avoided. The other half will blame the iceberg. 

As we were walking out of Barefoot Landing in North Myrtle Beach, the speakers were shouting as a sad reminder: "Bye, bye, Miss American pie ...".

Wrightsville Beach, NC

My mind is very fragmented lately. I have struggled to write complete sentences and the truth comes to me in snippets, much like a bulleted list. Without numbers. Without a specific order of events. 

These are my random thoughts on our recent trip to Wrightsville Beach, NC. 

• Hotel beds are the worst. Why do they make them so back-breaking soft? 

• Off-season beach season should be the most popular. Who needs the heat, the noise, the sand when you can have the beach to yourself to roam and any restaurant open with no waiting time? But I guess if this would be the peak season, this all would change?! Hmmm ... 

• Falling asleep to the sound of the waves. Who needs a noise machine? 

• I still love the cheap t-shirt beach stores where everything is always on sale. You can never have too many cheesy painted t-shirts (for the days when you decide you’re bored enough you want to start painting your cabinets) and too many $1 thong flip-flops. Summer is long in North Carolina. 

• Overheard in a coffee shop (paraphrase): “All I have left is to prepare for class this semester. Which is basically a lot of reading. But it’s kinda odd because all I have to read are heavy books. Like, you never thought you’d ever say ‘boy, I am really pumped about reading this book on ... suffering!’, ya know?!” Laughter follows. (Drift restaurant in Wrightsville Beach)

• The best seafood gumbo vegan outside of the fish is at The Oceanic at the Crystal Pier. Best view in town too, right on the ocean.

• It’s a mystery to me where birds go when we go to the beach. You see all these gorgeous waterfowl photography everywhere from the fancy hotels to your dentist’s office and you’re thinking: “sure, I can do that! Just get out there on the marsh, point and shoot.” Only you can’t. Nope. Not birds at any rate. I watched the sunrise from my 7th story hotel room and there were hundreds of water birds on the beach. I get dressed and get out there to “shoot them up close” ... not a one! Ridiculous! And that curse followed us everywhere else all weekend. Almost. A small pond in the middle of the Airlie Gardens saved the weekend. 

  Finally birds! At Airlie Gardens.

• I have never found so many absolutely perfectly whole sea-shells in a 20 minute walk on the beach. And I didn’t even pick up all the ones we spotted.

• When coming out of The Oceanic, a random gentleman with a zoomy-zoom camera propped up on the railing told us he is waiting to see the launch of a SpaceX rocket somewhere South from where we were standing. Now, we were about 600 miles (more than 8 hours) away from where the rocket was launching, so this sounded highly dubitable, but we decided to wait for the rocket. 

And oh, wow!, were we in for an experience! The rocket, like a crisp white beam of light, came out from low on the Southern horizon and ascended so incredibly fast, leaving behind a thick and luminous train, so long that given the distance we were aware it was from us, might have been hundreds of miles long in the sky.
At one point, we could see it drop its boosters that had propelled it into space, and then the two boosters, like mini-rockets themselves, made their own train of light from the dropping point all the way back towards Florida where they eventually landed.
At some point, it looked like the rocket stopped “writing” on the sky with its white, luminous train, and it kept only a short “tail”, almost like a comet flying high above the water. Although we could not hear the launch nor feel the earth shake, it was still breathtaking. Definitely the highlight of this weekend, regardless of however many successful pictures of birds we might have gotten. 

Sometimes what you get out is not what you go there for. 

When we left our house, we were not too eager to be on this trip, for various reasons. But once seeing this miracle of human engineering, just a token of what is possible once you venture out beyond your front door, you realize that no matter how sad or poorly you feel, as long as your body is still able, you should get out and take in the amazement that the world still has in store for you. 

The synchronicity was moving:

We saw the SpaceX Falcon Heavy on January 15 - a Sunday - outside The Oceanic Restaurant in Wrightsville Beach, NC. The rocket launch had been scheduled for January 14th (the day before) and it had gotten delayed till the following day, for “reasons not immediately disclosed” (if you follow the SpaceX launches, they have a good record of punctuality). We knew absolutely nothing of this, as we don’t follow rocket launches. 

We had come to The Oceanic the day before, but we could not get in because they were too busy, so we decided to come the following day a bit earlier to have a chance at eating dinner there. And a place we picked totally randomly, and a day and time we picked totally by accident paid off in a big, big way. We took the experience as a reminder to stop making plans (or hiding from them) and get out there and embrace life and wonder just as they are: always there, always waiting, always in need of nothing but eyeballs to enjoy it.

