Baboons, Menopause, and Antidepressants

“They say that we’re more like Chimpanzees than Gorillas,” New York Times Guy (PP will make it clear why he’s called this later on) nodded, serious and informed. PP sinks into the hot tub, grinning mightily. This is gonna be good! While she enjoys the Women Only Hot Tub Talk at the Y, these Mills College Guy Talks are definitely missed. Esp. when the Guys are talking about Chimps and Gorillas.

“Why is that?” Dashingly Handsome Boyfriend asks, completely serious.
Guys. Apes. It’s Manly Hot Tub Talk. (Though Guys at Mills College hits her a bit strangely still even though they have been around the campus for years now.)

Out of the corner of her eye, PP spies AO, locally (maybe internationally?) famous Jazz Pianist, dipping into the tub right as NYTG makes his Gorilla Assertion. PP can’t look at AO. For some reason, she thinks he’s laughing. But this could just be her projection; he’s probably just nodding in Serious Guy Bonding Unison.

NYTG thinks for a moment about DHBF’s question, then plows on. “It’s cuz Chimpanzees will swim. Gorillas won’t. So since we swim, and granted we don’t really belong in the water, and neither do the Chimps, but we both can swim. Not the Gorillas.”

DHBF nods. Mulling this one over, but before he can respond, NYTG continues. “And this other article, also in the New York Times Tuesday Science Section, talked about how Baboons are helping Menopausal Women with their depression and instead of taking anti-depressants, the Baboons will….’

Wait a minute. PP got that dialogue wrong. But she had ya going there, right? Were you all gonna run out and buy the next Tuesday NYT to read about Bestiality and Menopausal women?

Here’s more like how the dialogue went, though still could be slightly off, knowing PP. “Baboons, unlike some other apes, will also swim, but they like to swim in groups. Safety in numbers they say.”

PP still can’t remember how the menopausal depression connects to the baboons. Sorry. Maybe if she keeps writing it’ll come to her? She does remember asking about the baboons, even though she’s always thought baboons were completely gross and slutty with their bright red bare asses in your face on Wild Kingdom.

Disgusting.




Maybe that’s why menopausal women all have to take antidepressants? They’re all of the generation that watched Wild Kingdom as girls and those disgusting Baboon Butts are buried deep within their psyches causing untoward subconscious images of horror and shame.

Hence the only answer is tons of Well-Butrin.

“I have this friend that buys the Tuesday NYT for just that reason!” AO pipes in.

PP glances up at AO. His friend buys the NYT to read about Baboons? Is this the purpose of such an erudite publication? PP hadn't thought so, but hell, you learn a lot in the hot tub.

But for her, she's never gotten the Big Deal about the goddamn NYT. She's just not impressed. Maybe cuz she’s from LA. Maybe cuz she’s Blonde. Maybe cuz she’d just rather not read all that teeny tiny print about Baboons! In any case, NYTG is always quoting the NYT like he’s some impressive intellectual, which obviously he’s not or he wouldn’t be in the Hot Tub talking about apes, but would be spouting off about Plato or Wittgenstein, or who the hell else do Intellectuals spout off about?

PP has no clue since all the intellectuals she hangs out with are poets or teachers and all they talk about is food and cats.

Giggling to herself, PP glances around the tub. Pretty African American Orange Bikini girl, Silent Macho Hot Tub Man. Both completely ignoring the Baboon talk.
Or not?
PP thinks she detects a sly smile on SMHTM's mug. He's listening. Recording?
Hell, PP thinks she ought to add a woman's perspective here.

“Maybe all the menopausal women are taking Antidepressants cuz their husbands or boyfriends or whatever remind them of baboons!” PP announces into the Hot Tub Air.

The men all look anywhere but at her. Silence. PP starts to giggle. “I was just kidding you guys.”

They shift around, eye each other sideways, still not answering her.

PP laughs. Sinks into the bubbly watery warmth.

Men. They may not be baboons, but they still can drive a girl to drink and drugs.

Women, on the other hand……

Orange Bikini Girl glances up from her book, gives PP a sly smile, before standing, stretching and climbing out of the tub.

Delighted, PP watches her saunter sexy across the deck.

Women. Definitely not Baboons, as PP watches her open the door to the locker room and disappear into its showery steam.

Kismet at the Pool

“Dora? Is that you?” PP approached the pretty bubbly middle-aged (PP hates that descriptor; but hell, guess it's their reality now) woman with the perky bob, chatting in the center of a large group of teenage swimmers and what looked like their parents.

Tentative, shy, PP smiled. She knew that her dear friend from undergrad days at UCSC was going to be here at the Swim a Mile with her swimming daughter, Callie. They’d emailed back and forth the week before the swim. Dora had pledged PP an enormous amount for this all-important event, and then, they’d discovered they’d both be at the swim on the same day at the same time.

It was Fate!

But it’d been such a long time. PP couldn’t even remember when last she’d seen Dora and her husband, Tim, another friend from undergrad whom Dora had married. 15 years? 20 years? 25 years?

Could be.

Would they recognize each other after all this time? Yet this woman, so animated and in the center of it all, felt like her. PP couldn’t say exactly why. Same hairstyle? (A cute brown straight-haired bob, with a touch of gray about the sides) Same pretty round face? (Yes, a few wrinkles round the eyes and mouth, but hell, 25 years! That was a long time!)

