Saturday was a beautiful day for riding to (or for Mr. W and myself, driving to) San Onofre Beach. We went to Costco for some supplies, had an organic healthy lunch at Mother’s Market, then drove down south to the campsite. We were the second party to get there; my jujitsu pal Gloria and her husband had already set up their tent. The four of us hung out and set up our tent until the biking crew arrived. It was a lot of fun, and sunny without being too warm as we were just over the deep blue ocean. I’d brought along a bunch of Milton Bradley Get-Together games, but never pulled them out as everyone was enjoy hanging out so much. We burned lots of wood in the firepit, made turkey burgers for dinner, smores for dessert, laughed and joked and listened to music. Mr. W rallied everyone into agreeing to go with us to the nude beach the next day, and altho they all agreed to include a visit to fleshville as part of the next day’s beach festivities, no one was going to join Mr. W as part of the 80%. Together, we were gonna make non-nudist participants of the nude beach 21%, darn it. Even the night was beautiful. The weather was cool and we needed nothing more than a light blanket over us in the tent to be perfectly comfortable.

The night was great, I mean, except for some crazy guy in the tent next to ours, not part of our group, who thought it was a good idea to make sex sounds in between snores every 5 minutes through the night. He was by himself. “OOH!” he’d groan. “OH, yeah, BABY!” “OHHHH!” There were little KIDS with their parents at the campgrounds, for gosh sakes!! He would actually startle me awake every time I started to doze. I think I finally fell asleep after some angry parents threw his tent, him included, over the fence into the water. Or maybe that was just wishful dreaming.

The next morning, we got up at 7a, made campside breakfast of pancakes, fire-toasted French rolls, scrambled eggs, and coffee, packed away all our tents and camping gear, just in time time to watch lightning strike the water in some dense dark clouds approximately 30 miles away. We’d heard about Florida’s Hurricane Dean bringing showers to Southern California, and looks like it was happening. Nevertheless, because it was still a nice morning out, we headed over to the beach, Mr. W barely able to contain his excitement at the prospect of his upcoming public stripping. That’s when it started to pour. We could barely see the road ahead of us through the splashes and mist, and after parking at the beach area, we exited the car in our bathing suits and proceeded to get drenched. It was a cold rain, and altho everyone was trying to be a good sport trudging their goose-pimpled flesh to the cliff’s edge, the amount of water and mud and made our descent down the hill onto the beach, in our flip flop shoes, impossible. From behind us, someone mumbled about having a lot of stuff yet to do this weekend. Another person agreed, saying something about laundry and unpacking, and then another voice about catching up on work before Monday. To Mr. W’s utter disappointment, we disbanded. Only three remained to surf, having the luxury of their own boards, wetsuits and water shoes. Oh, and the instructor who was supposed to bring extra boards and teach us to surf never showed, anyway.

Nevertheless, despite Mr. W’s threats that we were going to go back there sometime very soon to camp out on our own and visit the nude beach THEN, I had a great time and secretly thanked the Lord for the providence. It was also nice that everyone saw me in my pyromanic state, burning pine cones, used paper plates and napkins, etc., and still loved me for it. Turned out there were other pyros in the mix who enjoyed watching random things burn as much as I did. Chewed gum is fascinating. It dissolves and the whole thing lights on fire. The blackbelt organizer of the trip even offered his experience that pine needles burned really well, and at one point, he brought back an armful, threw it into the fire, and said, “There you go, Cindy!” as the fire blazed upward in a hungry lurch. I vaguely remember cackling and dancing around the living flames. Other people started experimenting, too. I returned from the restroom once to see a large black charred blob stuck on the side of a piece of wood. “What’s that?” I asked. “It’s a marshmallow,” a brown belt revealed.

This is me having way too much fun watching a cup of coffee in the flames. Mr. W put it in there for me. The theory is that the cup wouldn’t burn because paper burns at 451 degrees Fahrenheit but that the liquid forced it to remain at 200-some degrees Fahrenheit. Indeed, it DIDN’T burn…until the coffee boiled dry and as soon as upper portions of the paper cup dried, that part of the cup burned off. Fascinating.

Oh, and it was also nice that these people are used to seeing me without makeup, as I used to attend jujitsu bare-faced, cuz man, I realize as I see this photos that I’m not fit to be seen without makeup on!

Since I’m now posting faces, here’s a photo of me looking like crap and my fiance looking like a model.

Guess he would’ve totally stolen the show at the nude beach, gay or straight audience, huh?

Ramon: *nodding at red fleece sweatshirt that comes down to my knees* That’s not YOURS, is it?
Me: Sure it is!
Ramon: Did you BUY that for yourself?
Me: Yup. It’s a 4X. I was looking for something bigger, but this is all they had.
Ramon: How long have you had that?
Me: Oh, about 6 years. And it’s really comfortable and warm, it’s like wearing a blanket with arms.
Ramon: *picturing how fat Cindy must’ve been 6 years ago*