The rocket and the two boosters putting on a spectacle as seen from Wrightsville Beach, NC on January 15, 2023. Who needs New Year's fireworks when you can have this?! 

Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

From a place of humility rather than from one of bragging, I can say that I have traveled quite a bit for a girl from a small, Eastern European country. I climbed many a mountain in my day, in several places in Romania, Turkey, all over the American Rockies and Smokies, as well as climbed a few cliffs and rocky Mayan temples in the Central American jungle. I have been hiking and climbing since I was 6 or 7 years old – not the professional, competitive type, I am a home body at heart, but the easy, relaxing type of hiking, where you can take it easy and stop (often) for a break and for pictures. Always stop for pictures. Trails and I are good friends. The best of them, really.

I even climbed a limestone mountain covered by thermal spring water in the heart of the Turkish dessert. I might have slipped here and there in my journeys, but never (that I can remember) fell. No. The fall was going to be on this skinny trail in the middle (not quite) of the Atlantic Ocean. At sea level, surrounded by nothing but water, with all the pelicans and gulls to watch over me and laugh.

I was fed up with the house. We have still been mostly isolating (less than last year, but still not back to our normal travel schedule yet), still being in the house too much this summer. We had to give up weekends and could not go anywhere because one time there was a shortage of gas (we could not venture too far from our town for fear of running out of it and not being able to find a gas station to refill). We had to give up a couple of weekends because of constant rain (tropical storm season!), or health reasons (ah, well, what can you do about that?!). But this weekend, we were going to be out, darn it. Come hell or high water, we were going to drive to the beach and just shoot some birds for a few hours. (Spoiler: nothing ever good will happen when you say “hell or high water”).

We had a lovely seafood meal at Elijah’s on Wilmington’s waterfront of the Cape Fear river, we walked the streets of the city in 108 degree (according to my car’s thermometer) heat, we visited The Bellamy Mansion on Market Street – a gorgeous ante-bellum mansion that speaks volumes about that gone with the wind era, and we finally headed to Carolina/ Kure beach to walk around Fort Fisher, a military fort since the times of the American Civil War.

The Cape Fear Memorial Bridge - Wilmington, NC

I have never seen this boardwalk this empty

Empty streets at Chandler's Warf in downtown Wilmington. The extreme heat at 1 PM sent everyone indoors, no doubt. 

The Bellamy Mansion, 1861

On the map, trying to plan for the trip to The Fort, I had seen these formations in the water that looked like a dam made of rocks piled together. The dam started at Fort Fisher and it kinda disappeared into the ocean, according to Apple Maps. It looked like a great place to shoot some water birds, fishermen’s boats, the Fort Fisher Ferry.

We parked outside The Fort and walked across some sand dunes towards the water. Then, we saw the dam – long, winding through the calm waters, the Cape Fear river on the right, the Atlantic Ocean on the left. Sea gulls, pelicans, cormorants were flying above and we were trying to catch some with our cameras. Crabs were burying in the sand and dragon flies were sunning on reeds. The air was paralyzed with heat. You could not even smell the salt of the ocean, because there was no breeze – everything was sleepy and silent, except for the chatty gulls every now and again.

Various shots around Fort Fisher and from The Rocks

A shot from The Rocks, looking out to their "end" which we did not reach...

I wanted us to walk those rocks as far as we could walk them. And we did. For as far … until bam! I went down like a billion pound sack of potatoes and rattled the world! The dam had not for one second seemed wet or slippery! I personally had not seen any warning signs that it might be. There were people on it, walking and taking in the ocean air, people fishing, kids running around, dogs prancing. The rocks were porous and dry, with the hot early afternoon sun baking them – 108 degrees, remember?!  I did not see one person losing a footing or wobbling in the very least. The fact that my foot all of a sudden slipped like I was walking on ice was a total shock. And down I went – sun glasses flew one way, my camera (around my neck) hit the ground hard, and my left thigh, knee, ankle, wrist, and elbow all served as cushion between the rest of my body and the black, grimy, probably algae-covered rock, where oyster shells were cemented probably for centuries, sharp side up (of course!) … The rock scraped my skin off my thigh in two areas about the size of dollar bills. The shells cut deep into my flesh in so many spots I can’t count. My first thoughts were: “Oh, please don’t let any bacteria run into my blood stream from this sea muck!” and “Ouch! That’s gonna hurt tomorrow!”