Glancing up from her conversation now, Dora jumped up, beaming and bright. “CAROL!!!!” (PP is gonna use her real name in the dialogue here for simplicity’s sake. Why not? It’s not like you don’t know her name anyway, right? Dora and and daughter’s name have been changed cuz….oh, hell, cuz you’re supposed to!)

Bouncing over to PP, Dora gave her a big hug and kiss. “OHMYGOD! You look exactly the same!”

PP blushed shyly, knowing this couldn’t possibly be, but it was nice to hear. And after all, Dora must look pretty close to the same since PP did spy her in all this crowd of several hundred swimmers, family and friends at the Mills Swim a Mile Event. Though PP wondered if she woulda recognized her old friend if she hadn’t known she’d be here?

Maybe not. But hell, this didn’t matter as she hugged Dora close, feeling her familiar warmth even after so long. “Wow! You too! I wondered if we’d recognize each other. Where’s your daughter?”
“Oh, over there.” Dora gave a cheerful, dismissive wave behind her. “She’s here with her high school swim team and a new Boyfriend. You know how that goes,” she giggled, her other arm still slung round PP’s shoulder in friendly welcome.

“We’re over on the other side of the pool,” PP pointed across the water, the tables, tarps and swarms of swimmers milling about. “My boyfriend came to cheer me on. Is Tim here?”
“Nah, he had work to do,” Dora grinned.

PP nodded, of course. Tim was the only one of them that had gone into ‘business’—Dora and he had lived in Hong Kong even, wheeling and dealing with the Asian bigwigs. But that was a long time ago. Now here they were, settled in SF, with 3 teenage daughters, one of whom was a swimmer, which to PP was, of course, an added bonus of Delight!

“Here's my boyfriend!” PP exclaimed. DHBF had ambled over, his tall good looks and easy smile giving PP a moment of pride. At least after all these years, PP could still snag a winningly wonderful BF. “This is Ian,” (Name not changed, K honey?) “And, Ian, this is Dora!”
Shaking hands and exchanging their ‘nice to meet you’s PP stood grinning at the wonder of it all. Here she was, at this amazing swim to raise money for women with cancer, and in the midst of it, or yes, because of it, she’d reconnected with her dear friend, who was chatting amiably with her DHBF.

“Ian?” Dora was asking, her eyes twinkling.
“Yes, Dora, right?”
“That’s right,”
”I didn’t know if we’d recognize each other,” PP interrupted, “but we did.”
”Of course we did!” Dora laughed. “We haven’t changed that much.”
“Well….you haven’t,” PP shook her head, thinking just how much has changed since she last saw Dora.
“Besides, we’re here!” Dora chuckled again, draping her arm round PP again and hugging her close.
“That’s right,” Ian agreed, “it’s certainly better than the alternative.”

They all laughed as PP remembered how Dora’s mom had died when she was still at UCSC. PP couldn’t remember what she’d died from. Maybe it’d been cancer. Brain tumor stuck in her memory. But whatever the cause, Dora had lost her mom at a very young age. Probably her mom was about the age that Dora was now, and in spite of all the vibrant energy and life surrounding them at the pool today, this swim was still all about those who had passed on because of cancer.

But also those who had survived. PP being one of those lucky ones!

“Here’s Callie,” Dora grabbed one of the teenagers. A pretty bronzed girl with shinning brown eyes and dimples—it was Dora as PP remembered her. Only not.

“Nice to meet you,” she took PP’s hand warmly and gave it a firm shake, her voice echoing her mom’s.
“Yes, you too! You look just like your mom and…..”
Dora started to laugh.
Suddenly shy, PP smiled at Callie in amazement. Guess this is one of the reasons people have kids? To keep themselves alive and swimming? In another form that’s more youthful and energetic, granted, but all the same, it was a little eerie in a miraculous sort of way.

“Well, I should get ready to swim,” Callie glanced behind her at the group of teenagers milling about. Putting on swim caps. Rubbing on sunscreen. Giggling in anticipation.
“Yeah, me too.” PP grinned. “Have a great swim,”
”Yes, you too!” Callie called back as she skipped over to her friends.
Dora sighed, smiling tiredly for a moment. “Teenagers!” she sighed, glancing over at Ian. “You got kids?”
”Oh, yeah, two boys.”
”How old?”
“Well, I have a stepson who’s over 30 and then my two boys are 15 and 22.”
Dora nodded, “Well, then, you know what I mean!”
“Oh, yeah.”
And they began some parental exchange that PP zoned out on. So much not a part of her world as she glanced around at the other parents seated comfortably on the white plastic lounge chairs, sipping Diet Pepsi’s and munching on chips. This was Dora’s world. And PP had to think that because of this, they’d lost touch. She had so little in common with the parental paradigm. Yet. DHBF was a parent. Some of the friends were parents. Hell, her parents were parents.

So, just because Dora was a parent didn’t mean that they couldn’t reconnect.

“Guess I better get changed too,” PP glanced over at the clock. 2:55. She was scheduled to swim at 3. Yikes! She better get going, especially given her slow poke changing routine.


