I inhale the salty seaside air and lean my elbows onto the railing of the balcony. Below, as far as the eye can see, extends the marvellous Mediterranean Sea, lined by a beach with golden sand. As the sun beats down against my neck and a gentle breeze blows tendrils of hair out of my messy bun, I close my eyes and focus on the sounds that drift in and out of my ears.

Laughter, chattering, squeals of delight, waves crashing against the shore—a smile can't help but carve itself between my cheeks. The marvellous image of multicoloured umbrellas imprints itself on my mind, and I can already imagine myself lying  underneath one on a deckchair, soaking up the heat as I take a nap. Relaxation caresses my body and settles into my bones, prompting a sigh of contentment out of me. I had been waiting for months for the summer vacation, and, finally, I'm living the dream.

I open my eyes—anticipation for what is to come bubbling up— and...the view before me is gone. It's all gone.

I'm not on a balcony, and I do not have a view of the sea.

My hotel room faces another building, namely a shoe-box sized bathroom in which a 60 year old white dude is currently taking a shower. When I found out about this arrangement I hadn't hesitated to stomp back down to the receptionist and tell her my exact thoughts regarding the prospect of waking up every morning to the crack of dawn, but that stupid bitch just looked at me like I was a lunatic, checked the registry, and explained that the rest of the hotel was booked to full capacity.

"You're full. Full of shit," I wanted to say, but because one of my New Years' resolutions was to not act crazy, I held my tongue. Despite that, when I chose the room, I specified for one with the seaside view. But it's now clear to me that it was just some bullshit scheme to get a poor fool like me to get the room with the old guy across from it. It's too late now to choose another hotel, and I don't want to throw away the deposit I made on this one. I wouldn't say that the place is exactly 5 stars, but I've yet to see a cockroach scuttle around, or a hobo crawl out from underneath the bed.

I crinkle my face in disgust and pull the blinds shut, determined to not let the disturbing sight of saggy body parts ruin my first day at the beach. I turn on my heel and march over to your bed, where you're still snoring like a bear on anaesthetics. 

"Rise and shine, Rumplestiltskin!" I yell, grabbing hold of the blankets and tearing them off.

You groan something incoherently, roll over, and curl into foetal position. It wasn't exactly the reaction I was going for with my barbaric act, but I didn't come here to sleep until noon. Not with Old Man Jenkins mooning in full view of the window. Why the fuck doesn't he have drapes or something?

I pull my phone out my pocket and type in the password. The night before, I decided to download a klaxon app, just for this occasion. Being perfectly aware of your sleeping patterns (don't ask how) means that I'm perfectly aware of the fact that you won't be waking up on your own for a few more hours. Good thing helping is my middle name and busting your balls is my game.

My thumb slides the volume to the max, and I position the phone next to  your ear.

I let it rip—I admit that it makes my own heart backflip in my chest—and you almost leap three feet into the air; you start screaming bloody murder and, with your arms flailing wildly, you tumble off the bed and onto the carpeted floor. 

"You fucking bitch!" Another screech ensues, but at this point I'm too overcome with laughter to pay any heed to it. I don't even care if I woke up half of the building—that will teach 'em.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I notice our porn-star-in-the-making continue to dry his old, wrinkly skin with a pink towl. There's no way that he didn't hear the klaxon—I'm sure even my grandma heard  it, and she's dead. He's deaf, the old geezer, I conclude, and turn just in time to dodge your amateurish  tackle.

"I gave you a chance to wake up," I say, choking on renewed laughter. You remain sprawled across the floor, your arms and legs twisted at odd angles, defeated. You look more like a murder victim—all I have to do is draw the chalk outline around your body.

More murmuring.

I saunter over to my suitcase and flip it open. "Haul ass, Corpse Bride, if we don't get there before eight, we won't be able to get a good spot."

Which we don't. 

Not only did it take us forever to get ready, but by the time we headed down for breakfast and flip-flopped our way to the beach, it's already 11 o'clock. The sun is a burning orb of fire in the sky (good thing my melanin shields me from its rays) and the beach area is already crowded. I feel like I'm in Mission Impossible, scavenging for that empty patch of sand where we can deposit our belongings before another group can get to it. 