My husband was livid with worry, ensuring nothing was broken (nothing seemed broken or not working). We started walking towards the car. I guess this was as far as we could go.

Another couple with a dog saw this and offered help, even chocolate. I politely declined, but during our exchange both the lady and I noticed their dog was bleeding from one foot – the dog, too, had slid earlier, they shared, and probably cut one of the paws in the sharp oyster shells. I was walking just fine, but I could tell my thigh was starting to swell up. Thank goodness I am loaded with hand sanitizer, so, I bathed all the wounds in it even before we got to the car where we had disinfecting alcohol.

Back home, I did a little research on The Rocks, as the dam is called. Almost every site that had a story on them (a long rock jetty built and completed in 1881 to aid navigation by stopping shoaling in the Cape Fear River) warned against walking on them because they are slippery and sharp (who knew?!). They also said they connected Fort Fisher to Zeke’s Island and at high tide they become completely covered leaving tourists who walk them all the way stranded on the island. They mentioned in several spots how the local authorities are called frequently to tend to cuts and cruises from the frequent falls of unassuming foot travelers like us.

I hope you agree from some of the pictures – the walk was all worth it. It’s one of those “end of the world” feeling this place has, where the Cape Fear pours into the ocean. Would I do it again or recommend it: probably, yes to both, but … do your research before you go there, not after like me! Get some good shoes (people were walking in thong flipflops, I had hiking shoes on, and still!) with serious rubber grips and walk slowly! It’s definitely a place I wanted to explore, because it’s like no other I have ever explored. Now, I also have a heck of a tale to tell that will make it even more memorable. My childhood best friend’s grandpa used to tell us all the time that you never want a trip to be eventless, because you’ll never remember it. Well this one, friends, will be remembered for a long while to come …

“Keepers of the Light”

Try as you may, you can never predict history. You can live it, help write it, learn it, and try as hard as you can to not repeat it. Or maybe some history does beg repeating …

22 years ago last month, on January 19, 1998, I flew to America in search of a new home. I was looking for a better life, opportunities, respect for who I am and for freedom. Nowadays, I sometimes find myself asking if it was all worth it. For the most part, I got most of it. But some things are starting to look like they might turn into the bad, haunting history I left behind … But I can’t despair. I am keeping the light burning in the belief that one day America will again be that beautiful place that was once promised … bountiful, but mostly respectful for all.

Regardless of how kind or not America has been to me in the past 22 years, I always celebrate this anniversary. I celebrate that wild spirit, that courage of a single young woman to want to build a life as she wished she should live it. I usually take a trip which is my favorite present to myself for any occasion. This year the trip was to The Outer Banks of North Carolina and to Manteo. 

It was cold. It was so cold, in fact, that one day it snowed. But it was beautiful! Mountains will forever be my soul’s heaven, but the tranquility of the water is magical too. The richness it hides, the pulsating life … The sunsets are as glorious here as they are in the mountains, for very different reasons …

Mountains make me speechless. Water makes me think.

Although we drove and walked in many a cities during this trip, we found good food and great parks, my favorite spots were The Elizabethan Gardens in Manteo, and the drive all the way down to Cape Hatteras. That’s one of those journeys to “the end of the world.” For us, there was a sun dipping in the water on that end, and we felt like the world was over right then and there and for good. A sort of breathtaking desperation you feel in the pit of your chest when the sun just melts in the water. Will it ever know how to float?!  

Enjoy the picture journey of this trip by clicking the shot below. And in case you’re wondering: I would do it in a heartbeat, again, even knowing what I know now … In the end, it was mostly worth it than not …

A Picture a Day. October 2018

What a month this has been! 

I have been everywhere, from the high to the lower end of this Continent and somewhere  in-between, too: from the Atlantic Ocean's beaches to the Rockies, while spending some time with friends locally and visiting with family from the Frozen North (aka Canada). All while cleaning up the house after two hurricanes. 

Some days I am not sure how I am still standing. Some days I forget what timezone I am in anymore or how long my commute is on a given day. 