“We’ll watch and cheer you on!” Ian hollered after her as she gathered up her stuff and headed for the locker room.
“Yeah! Go CAROL!!!” Dora called after her, eyes bright and excited.

And PP had to wonder as she weaved her way across the deck, covering her ears slightly as she passed the blasting DJ music of Donna Summer’s “I WILL SUURRVIIVE!!!!” how strange a thing it was the passage of time. On the one hand, it was like Dora had never been absent from her life. That they were just right back to the place they were 25 years ago, studying, playing and hanging out in the dorms of Stevenson College. All that warm camaraderie of spirit was still there.

Yet, on the other hand, over 20 years had passed and they were not the same young women they’d been back in Santa Cruz, with so much passion and hope and fun. Now, opening the locker room door for shy 6-year-old girl, hugging a plate full of food to her tiny chest, PP smiled down at her, watching as she toddled off to find her family.

But here they were. And they were swimming. And Dora’s daughter was swimming. And the swimming was going to carry them through the years and decades and be the line that holds them altogether.





Okay, maybe that’s laying it on a bit thick, but PP has to wonder, once again, how the magic of swimming has the power to accomplish the impossible so often.

Like bringing together two dear friends, who for whatever myriad of reasons may have never seen each other again if it hadn’t been for swimming.

Go Swimming! Go Callie! Go PP!

And yes, Go Dora!






A light tap on the shoulder woke PP from her waiting for her turn to swim reverie. “CC! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!”
“Yeah. I was really hankerin’ for a swim,” CC beamed shyly, clutching her Swim-a-mile Tote Bag and cap.
“Wow! That is so cool!” PP continued in amazement. What a day. First her friend Dora and her daughter, now CC, who, as far as PP knew, had never swum a mile before.

“Yeah, I don’t know if I can swim a Mile though….” CC admitted, reading PP’s mind.
“Oh, sure you can,” PP went into Swim Coach mode. “Just go get the LONG cheating fins and kick a lot with those. You’ll make it and you’ll make it super fast!”
“Really? You sure?” CC was dubious, glancing around at the hundreds of swimmers, timers, counters, families and food booths that filled the pool deck.
“Yes. I’m absolutely sure! When do you swim?”
”3. …. Guess I better go get dressed.”
Laughing, PP glanced up at the clock. “Yeah, since it’s 3:15 now.”
“Running late as usual,” CC joked as she headed over to the pile of long fins in the giant plastic basket next to the front gate

“What’s your name again?” PP’s lane mate asked, a petite (can a man be petite?) pleasant guy who turned out to swim at the Y too.
“Carol,” PP answered. “I’m no EVE for your Adam!” she joked. (Actually she didn’t really say that, thank goodness. Though it did occur to her. But the connotations involved in such a joke, well, PP did not want to go there. This Adam, while cute in a sweet hairy sort of way, was simply not her type.)
“Nice to meet you and have a great swim,” Adam grinned before hopping into the lane ahead of PP who still had to wait for her turn. Eyeing his mighty splashing, PP shook her head. Would she be able to breathe without swallowing all his whitewater? Oh, who cares today! She thought to herself as the woman who she was waiting on finally finished her mile and the Cute Counter Girl with the blonde ponytail and big yawn told her she could start her swim.
“Do you want me to time you?” CCG asked.
“Nah, that’s ok,” PP answered. Hell, she didn’t need to know how goddamn slow she was even though Dora still thought she looked the same as 20 years ago. PP knew she sure as hell wasn’t as fast a swimmer as she was even a year ago, let alone 20.

Today, though, PP wasn’t gonna get down on herself for being slow or old or any of those negative thought patterns that usually ran through her water soaked brain. Today was all about the Swim and raising money for this important cause and hell, getting CC to swim a mile!

Now, that would be an accomplishment. And as PP easily swam her mile, (DHBF spinning insanely loud and obnoxious noise makers in her watery ear with every lap in between taking pics of her on her mile long journey) she marveled at the wonder of it all again. Swimming. It was the reason for living and the celebration for surviving.

Okay, that’s pretty hokey, but you know what she means.

Donning her Angels visor and sunglasses, PP slipped on her long cheating fins and kicked a few easy laps, the CCG laughing at her and snapping pics on her phone. Pleased, PP hammed it up a bit. Waving and grinning. Hell, maybe she’d get on the Women’s Cancer Resource Center’s Website. Maybe those cell phones are good for something after all!

Glancing around, PP noticed that swimmers were finishing; Adam was out. Now PP had the lane all to herself and relished in its buoyant embrace. Finishing her mile, she ducked under backwards, floating for a moment, before surfacing to head off to the hot tub to warm up, Ian and Dora cheering her on as the announcer read her finishing card: “Carol Swimkitty Jameson is outta the water swimming in honor of Samantha Archer, a breast cancer survivor.”

Grinning, PP had a pang of worry. She hadn’t actually heard from SA for a long time and while she felt, intuitively, that she was a ‘survivor’ knowing her all these years (another friend from UCSC), she had a nagging worry that what if she hadn’t? (Note: PP got an email from SA this morn sounding very much alive and kicking! Go SA! And what a relief!) Another happy result of this swim---PP’s getting this email, full of sassy tales of cancer treatment. Leave it to SA to be able to make a joke out of it. But PP knew that everyone must have their own way of dealing with cancer. Hers had been to keep swimming. SA’s was to joke. Whatever worked was what they all had to do. Otherwise, well, PP didn’t want to think about the Otherwise. Esp. today!