My bag keeps sliding down my shoulder like my Hollywood-type glasses down my nose, but I power on, determination a fire in my eyes. I step over sandcastles (I'm kidding, I plough right through them) hop over lobster-red legs of half-naked women tanning on their towels, and dodge volleyballs that seem to come from all directions. It's a real-life battlefield, but soon enough, I find a meter-square of sand free of towels, humans, and umbrellas. I smile, but not for long—my eyes make contact with the ones of man with sunscreen underneath his eyes and a straw hat. His eyes dart to the patch and then back to mine—I stick an arm out, stopping you in your tracks. 

"Wha—" You don't finish your sentence because you see the man too. He's now flanked by what seems to be his wife and three snivelling kids. We stand there for a few moments, staring at each other like two cowboys in the Old Wild West. 

The same question surfaces in all of our minds: who will claim the patch first?

-:-

I have a love-hate relationship with the beach. I'll always pick it over going to the mountains, because fuck the cold, but having a good time really depends on who you're with and at which one you go to. 

Even though their characteristics may vary, I can say this with absolute confidence:

There are ten things I hate about the beach.

1. Litterbugs

The name suits them, if you ask me. 

Whoever litters is a cockroach and deserves to be crushed into a pulp with the heel of a boot. I know I've mentioned this in another rant, but I think it's very important to make a point of it here as well. The beach is not the local dump, where you can chuck your used condoms and broken beer bottles. I don't want to be walking down the shoreline, enjoying the water tickling my toes and the sunshine warming my face, and suddenly step on a needle or a fucking shard of glass, scream like a bitch, then get transported to the local hospital in an ambulance to get checked for STDs. 

Food shouldn't be left behind either. Seagulls are sneaky motherfuckers, and once they home in on a half-eaten, saliva-encrusted sandwich, they won't hesitate to squawk to their buddies about it and come flying in a horde of feathers and bird-shit. Which is why, if you're one of these people, you deserve a

2. Dogs

I got nothing against dogs. I love dogs. Dogs are love, dogs are life. I cry when a dog dies in a movie, and would shank someone for mistreating one. But for Godsake, no matter how much you love Rufus the Golden Retriever PLEASE don't bring him into an already-overcrowded beach. There isn't enough room for human beings, what makes you think that a fucking dog will better the situation? These animals' natural instinct to go sniffing butts, digging holes, and taking pisses/shits in the worst places will ruin anyone's day. Mine especially. If you really want your four-legged buddy to enjoy the elements like the rest of us, bring it to a more secluded place, where you can throw frisbees and sticks without hitting someone in the back of the head. 

3. Beach vendors

This is a big thing in Italy, or at least at every fucking beach I've ever gone to. Beach vendors are those people who walk back and forth along the shoreline, carrying inflatable animals, promises of a non-sexual back-massage, or bead-necklaces and other pharaphernalia. I don't know how they can manage doing this all day, and although I understand their need to make an income, it's annoying as fuck having to constantly be on a look out for them. Especially since their prices are over-inflated and they have no trouble invading your personal space (or following you around).

A couple of years ago, when I went to the Dominican Republic for a holiday with my family, there was this beach vendor that sold Latin American music CDs. He caught sight of us (because it was 300% obvious that we were tourists), and made it his mission to harass us until we bought at least one of his CDs. Sometimes he would even go as fas as waiting at the parking lot until our car showed up, and would follow us down to the beach.  It got to the point where whenever we saw him, we had to run the other direction, but he would always be there. Lurking, watching. Until we got so fed up with him that we decided to buy a couple of CDs, just to get him off our back (it's not like you could just beat him up). 

They weren't that bad, actually. We spent every single car trip afte that playing them. 

So moral of the story, kids, if you want something from someone, nag them until you get it! 

4. Crowds

Ugh. 

