Surfin' Bird!

Ahh, surfing: The sport of the douche bags. Not really. Would you look at me; the first sentence and I’m already on the war path. In all seriousness tho’ this entry will be about surfing and altho’ I’ve received criticism of the language choice, I cannot justify myself the fact that I’ve giving this blog a bilingual name and written only one single posting in English. Furthermore, the illegalities described with utmost correct details are just a fiction of my imagination and this story is the combination of two separate occasions which took place already in mid-August. But then again, what separates the fact from fiction. Isn’t it merely our own perception? Anyhow, this is the closest I’ve been to doing anything remotely related to sports-like conduct and I have prepared myself for the rap upon my arrival to wherever that might be. I promise to come up with a clever answer to your inquiries of the due date of my baby. Oh the joy of writing introductions!
It’s a peculiar thing; the line between love and hate. And the fact how it comes alive while lying in bed. On my right I had the thing I hated the most and on the left the thing I love the most and shouldn’t it be the bastard on the right to open up its mouth: Alarm clock, people! It was the earliest I had woken up since beating the jet lag: 8.00! I was instructed by our very own German officer (luv ya!) to be at the bus stop next to my house because a 60-something year-old American surfing teacher AKA “the coach” was coming to pick me up. The car was easy to spot. It was the only one with 8 surfboards on top of it. Coach and I weren’t the only ones occupying the vehicle. Coach’s friend David was also coming with as well as his dog Angel. Angelic-like behaviorism was not included regardless of the name and it could not come to terms of the fact that I was to be seated with him in the backseat. To make matters worse, it (I’m calling dogs “it” especially here because mostly they are slobbering, disease-ridden strays who stink worse than the releasing of your bowel after a night of tequila and tacos). We headed to the communal house of the other exchange students and headed to the beach. As it was omitted by an accident and my methods are against revising the text, I shall inform you dearest that coach was sailing the beer-rivers even before I stepped into the car. When asked, David blatantly responded: “The coach runs on beer”. After the first 20 minutes on the beach (and after seeing how excruciating it was to put on the wet suit), David named me “Coach Jr.”.
Picture the sun blasting at its peak, wind flying the sand everywhere and then put yourself in the position of putting on an extremely tight wetsuit. Fun fun fun! After a quick dry lesson of “lie on your board, paddle paddle paddle, jump up”, I felt confident enough to hit the waves. Over my shoulder I saw buzzed Coach congratulating the girls, after successful, in ways which made one of them skip the second time of surfing. I, on the other hand, wasn’t getting the hang of it but since my arrogance is so overwhelming, I will give a tip for people who are about to or going to pop their surfing cherries: Timing is everything! No matter how hard you paddle, you need to catch the wave at a right time. No matter how many years in the circus you’ve spent as a Russian acrobat while you mom was the bearded elephant, you gotta know when to hop on the board. The action themselves don’t require much. I mean, Matthew McCona-Hey-hey-bye-bye-we’ve-had-enough-of-you could do and so can you!
Surfing is the equivalent of the skateboarding and the snowboarding cultures, neither of which I’m a part of. Therefore, I did not have an orgasm while surfing (I’ve had several boners while playing the G but that’s just me and beer talking). Safe to say, I won’t be spending my money on trips to sandy beaches with 10-foot waves. Rationally, the scale is not in balance; the amount of work one has to put in to catch a single good wave. To me, it’s not the worth the trouble. What I’m pointing out is not a hatred or even dislike towards the activity, I would do it again! My opinion of surfing is the same as my opinion on threesomes; it’s a change to your routines and considerably fun and, if offered, I probably wouldn’t decline, but at the end of the day you don’t feel greater satisfaction. For me the best part about surfing was going inside your wetsuit. I already addressed the matter of putting it on, so let your mind work and figure out what I mean by that. It truly is a sensational feeling of warmth and relaxation after your man-extension, pushed up against you own thigh as you’d be doing a remake of Saturday Night Fever, cannons out the 4 beers you consumed while putting the damn ski-jumper outfit on. Although, there are risk and let me warn you: Going sissy (the act of lying in shallow water on your back and peeing. Can be performed in public pools, lakes or oceans etc.) should be executed with your feet facing the shore and your head out to the sea. If you still wonder why, allow me to elaborate. So there was I laying (sex on fire, oooh!), going sissy and looking out at my friends with 60 year-old hands on their asses when a 4-times bigger than a normal wave moved towards me and before I realized what would be the outcome, I could feel the warmth, of what once occupied my pelvis area, on my own face. Surf’s up!
We decided to call it a day and I was left alone with David and Coach again. Now, Coach’s step weren’t as accurate as they had been at nine o’clock after 3 beers and I was sure that David was gonna take the wheel. Did it happen? No. Luckily, I wasn’t worried. Why? Before entering the vehicle, I pondered my chances of having yet another one of the sweet sweet Pacifico beers with lemon and salt, to which Coach replied: “Fucking A, holmes!” and handed me the liquid encouragement I needed. The only promise I had to make was not to drink at intersection as it is ILLEGAL TO HAVE AN OPEN CONTAINER OF AN ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE in a moving car. “Quite amazing that something as such is illegal in Mexico”, might be someone’s thoughts but they do have laws here. A lot less, though.
On the way back to my wonderland, we engaged in a nice conversation. Coach inquired me of who of the exchange students is doing who (or as he put it “getting all sexy sexy”). I also learned nice facts about bars; one of them which gave you free shots of tequila after which you’d wake up on the street with, if you’re lucky, your underwear on. Can’t wait to go there; free tequila!