Asbury Park

Last weekend we had access to a rental car for the day and I immediately started running through a list of potential adventures to take outside the reach of public transportation. The official forecast for Saturday was "as hot as the inside of a dog's mouth," so we decided the only sane thing would be to head to a beach. I suggested Asbury Park for its beach and kitschy boardwalk, a winning combination for us—one nature lover and one lover of all things strange and rundown (*raises hand*). It was my first visit to the Jersey Shore, and despite recent shark sightings and the insanely oppressive heat, it ended up being a nearly perfect summer day trip.

I recently bought a bathing suit for the first time since I was a kid, and although I ended up horribly sunburnt in patches that make it look as if I'm permanently wearing a white (skin) bathing suit, I loved wearing it and was thrilled (through my terror) to be able to cool off in the ocean. I have my various reasons for completely avoiding swimsuits and water activities for a long stretch of my life, but maybe it's the fact that I give less and less fucks the older I get, but here's my sage advice: no one cares what you look like in a swimsuit.

I bought a suit that I loved, felt better in it than I ever thought possible, laid on a crowded beach and frolicked in the ocean and not one person gasped or pointed or stared. Part of me feels silly for letting my anxieties rule so many summers past, but it's nice to now have a whole new world of beach activities open to me. Although perhaps not as wide open as I would like—since my elation at finally feeling comfortable on the beach was cut short once I realized that my invisible ghost body needs to be shielded during all waking hours, and that spray sunscreen is no match for my virgin, translucent skin.

We scored free street parking, grabbed hot dogs and lemonade, lounged on the beach, cooled off in the inexplicably-freezing Atlantic, strolled along the boardwalk and had a drink at the Wonder Bar. We walked by the (now-closed) Asbury Lanes and I grumbled about the missing neon sign, but fell in love with the handpainted, script lettering.

With its abandoned buildings (some repurposed, some just a shell like the Casino) and old-timey beach vibe, Asbury Park felt a lot like New Jersey's version of Coney Island (in fact they even have very similar "funny face" icons). I can imagine how grand it must have been in its heyday, and I admire its scrappiness and ability to survive economic ups and downs, shifting tastes and devastating hurricanes.