Hanging out in the hot tub now, PP hears the announcer, “AND the LAST Swimmer is getting out of the pool and it’s CC –of course pronouncing CC’s last name wrong—but no matter, CC gets out of the pool, takes a long dramatic bow in her cute Hawaiian sporty two piecer before heading over to the hot tub to join PP.

“You made it!” PP exclaimed.
“Yup. You were right about those long fins. No prob.”
“That is so awesome.”
CC giggled.
“I’m starving,” PP whined. “Ian’s getting me some food. You want anything?”
”Nah, K made me a big breakfast.”
“What’d she make ya?”
”Bagels and lox and coffee and fruit and….”
”Don’t let that one get away!” PP joked as Ian arrived with plates full of shiskabobs, rice, fruit and ice cream.
“YUM! I’m so hungry!” PP grabbed at a shish kabob and started to chew off a piece of delicious grilled chicken as CC giggled in relaxed delight.
Ian stood by, taking more pics and eating little cups of Hagen Daz. Yum. “They have lots of these if you girls want me to go get more?”
“Nah” PP chewed happily on the chicken as she spooned up a piece of fruit. “We’re already breaking all the rules here eating in the HOT TUB!”
CC giggled again as she pulled herself out of the tub and lay down on the warm cement.
“You sure you don’t want any ice cream?” PP teased.
“Ok, I’ll have a bite,” CC climbed back into the tub as they shared the cup, Ian taking a pic for posterity. (And proof that Rules can be broken if it’s for a Good Cause!)

But the packing up had begun. The food tables dismantled, the DJ’s breaking down the music stand in process, the pool manager giving CC and PP the You-Better-Hurry-Up Eye. “We’re going!” PP called out to her, sneaking a last mouthful of rice and chicken before packing up and heading for the locker room.

Hugging Dora and her daughter once more before leaving, they all made promises to keep in touch. Or, if not, PP thought, there was always next year’s Swim a Mile for Cancer Women.


Though, secretly, she hoped that it wouldn’t be that long before she saw Dora again, or CC swam a Mile, or….she

broke all the rules, by EATING in the HOT TUB!!!

Mills Swim-a-Mile for Cancer Women Today!

Pool Puss is supurr excited to be swimming in this event today! It certainly has added weight for her being a LUCKY cancer survivor herself! What a happy kitty she is!

More stories on the blog this week about this wonderful swim to benefit the Women's Cancer Resource Center in Berkeley!



Go kitty! (Don't worry! She won't forget her Hello Kitty Kickboard with her little thumbs up for inspiration on her Mile!)





PP hopes she gets to swim in the Hot Pink Cap lane! Especially if it's full of awesome Studettes like this woman. Talk about inspiring. Hello Kitty better get on her little kitty flippers to keep up!

The Utopian Police

“You take shower before get in!” Hot Tub Mama commanded, her imperious echo shocking Beauteous African Princess, who had just emerged from the steam room, into instant Shower Submission.

DL’s eyes widened in surprised delight behind her dark glasses while PP giggled under the guise of the bubbles. “Guess I better go…..” DL pointed to the showers as she scooped up her clothes and followed BAP to cleanse their hereto concealed germs with the help of the shower's contamination prevention properties.

HTM sunk back into her corner of the tub, her ample bosom pressed against the jets, her hair wrapped in a turquoise turban. PP wondered what was up with her sanitation commands on this otherwise mellow Monday afternoon. She wasn’t usually so vigilant. In fact, even though there were signs all over the hot tub and sauna area with instructions about “NO scented Products allowed to respect those with environmental sensibilities” (PP always wondered about this what with the chlorine fumes enveloping the entire area –weren’t these gases a bit hard on those with these environmental sensibilities?) and “Showers MUST be taken before entering the Jacuzzi or sauna.” and “NO Hair products or Lotions allowed in Jacuzzi.”

Everyone always seemed to ignore all these written commands but went blithely about their hair product and non-shower business.

It took a STERN Command from HTM to put the fear of serious repercussions into their otherwise lax sanitation standards.

DL, back from her shower, big grin on her mug, sunk into the tub, her eyes still wide from her near miss with HTM. “PP, you have to orient me to the Ritual down here in the hot tub. I never come down here, so I don’t know.”

PP nodded, “Of course, just follow my lead.” DL usually just worked upstairs on the torture machines, which she’d spent the last hour showing PP so she could work on her Menopausal Loss of Muscle Mass. But mostly they’d giggled and gossiped. Weight Training was just not PP’s thing.

“Have you been in the Sauna?” PP asked DL.
“No, can we?” She glanced around for HTM—where’d she go?

In the sauna, that’s where, as PP and DL took a seat on the warm wooden benches, the piney smell of redwood permeating the tiny heated room.

