Tuesday, August 25, 2009
He was round. And white. And red eyed. And grey haired.
Got into the lane to the right of PP at the Hilltop Y. Glanced up at her to gauge the lane sharing potential. She, of course, hoped he’d opt for another lane.
He was a Snorkel Guy. (Need she say more?)
But wait. He was no ordinary Senior Snorkel Guy.
Cuz when the lane left of PP opened up and he dove in front of her and under the lane line, with a majestic spray of water honking out of his snorkel, she saw atop It….
A little American Flag waving in water logged glory!
What does it mean?
PP thinks it must be some sort of patriotic drowning ritual. He believes the flag is good for nothing except to wave atop his snorkel.
But yet, he didn't impress her as the disrespectful type. In fact, it seemed to be some sort symbol of Patriotic Honor. The American Flag will carry him through all obstacles: the Obnoxious Screaming Kids; the tidal wave making Butterfly Man; the Needy Floating Woman.
Yet isn’t the wetting of an American Flag sacrilegious or something?
What do you all think it means, oh wise Readers?
Please let PP know as soon as possible.
She's very worried that the American Flag is being used most inappropriately.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
“Ladies, let me finish.” Gap Tooth Story Teller is holding court in Utopia. All are riveted by her oratory expertise and compelling relationships subject matter.
“I’m sorry, but I gotta go,” Super Swimmer Woman rises from the warm bench and heads out, limp and red.
“Wait a minute wait a minute you gotta hear this!”
SSW laughs, tired. “No, really, I gotta go. But these other ladies will stay. Am I right ladies?”
The little group nods, rapt.
How Bad can Your Man be?
PP wonders, as GTST continues, ranting about the Bad Man, aka The Cheating Man, what DL is thinking. Does she relate the Bad Man to her experience with Bad Women? Are Lesbians Bad too?
Probably. PP didn’t think it had anything to do with gender. One person cheats on another for a host of reasons: necessity, thrill-seeking, cruelty and payback (Yes, you all know how PP is obsessed with Soap Opera). It was kinda like when PP taught Death of a Salesman and she asked the class why Biff steals (or even broader—Why do people steal?) The answers are similar: necessity, risk-taking, thrill-seeking, revenge, insanity (PP always likes this one best—-she’s had some great discussions about Kleptomania)
But she digresses.
Today, in Utopia it’s about That Goddamn Cheating Man!
And nothing is worse than a Cheating Man. It’s unanimous. “Just tell me where I can find me a Good Man. That’s all I care about.” Sultry African American Princess leans against the wooden wall, worn out by it all.
“Just listen up,” GTST nods, “when I asked Leroy (name changed to protect this celebrity. Also PP can’t remember his name.) “if he ever cheated on his wife. You know what he said?”
The women all wait, wide-eyed, already knowing the answer. But it’ll sound better coming from GTST. “He said. Git this. He said, ‘I’ve been married for over 20 years.’”
“And I repeated my question, ‘Have you ever cheated on your wife?’”
“He said, “20 years is a very long time.”
All the women take this in. The 20 years. The long time of a marriage. The cheating.
“And you Ladies here understand, don’t you?” GTST paused for a moment, letting the drama of the moment build. . . .
PP and DL and SAAP all wait even though it’s high time to get outta Utopia and into the shower. “He did NOT answer the question!” GTST harrumphed. “I repeat. HE DID NOT answer the question! Now what does that tell you? I tell you what it tells me. He cheated in the past. He’s cheating right now. And he’s gonna continue to cheat in the future.”
“I just wanna find me a Good Man,” SAAP sighs, repeating her hopeless fantasy aloud again.
“You ain’t gonna find Him Girlfriend,” GTST asserts, rising with her hands on her wide hips, pointing her finger. “He ain’t on this planet. No, he’s not. So my advice to you is do what you gotta do for yourself. Don’t you ever let any man cheat on you! And if he does? You kick him to the curb! You hear me! You tell that Cheating Man that you won’t stand for his Cheating Ways!”
“It takes a cheating woman to cheat with the cheating man,” One Quiet Woman who’s been sitting in the dark corner finally pipes up.
“That’s a good point,” PP agrees.
“Yes it is. Yes it is,” GTST nods, “It does take two. But like I said, they don’t wanna admit it. They just wanna take what they can get and to Hell with their marriage, to Hell with their integrity to Hell with their marriage vows of lifelong commitment and fidelity till death do us part."
PP thinks this is the clincher. That Death do us Part bit. Who the hell can make such a commitment or predict the future to that degree?
Which is one of the many reasons PP has never gotten married.