The highlight of this month is hard to pick, because I hit two items on my Bucket List: 

1. I got to show my two nephews the Ocean. Experiencing their first time with them was priceless. Would not have wanted to miss it for the world!
2. I finally made it to The Grand Canyon. After living about 5 hours from it for seven years and never seeing it, we finally made the trip. 

Can't say it's all bad! At least personally. What is going on around us perplexes me every minute and still has me wondering if we have all been kidnapped and taken to a planet where all the rules, as we know them, have been reversed and distorted into some weird reality. But our lives are trying to stay afloat and continue to wonder at the immense beauty that still, shyly, peaks out around us. 

Click the picture and then click "next" to view this months's daily shots. 

Another Kind of Beach Trip, Another First ...

"The Five S's" - we called the day, I and my friend Aa.: sun, sand, sweat, skin ... and smoke: that's about what I can say for my past Saturday (which would make it the 6th "s": just a coincidence - don't think so).

I traveled to VA Beach to see my friend and also show my aunt The Ocean. She's never seen it before. She's never dipped her foot in it. She is 58. It was a small step for us all, but a huge one for her.

The beach was your usual overcrowded affair at this time of the year, with plenty of skin sightings, some that should be seen and some, better not. But, hey, who am I to judge, right?!
We didn't lay out, but we walked on the beach (man, how is walking on HOT sand not a torture task in Survivor by now?!), on the boardwalk, we had lunch on a sunny patio, we ate waaayyy too much ice cream (my fix for the year, for sure; or maybe for a couple of years) and we shopped in cheesy stores, for cheesy things, as you’re supposed to, at the beach! For the day, we locked up "class" somewhere back in Suffolk, and we turned into your regular tourist.

What was unusual about the beach this time was the smoke. My Goodness, the wild fires in NC have been smoldering for a while now, and that thick, smoky, airy goop still persists in the Hampton Roads area. The wind and humidity made it unbearable! I cannot image what people that live closer to the actual fires have been breathing for the past few weeks, but I sure as heck can tell you it's not good! The air was thick, and smelled like bacon. It was heavy and there was no clear horizon if you looked out the Ocean. The freedom you normally feel on the beach was not there that day. You felt trapped, and your chest was heavy.

When the wind picked up and it also started pouring out of nowhere, we said 'good bye' to the smoky-sandy-sunny-sweaty skins and headed home.

The next day was a whole lot clearer, in Norfolk, and the harbor cruise was picture perfect. No more sand. No more smoke, I was actually asking myself where it all went?! I was shocked at how huge the Norfolk bay is. We went out for miles and miles, and we kept seeing land, and more towns, and bridges, and more ships docked in the NIT (Norfolk International Terminal). The land would just not let go!

With all those impressive military ships, that carry anything from coal to submarines and nuclear weapons, the one boat that fascinated me was the "vacuum cleaner" boat: a boat that sucks sediment off of the bottom of the golf, and through this complicated pipe system, takes it at the end of it, and deposits it into what looks like a natural sand barrier. Amazing! It was the most colorful boat, too, orange and green and maroon. Unlike all the other carriers this boat had personality: it had color and it had a full time job. They think of everything, don't they?!

Other things worth mentioning would be that I did get my fix for fresh seafood, at Pisces in Suffolk. My flounder was fresh, but my friend got the rockfish special and it was out of this world! Gotta love nuts, though!

One thing that sets this trip apart from all my other wanderings is that I did get to hold guns for the first time in my life. Not to shoot them (yet), but to hold them, so ... it was a first for me. They are everything I expected them to be: cold, unfriendly, and rejectful of flesh! But they smell good. They smell ... "technical", and you have all night to figure out what that means! I used to think I want to shoot them, when stressed, but ... now, I am not sure. We'll see ...

Another first was that I saw a “no swearing” sign in VA Beach. At least that’s what my friend calls them and even if they’re not that, I think of them as that, and they’re pretty cool! I am a sucker for original signs, like a bar with the longest name (also on this trip) and the “no swearing” sign which also made my picture collage. Because of the "no swearing", a store could not be called anything but "Oh... Fudge".

What I would do differently next time?! My poor fried skin tells me to remember the sun lotion next time, and my growing hips to stay miles away from any kind of ice cream! Man, that was disgusting, thinking about it...

I should sign this piece: "A., the occasional sweets hater", but I won't! People do silly things when under pressure, let me tell you!

For pictures, please click here.

The Beach

“A friend will bail you out of jail … a redneck friend will be sitting next to you saying: ‘Dang, that was fun!’”.