“Where your towel!?” HTM questioned imperiously. Ever vigilant, she immediately had noticed PP’s and DL’s naked bums oh too casually sitting on the bare wood.
“Oh!” DL exclaimed, giving PP another wide-eyed giggle, “mine are outside.”
“The Table. It is not Clean!” HTM snorted, her scorn filling the close room.
“Well, we’ll take our chances this time. Thanks,” DL answered as PP just giggled, reminded of China once again.
“When I was in China, I was always being admonished for sitting on the bare wood without a towel. The women in the sauna there would always get me to sit on a plastic bag and then it would stick all gooey on my ass from the heat. ”
“You in China?” a Familiar Asian Woman sitting in the corner asked. PP often shared a lane with her, and was always greeted with smiles and nods, but had never actually conversed with her before.
“Yes, a long time ago.”
”Where?”
”Dalian? Do you know it?”
”Dalian? Yes…no…I not been there…. Shanghai…. Beijing.”
“Cool. Are you from China?”
“No, Taiwan.”
“Ah, yes, those are very different countries.”
DL started to giggle uncontrollably.

“You been to Utopia?” HTM asked.
“We're in Utopia right now,” PP answered.
“You in Utopia?” HTM repeated, confusion in her tone.
“We just feel like we’re in Utopia right now,” DL clarified.
“I from Utopia,” HTM asserted.
The epiphany hit PP and DL simultaneously. Oh! Ethiopia! Not Utopia. Duh!
Giggles took over, replacing the confused scorn with magical hilarity.
“No, we haven’t been to Ethiopia,” PP managed to get out between giggles.

HTM sighed and rolled her huge mass over onto her side. Grunted in boredom as Taiwan Woman pointed to the shredded sweated-on paper towels that she was using, still worried about PP’s and DL’s germ contamination potential.
“You get towel now?” she asked, her voice heavy with concern.
“No, no, I think we’ve had enough,” DL answered, glancing over the top of her dark glasses at PP. Maybe PP usually escaped all this Towel Concern cuz she wore her suit in the hot tub and sauna after swimming. But to keep DL sexy naked company today (“But I don’t have a suit!” she’d protested when PP had first mentioned meeting in the hot tub after their respective workouts—DL wasn’t a swimmer—YET!), PP had happily tossed off her wet suit while in the Hot Tub. After all she was hell of clean after her hour-long chlorination immersion!

Rising with DL, PP shook her head as she held the sauna door open for the two of them to exit. “See y’all next time,” she called out as DL slipped by her, the giggles cascading after her as she hurried off for her second shower.

“Oh, PP, you really must instruct me better on the Ritual of the sauna next time.”
“Hey, you got it now,” PP grinned. “Thanks to the Utopian Police.”
And with a final hearty guffaw, DL shuffled off to the shower, after retrieving her clean, non-sauna used towel from its hook on the locker room wall, giving PP one last startled glance over her sexy dark glasses.

Sauna Talk

“Naaaht chaatt kaa ghaaa.”
“Quaattt….naha nah haummm…..”

Giggles, eyes shining, nods. PP closes her eyes and slumbers in the spacey sauna zone to a language completely foreign. Maybe some African language? Ethiopia? Eritrea? Ghana? PP knows that Oakland has communities of all these countries. The two women are dark skinned and ample. Their towels spread out under them on the warm wooden benches. The one closest to PP has some sort of silvery glitter substance spread all over her body, the tiny fragments falling at her bare feet looking like little bits of jade broken glass. The smell of pine and incense. Her face is covered in some sort of green goo mask.

What women won’t do to look beautiful? Or feel better? Or just commune?

“Nahhhatt…cha cha queee….”

More giggles. The gossip of women in saunas is such a part of the swim experience for PP. Has been for so many years. These women, because PP can’t understand even one word of their conversation, not only lull her into a spacey musical relaxation, but also take her back to her days in China, sitting in the sauna after one of her crazy chilly chaotic swims. The women chatting and laughing in Chinese, of course. PP completely cut off from the specifics of their gossip, yet a part of it too in some homey periphery sense.

Today, Glitter Substance Woman turns and smiles over at PP while her friend sighs as she wipes herself off with paper towels. “Ugh! So much sweating!” she exclaims.

PP smiles in happy commiseration. That is the idea, right? Yet, PP rarely can last long enough in the sauna to work up any kind of sweat. Especially after her long swim. She’s just beat and needs to warm up the neck muscles a bit before taking a shower.

“You swim, yes?” Paper Towel Sweating Woman asks.
“Yeah,” PP nods, glancing down at her bright pink Speedo. Duh!
“Swimming. It is the best!” PTSW exclaims. “Where I come from, swimming is what people do in lakes.”
PP means to ask where she comes from but is too spaced out to follow up with the clarification question in a speedy enough way, and can instead only muster a nod and murmur, ‘Oh yes. Swimming is the best.”

PTSW nods and rises. Off to get another batch of PT. So, PP has the opportunity to ask Glitter Woman what she’s got all over her. Which she does.
“Sea Salt,” she answers. “It is for the itching of the skin. 24 hours I put the sea salt on. Then no itch. Till go to doctor.”
”Wow, that’s cool,” PP nods in wonder. She had no idea that sea salt had such anti-itch properties. The things you learn at the YMCA!
“Yes. And the mask it is green mask.”
”What’s that for?” PP asks.
“For the pores. To open the pores.”
”Ah….”