Go to the beach in the middle of July here in Italy, and you'll understand what it feels like to live in Beijing. Every square inch is occupied by something or someone; the sea is so crowded, the fish die from all the underwater farting whilst the crabs become patties from being trampled. People can be so extra, especially when the beach is already crowded, but, rather than moving further down the shore where there's less people, they have to lay out their shit right next to yours. The concept of personal space applies here too, idiots.

5. Tiny speedos/bikini

*gagging sounds* *dry heaving* *projectile vomiting* *wipes mouth*

One question: why? Why must you taint my virginal eyes like so? I'm a strong believer in "you do you" and "wear what you want", but for God's sake, nobody wants to see the outline of your ballsack, or your cameltoe for how tight/skimpy your swimming trunks/bikini are. You're forgetting that there are children on the beach as well? That there are people who don't like to see your pubes?

If you really want to go around flaunting your "assets", strip yourself completely and go to a nudist beach. Don't get aroused though—you'll get kicked out.

6. Smokers

Smoking is a disgusting habit. There, I said it. I don't condem anyone for doing it (I mean, if you want your teeth to turn black from the soot, become more susceptible to lung/heart diseases and 20 different types of cancer, go for it) but don't do it right next to me. The wind always seems to blow in my fucking direction, namely when there's smoke in the air. Second-hand smoking has been proven to be even more toxic than first-hand (because you're basically inhaling all the garbage from the cigarette), and I rather live until I'm at least 60, thank you very much.

Again, think of the children. 

7. Sand

"Well, what did you fucking expect, genius? You're at the beach?"

I do admit that pebbles and dirt aren't as appealing as sand. But sand is one annoying son of a bitch. It gets in everywhere, your shoes, bags, swimming suit, mouth, ass hole...everywhere. But it's especially annoying when someone thinks it's hilarious to kick sand up as they walk, or when they shake their towel right over your fucking face. If I want a shower, I'll do it at home, thanks.

8. Splashing

I love splashing. I'm the master of splashing. I can splash the water in such a way that hurts on impact, but heavens above, I'm always careful that I do so towards my brother and not a complete stranger. Do you know how painful salt-water can be when it gets into your eyes? It burns! It's like starting a fire on your eyeballs! Your eyes will get so red it will make you look like a stoner! So unless you want me to wade towards you and dunk your head underwater for the next 5 minutes, until you stop squirming, don't fucking splash me. I mean it.

9. Toilet-trainees

Yes, there are people who piss in the ocean. Is it nasty? Absolutely. Are you a toddler learning how to potty-train? Absolutely not. 

 I can only forgive it if you've been holding it for ten hours and would never make it in time to one of the beach toilets (withou bursting and pissing all over the place). But there are people that even take it as far as pooping. 

Imagine swimming along the calm waters, minding your own business, when suddenly you something floating towards you. You narrow your eyes and look at it questioningly, obviously maintaining a comfortable distance, but the more you move, the faster it seems to approach you. As it nears, you start to realise that it isn't just any simple thing. It's the biggest piece of shit you've ever seen in the history of man kind. It looks like a fucking log—Leonardo Di Caprio would've saved himself by holding onto it in Titanic. The music from Jaws starts to play in the background as you slowly start to back away, then faster, until you're forced to turn and swim away as fast as you can, promising yourself never to touch water ever again.

10. Athlete wannabes

It's normal for people to want to play beach-volleyball, beach-soccer, beach-toss-the-nerd's-glasses-back-and-forth, but the object they play with always seems to end up in my face. Or against my head. Just in my general direction. Unless you want me to throw/kick that object into outer space, I suggest you stay the fuck away from me. 

-:-

Update: I have claimed the last free spot on the beach, but not without a few enemy casualties. I shall be using the body of the adult male as a head-rest whilst I shall be feasting on the adult female and her younglings over the next couple of days. With the astronomical food prices at the local bar, I have no regrets.

Thanks for reading, my sugar-topped strawberries! The topic for next's episode of Uhm, Can You Not? will be on the Cinema.

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Is there something that you're itching to complain about, but have the good sense not to do so on a public forum? I can do it for you! Feel free to PM me with the topic you want me to rant about, and I won't think twice before adding it here. I'll be waiting!