I wish sometimes I were a beach gal. No, I really do! This blog would meet the expectations of beach going folks everywhere then! So, I really wish I got a kick out of going to the beach, and the salty air, and the crispy skin in the summer, and the shell-shaped necklaces and the flop-flops, and the funky, flimsy tanks showing your nipples, and the big tall drinks with the cute umbrellas in them, and the cups you get to keep, and all that sand coming off in the shower, and the pools and the hot tubs, oh, joy! … But I have wiry hair that hates the sun and the humidity and the salt in the air. And fair skin that never, but I mean never tans, but always burns! And I am a beer chick. I cannot swim, either. And let’s not talk about the nipples! I am shy, too! So, the beach does nothing for me!

I do want to live within weekend driving distance from the ocean, though, because occasionally, I like to visit it, even for just a change of scenery. The ocean, also, helps me think! When I see that whole world, hidden under waters, as well as seeing the waves coming and going, all that passing, renewing … just like the tides of life – that puts things into perspective, and into motion for me. So, I like to visit.

This spring’s beach trip was not just helpful for my life perspective. But also intrinsic to fill up my dry girlie well. Let me explain!

This trip was all about being with the girls and being a girl. No boys to worry about. Plenty of room to drink beer, feel bloated, burp and do it all over again … Plenty of time to shop till I dropped (you all know I am an anti-shopping crank year-round) and not worry about the bottom line. Everyone else was doing it, so why should I worry?!?

And who cares if you’re too drunk or tired to put on your lipstick or mascara, or whatever, we’re all friends: we’ll tell you it looks like crap, we’ll even take pictures to prove it and then help you put it on right!

Plenty of opportunities to gossip till we feel like we just ran out of victims in the whole wide world! And boy were we mean: from people we couldn’t stand, to people who we felt sorry for! We were ruthless. And plenty, oh, plenty of opportunities to see how fortunate and loved I truly am to have such friends to do it with! Sometimes it’s just good to kick back and just speak out loud about people you withhold about all day long, because of darn political correctness!

Yeah, they told me I am a “damn Aries” who can’t keep her mouth shut most times, and they made fun of my hatred for sweets (what girl hates chocolate, right??), and they told me that I like dull people, otherwise I can’t fall in love, and that my hair might look like a “skunk” in a couple of months, when my gray streaks will really be huge enough to tell … and one day they even told me I looked bloated! Burp!!!

And I felt free to tell them back: that they are fashion Nazi’s, that they are judgmental and gossipy, that they are geeks, that they snore and I am happy we’re not sharing rooms! It was all in good fun and good laughter (I hope!!).

It was such a great, rejuvenating weekend of just being silly and “worrying about” silly things. When would I ever have time to shop around the gift shops in Greensboro and just browse and laugh at goofy signs, like “Feng-Shui is Chinese for moving your husband’s crap in the garage”, or “After my last relationship I fell in love with food, and now I can’t get in my own pants!” ?! I tell you: I do not know of many great guys out there who would have gotten this and laughed with me as hard as the girls did!

And then, of course, we talked about “girlie” stuff, which is not to be mentioned here, but it’s to be imagined, I am assuming, by … imaginative minds.

We people watched, and gossiped, just like only girls know how to, pointing out the gorgeous “bimbo” and the old man couple at the raw fish bar who were looking pretty out of place, kinky and drunk, or the crazy men on the pier who were trying to hit on us with lame lines which must have died probably 50 years ago, not that they seemed to have caught up on that; we met new people, for some, like the pier guy, a happy and drunk ol’ man, who had a story for every day he’s spent there, whose tales were as colorful as the drinks he was having mixed for himself at 10 AM every morning. Aww, all good times! Never to forget!

And guys, seriously: do you really not know when your hairy butt crack is hanging out smiling at the sky from under your pants?! Or you do, but you really think that’s sexy? I tell you: it’s NOT! It’s funny, yeah, but not sexy! I wondered if our ancestors who actually fished to survive impressed their lasses with a free viewing of their buttocks?! Wonder if by evolution, we, girls of today, just lost the meaning of it all?!? Hhmmm…

Thank God for friends who think that’s as funny as I do, and even snapped a shot of that awkward view! And even as a non-ocean chick, ladies, I am up for another round the next time we all get a chance! Thanks all for coming and building the memories!

Enjoy some pictures here.