PP sees women at the Y with various strange masks on, white, green, orange (no, she’s just making that one up.) Never having tried one herself, PP has always thought them a bit weird. But hell, whatever works, right? Earlier she’d seen two women applying some sort of red dark gooey substance on each other’s hair. Then wrapping up their heads in towels (what does that do to the snowy white Y towels, PP wonders) and ducking into the sauna for a heat set- in. (At least that’s PP’s assumption. Who knows what the heat in the sauna does to the red goo. Maybe it just melts all down their faces, necks, and breasts, and creates some kind of healthful skin film.)

Suddenly exhausted, PP sits up and stretches in the warm, sexy glow of the sauna as the unknown foreign gossip starts up again, “Naahggtt…..cha cshhaa….”

Funny how women the world over all behave the same in the gym. It’s a place to relax, catch up on gossip, get a beauty treatment.

Oh, and sometimes, a little bit of a workout happens along the way.

Nice & Easy

Drying off in the locker room, PP was trying to get warm. Sure, the Perfect Postcard Pool had been enchanting, but the mountain air was definitely not Waikiki! And the showers. Ok, they’d been warm enough, but frankly, PP coulda used a bit more water pressure. (Though she understood how the Tahoe area was in semi-drought mode.)

Ducking her head down to wrap her wet hair in the towel, she heard the quick wet steps of another swimmer hurry into the shower. Must be her, Super Fast Swimmer, PP thought to herself as she slipped on her clothes and started to brush out her hair. Wonder if she got cold too even with her wetsuit on?

Probably. Wetsuits helped but they weren’t a complete answer to the brisk air temp.

Out of the shower, and yes it was she, SFS, PP smiled over at her as she toweled off. “You are SO FAST!” PP exclaimed, surprising herself. Usually she didn’t engage strangers in the locker room so immediately, but SFS had been impressive.

Shyly she grinned. “I really don’t like to swim that fast. My favorite is to swim 2 or 3 kilometers at a nice slow steady pace.”

PP nodded. 2 or 3 kilometers. Shit. That was a hell of a LONG way to swim at one time. PP usually swam a little over a mile, so maybe this was close to 2 kilometers, but honestly she didn’t know how far a kilometer was. Was it a little less than a mile? Or a little more than a mile? PP could never remember. And why was she talking in kilometers anyway? Was she from Canada?

PP didn’t mention any of her musings, but continued nodding to encourage more chatting. She’s found that this is often all that’s needed to keep a conversation in motion.

“But I get so cold,” SFS continued as per PP’s conversation strategy, “and one evening I was complaining to Don and he just laughed at me and said, ‘You’re NOT working hard enough. And he was right!” she giggled. “I wasn’t. So ever since then I’ve been trying to swim faster and I do stay a little warmer, but we skinny girls, “ she glanced PP up and down in a friendly comradely way, “get cold!”

“Oh, yeah!” PP agreed, happy in the familiar temperature surrounding swimming conversation. “Though you really are a very beautiful swimmer!” she exclaimed.

Did SFS blush? PP thought so, but maybe not. Though her demeanor was blushing. “Swimmming isn’t really my sport,” SFS admitted. “I’m actually a triathlete.”
“Oh? So you run and bike too?”
”Yeah.”
”My sister did a triathlon in LA one year,” PP said, “and I was really impressed. I could never do all those sports.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not really very good at any of them.”
PP laughed. “It’s only when you put them all together that you’re good?”
”Exactly!”
They both laughed. PP didn’t quite buy this modesty at least as far as her swimming was concerned. But her humility was cute. PP had to admit this. And so was she, with her lanky leanness, chin length auburn curls and sparkle in her dark eyes.

“I think I really want to join the Master’s Team this fall and get some instruction. I don’t think I’m actually very efficient in the water.”

PP nodded. “I used to swim on a Master’s Team down in Oakland years ago. I really liked it for the social aspect. I didn’t really compete very much.”

SFS nodded, deep in thought? Was she thinking about PP’s lack competitive drive? Or her own desire to improve her stroke? Probably the latter, PP mused. Most people didn’t really think about what the other person was saying but were already onto their own thoughts without really analyzing.

Or was this just PP’s mode of operation in the world?

Projection. It worked for PP. Especially at the Pool.

“Well, it was nice chatting with you,” SFS gave PP a charming smile.

“Likewise,” PP grinned, noting how she was fast getting dressed too, unlike PP and many of her swimming cohorts back in Oakland. Sometimes, PP wondered where the Hell JL had disappeared to in the Locker room, or if the Lovely I could really be slower (it was all that Hair!) than PP getting dressed.

But no such nonsense for SFS. She was ready to go and out of the cold locker room lickety split.

“See you next time,” she called out.
“Yes, next time,” PP echoed after her, knowing that there would probably be no next time. At least not with SFS. And she felt, for a moment, a little wistfully sad about this. That she wasn’t gonna hear about her next triathlon, or her workout with the Master’s Team or watch in rapt admiration as she zoomed down the lane next to her.

Following her back into the homey office, where DH was sitting waiting for PP, reading The Sun Also Rises (how cool is that?), PP nodded to where SFS had disappeared out into the piney night.

