For Faith

It's 6:30 on a Sunday morning, and I am frothing between my sheets for the four-foot a-frame, empty peaks I have been promised to surf this morning around 7. I feel like how I did when I was five on Christmas morning, waiting for my parents to wake up so I could attack my stocking. And that's stupid. That's really really stupid.

The silver glow of early morning coastal sunshine is seeping through my window coyly. And I'm in bed with the eerie white glow of technology shining awkward shadows of my face from my glasses.

I met a boy who said he wanted to get the Gonzo tattoo in a jacuzzi last night, before he even saw mine. I think we are getting dinner on Wednesday night (Eh, maybe). Might as well see was this seemingly well-read bro has to offer me.

I went to the Surfer Magazine Video Poll Awards and watched beautiful people strut around like they have all had their own E True Hollywood Story, but they were all just surfers. Whaaatever. Beautiful people are just intimidating. Those glowing tans and asymmetrical haircuts just make me feel like they are in on some greater concept of reality I can't fathom because my midsection jiggles and I have acne: FAME.

I surf too much. It's like a god damned drug. It's not a romantic ideal. It's waking me up at 6 in the morning. It keeps me from doing my homework or seeing friends. It gives me cancer and unattractively shapely arms. It makes me not go out at night and opt for falling asleep early. Roxy and Holister making all those sexy ads is just a fluke. It's like tobacco company ads. They should be sued. They are trying to ruin the wholesome lives of all those landlocked children.

"Yes, yes, buys these boardshorts sweet child. Get this board. Hm, yes...."

Surfing definitely does suck and you certainly shouldn't try it.

Fuck man, and I'm a god damned LONGBOARDER.

Time for cereal my friends. I'll try to update this thing more regularly, for Faith if no one else.