I have one of those sunburn things you hear about in the legends.

YOU GUYS. San Francisco has beaches! WHY DID NONE OF YOU TELL ME ABOUT THIS?

Yesterday, at about half past feeling sick from the oppressive heat and humidity, Dane and I said, “fuck it” and took ZZ to the beach. We figured we’d eat sand for dinner and spend food money on a zipcar instead. A zipcar with AIR CONDITIONING. It was glorious.

I took a cold shower first and put my wet hair back in a bun, threw on a dress and some sandals and sprinted to the car. And by “sprinted” I mean “flipflopped slowly but with determination towards the only thing keeping me from ripping Dane’s head off and using it as a parasol.”

So we drove to the beach, parked and let ZZ loose to chase seagulls and poop happily in the sand. I was a little worried about how she’d feel about the water because she has an unnatural fear of baths and rain and wet sidewalks. Weird, I know. She’s very delicate, our ZZ. Even when she has the gas, it’s delicate gas.

But man, she loved the shit out of the ocean. She ran up and down the beach with Dane, her little golden sausage body jiggling and bouncing in a not unerotic manner (what?) and chased the tides in and out and attacked the seaweed and scared the crap out of the little kids (YES). And then some old hippy woman with a white fanny pack (not ironic) and Reebok High Tops (again, not ironic) walked by and gave ZZ the glad eye. I saw the hippy tense up and so I warned Dane that the lady had that “Oh, your dog is so beautiful, I had a dog like that for 18 years but she died yesterday can I hug her with my face” look about her and sure enough the lady bellied up to us (and I swear the word sounds came from inside her fanny pack but that was probably just the ocean air making me hallucinate) and her fanny pack said, “Is that a golden retriever? My grand kids have a golden retriever and they are such lovely dogs and oh I just have to pet her hello sweetie OH MY CHRIST SHE TRIED TO BITE MY FACE OFF!” And then the fanny pack ran away away crying or laughing or something terrible and scary like that.

People. Stop trying to touch my dog, okay? She doesn’t try to touch you.

ALSO, I saw many many youngish brunette hipster girls in bikinis with belly fat and squishy thighs and all manner of pale, not perfect, normal lady bodies and this made me so happy that I might go buy a bikini. We’ll see. I’ll try to keep you updated.

BONERS! Sorry. I’ve been on Twitter too long, obviously.