“Did you have a good swim?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, perfect. And I had a fun conversation in the locker room with the cute super fast swimmer.
“She was cute,” DH agreed as he packed Hemingway into his gym bag and slung his arm around PP. “Ready for some dinner?”
”Yes! I have a couple ideas!” PP grinned.
“I just bet you do.”
He hugged her tightly to him, as he opened the door to venture out into the crisp mountain eve.

PP scanned the dark piney parking lot. No SFS in sight. She’d completely vanished.
Fast in the pool. Fast in the locker room.
And fast into the night.

PP admired this speed. In other people. But for herself, she was all about swimming her less than 2 kilometers nice and easy.

Perfect Postcard Pool

Alas, the swimming lagoon at Squaw Valley was closed for the ‘season’ but this certainly did not deter pp from finding another pool. This is what she did. Find pools as soon as she landed. And while Lake Tahoe’s turqoisey blue called to her, PP knew she was not robust enough to venture into its clear magical waters.

Too goddamn COLD!

So, off to the South Lake Tahoe Recreation Complex! Heated Pool. Six 25-yard lanes.

And……when PP and Dashingly Handsome BF arrived, completely EMPTY!!!

PP was in Heaven and hardly able to contain her excitement as she rushed into the homey office where a friendly pool girl was pouring over her algebra homework from the local Community College.

“Hi!” PP bounced up to the counter, DH following in happy contentment. After all, he’d found the pool for her on the Internet before their arrival. “Two for lap swimming. You do have lap swimming, yes?”
PP glanced through the windows at the lovely empty pool surrounded by tall dusky pines under a cool and breezy mountain evening. What if they were closed? No one was swimming. Could it be that they’d gotten the times wrong? But no, DH had phoned ahead. 6-8 p.m. M-F. What day was it? Tuesday? Yes. PP loved it that vacation took away the days of the week, but then feared that this could backfire.

“Do you own a home in Tahoe?” Studying Girl had asked.
Huh? PP frowned and shook her head. Why the hell was she asking about home ownership at the pool? Could only homeowners swim here in Tahoe’s Picture Perfect pool?
This seemed a little far-fetched, PP had to admit; yet in her non-homeowner status, she felt a little panicked.
“Uh…. no….we’re just visiting here.”
“Cool. From where?”
“Oakland.”
SG giggled. “That’s a long ways a way.”
“Yeah, but I really needed a swim, so it’s worth it.” PP joked. Why the hell didn’t she just take the $4.25 and let them in to swim? Was she trying to establish their residency here because she was gonna charge them more? PP seemed to remember this happening somewhere else. That residents got in cheaper than non-residents to a particular pool. But maybe SG just was making small talk. Though it was kinda weird small talk. Even for Tahoe. PP doesn’t know what they make small talk about in Tahoe, but guessed it might be about skiing, or partying, or gambling, right?

Since PP couldn’t make small talk about anything except swimming, she was in trouble!

“What’s the water temperature?” she asked, thinking this would be a safe topic. Or at least one of her favorite topics, remembering how at Mills she and all her fellow swimmers loved to analyze the water temp. Art J, said it so succinctly one day: “I like to ask everyone I meet what the temp is. Then I like to ask the lifeguards. Then, of course, finally, I like to stick my hand in and guess. It’s all part of the ritual.”
“And one of our favorite topics of conversation,” the Lovely I had quipped. “No matter how many times we talk about the water temp, it’s always the same, but always different.”

Ok, maybe the conversation didn’t go exactly like the above, but you get the idea. Water temp is crucial.

This evening, SG’s cohort informed them, “It’s usually 80 or 81 degrees.”
“But the air is chilly, so you better bring your towels with ya out on deck,” SG added.
“Ah, that’s manageable,” PP had nodded. Now if she could just pay her $4.25 and get in the pool, please?

And she does. For the two of them. Shoves a ten dollar bill across the counter and forces the issue.
“For both of you?” SG asks.
“Yes, please,” PP is too excited to get cranky at the delay. Actually, it wasn’t that long of a delay, but it felt like it as she pocketed her change and hurried into the dressing room.

Does she need to describe it? Nah, nothing special. A public pool definitely with concrete floors and puddles oozing out from the toilets. PP hurriedly dressed and rushed out to the pool.

And SG was right. The air was chilly. They were definitely in the High Sierras. Diving into the pool, PP almost shouted in delight. It was so perfect. No one else was there except for DH, and the pine trees surrounding the pool’s structure. Kicking on her back, PP could see the sliver of the moon rising over a magnificent stony mountaintop between the tall green pines.

Why, it was like swimming in a postcard!

PP had never swum in a postcard before.

She liked it. And decided that she was never gonna get out.

Till she got cold.
Which she did.
But not before a few other swimmers joined them, one of whom was a super sleek fast young woman in a full wet suit zooming past PP in the next lane.

Wow! PP thought as she noticed her lapping PP even with her fast fins on.
She’s speedy! Wonder how often she swims? Or if she swims in the Lake too?

But more on her in the next blog.

You wanna know about her, don’t you?
PP thought so.

till then.....

Playful Pool Pandemonium

Did the entire city of Oakland decide to go swimming at Mills Pool today? Granted, it did turn out to be a lovely Sunday afternoon after the morning grays, but c’mon. Weren’t there any other activities going on today?