The Loudspeaker harangues them all out of the Cheating Man Diatribe, “It is now 9:51 at the Downtown Oakland YMCA! Please finish whatever you are doing and make your way up to the Lobby and out. We will open again at 5 a.m. tomorrow morning. Have a good night and thanks for being members and guests of the Downtown Oakland YMCA.”
GTST rolls her eyes, blocks the door outta Utopia. “You’all gotta hear the end of this!” she pleads as the women pile past her.
But everyone’s heard enough. At least for now.
Though PP is sure that GTST will resume her storytelling next time: same Cheating Time, Same Cheating Channel, Same Cheating Man! (or Woman!)
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
At hilltop mall pool. Crazed as usual with goddamn families. One family was actually taking up a LAP LANE!!!
Can you imagine PP’s indignation?
So she stood at the edge of the pool in front of the offending family use of a lap swimmer’s domain, fins in hand, swim mask on, showered and ready…..
And miracle of miracles! The lifeguard saw her and came running from the other side of the pool to direct the Offending Family to move to the other side of the lap lanes.
“Over there?” one of them had questioned, incredulous.
“Yes. You need to move to the left hand section of the pool. This is a lap lane reserved for lap swimmers.”
PP watched as the family vacates HER lane: two or three burly guys, a couple women, one with a tiny baby (hope she had her swim diaper on—-PP does NOT need another Brown Alert-—but that’s another blog—she keeps saying this, she knows, but it is)
They grumble just a bit and then duck under the lane lines to swim in the designated Family Chaos Area. (Frankly, PP could see why they didn’t want to be over THERE, but…..they were a Family after all. Yet another reason why PP is glad that she’s NOT!)
So, the Power of the Solitary Indignant Lap Swimmer looking pitiful and perplexed.
Try it sometime.
It might work to clear a lap lane for you, or it might not.
Depends on the level of your Indignation.
And the level of a Lifeguard’s Awareness.
And the level of the Offending Family’s Acquiesce. (A decidedly random variable!)
Thursday, August 06, 2009
“I really want a milkshake!” Super Swimmer Woman shakes her head and laughs to herself as she continues to rub lotion all over her tanned toned body.
“Me too!” PP yells down the aisle of lockers as she pulls on her suit. “I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving.”
“Yeah, I know. But a milkshake would certainly solve the problem.”
“I went to this place in Piedmont last weekend where you could make your own shakes. Well, not actually make them. They were pre-made. What you did was get one out of the freezer section and then you could mix it up at their shake machine and it was like you were making one fresh yourself.”
“Yum. What flavor did you get?”
”Strawberry. I love strawberry,” SSW grinned.
“Me too! Everyone always wants chocolate or vanilla, but I love strawberry!” PP agrees, trying to stave off the hunger pangs before she plunges into the pool. It really is too late to swim. 8:45-9:30 p.m. She hadn’t eaten in over 6 hours. But what to do? It wasn’t like she could pack a milkshake and bring it with her to the pool.
“I love the strawberry shakes with the real pieces of strawberries in them,” SSW is in Milkshake Reverie now.
“Oh, I don’t.” PP wrinkles her nose. “I like the really bad fake creamy ones. Like the ones you get at MacDonald’s.”
“They have strawberry ones at MacDonald’s?”
“Yeah. They’re super trashy and delicious. You know with the little bit of vanilla swirl still at the top with the pink oozy syrup not quite stirred in.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll have to check ‘em out. I didn’t think MacDonald’s would have strawberry.”
PP nods as she snaps on her mask and inserts the completely ineffectual earplugs. (This is another blog--why oh why don't earplugs work anymore? even the new ones? the ringing in her ears is evidence of their ineffectiveness but....okay, see? Definitely another blog)
But in her own silent world now she remembers how her mom and sisters used to go to MacDonald’s when they were kids and just get milkshakes. And how her mom went on these milkshake ‘diets’ where all she had all day was just a MacDonald’s milkshake (she believes it was strawberry—maybe this is where PP’s taste for the pink variety stems from?) and then she remembers another offshoot of this ‘diet’ where her mom would just drink one eggnog all day.
These liquid treat diets seemed so fun and exotic to PP as a child. Maybe that’s why she still enjoys stopping off at MacDonald’s on her way up and down Hwy 5, in Santa Maria, or King City, or some other godforsaken truck stop, but there’s always a McDonald’s and she always just wants a Strawberry shake. (Well, sometimes DHBF will tempt her with some fries.)
Milkshakes. Who knew that a simple wistful desire voiced out loud in the women’s locker room of the Oakland Y could inspire such a tasty blog.
Strawberry shake anyone? (Of course, after the pool!)
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