What about the farmers market?
Or Chabot Space Center?
Or a nice bike ride up at Tilden?

Was Mills Pool the only choice available?

Evidently, as PP nervously splits a lane with Dashingly Handsome BF and the Lovely I good-naturedly circle swims in the next lane even though she’s trying to do her aqua jogging. Lurking on deck are several perspective swimmers surveying the unusually crowded pool. Mills is never this crowded. Even on the hottest summer days. And what’s today? September 16?

What’s up with that?

PP thinks it must be cuz she’s been absent so long from the scene and even though she thought the Lovely I had only called her to go for a swim, in fact, she’d called ALL of her friends to come too!

Glancing over at the Lovely I’s lane, with the continued chaotic circle swimming, PP dismisses this speculation pretty quickly. Nah. The Lovely I wants her OWN lane, just like the rest of the swimmers, as PP tries not to make eye contact with the Too Tan Guy standing on the deck in front of her lane, swaying back and forth in scanning for a lane mode.


Yet, finally, Studly Bikini Woman does ask to join their lane, PP thinks she’s fine. So, yes, it’s fine. But then, DHBF doesn’t know how to circle swim. PP tries to explain it. Seems simple enough. Up the right side of the black centerline, then back down the right side again. Is that right? Is that a circle?

But to give him credit, he does get the counter clockwise pattern; it’s just the waiting at the wall if a swimmer wants to pass etiquette that eludes him. SBW is cool and patient. Doesn’t start yelling at him as he obliviously turns at the wall and starts a leisurely breaststroke back down the lane directly in front of her, serenely blocking her path.

PP feels nervous though. She needs to make sure that all goes smoothly. Though why she cares amidst all the anarchy she has no idea.

“Hey, DH,” she hollers at him. “You need to let her pass at the wall if she’s going faster than you.”
He shrugs. “She didn’t say anything to me about it.”
“That’s just the point. She can’t. She’s swimming. You need to be aware and….”
DHBF grabs PP by the foot and starts to playfully tug at her. Giggling, she easily sprints away, trying to keep their blatantly non-circle swimming play out of SBW’s path.

And PP has to remember, swimming is serious, yes, it’s exercise, yes. She must complete her 2200 yards every time she works out, but on the other hand, the water is wondrous and freeing and silly and wet! All sexy good fun.

So, when she’s in The Big Swimming Hole up in the Sierras this week, she’s gonna keep this in mind as she hops out of the Mills pool and heads for the hot tub, the Lovely I soaking up the conversation about how the dirt in the tub must certainly be better for your hair and skin than the chlorine in the Pool!



See you all next week!

(Checking out three pools in Tahoe in addition to the Big Swimming Hole itself. This 'swimming lagoon' in Squaw Valley looks like an adventure for PP!)

YMCA Values Resuscitated

“I see there’s a third person joining your lane.” Mole Man gives PP a toothy grin as she pauses at the wall to turn around, spying the ‘third’ waving at her from the other side of the pool.

PP probably frowned. At least she thought a frown. MM picked up on this, Mr. Intuitive that he is. “I tell you what, you can have my lane here and I’ll just move over and swim with the third in your lane.”
Gaping in astonishment, PP’s mouth drops open. Is he for real? He’d give up his split own lane for her circle swim one?

“You’re a Good Swimmer,” he continues, nodding and grinning. “I really admire Good Swimmers. So you should have your own lane to get a good workout in.”

Dumbfounded, PP smiles in massive appreciation, “Wow, that’s so nice of you! You sure?”
“Yeah, my pleasure,” and before PP can thank him again, he’s ducked under the lane line to allow her to trade with him.

Swimming in MM’s lane, PP shakes her head underwater. (Well, not really, but you know what she means.) The wonder of it all. That someone would actually Care enough about her, a total stranger, albeit a Pool Stranger, to give up his lane for pure unselfish reasons.

Wow! PP thinks, the YMCA values are alive and well here in the pool after all, embodied in the Magnanimous Mole Man. They don’t need to be written up on the wall. These Values are swimming in the pool, ripe for the taking, invisible yet oh so tangible. Who needs them painted up on the wall?

Certainly not MMM! And while Admiration might not be a usual value at the Y, it led to sharing which is of course, caring, and so, PP muses, who needs these boring mundane old values repainted up on that glaringly white wall?



Hey! Since the values don’t need to be painted for all to see, couldn’t the YMCA do something more aesthetically pleasing than just the boring white wall? Why not paint some little underwater scenes of yellow striped Zebra fish, and bright orange puffer fish, and blue angel fish swimming in amongst green wavy seaweed, with a giant sea tortoise to liven up the wall? Then little swimming cats floating in inner tubes, trying in vain delight to catch the too fast little fishes? And on the ceiling, she thinks as she turns on her back, kicking kicking kicking, why not a blue blue sky with white puffy clouds and some lovely sea birds flying overhead or a cute V of ducks?


This would make the Pool experience so artistically pleasing and display some much needed Aesthetic Values that would make one’s workout a more multi-layered, visual experience.

PP grins and waves at MMM as he chats up a Pretty Chinese Girl hanging out at the wall. That MMM, spreading his version of the YMCA values all around the pool.

Wonder what his Aesthetic Sensibilities might be? PP thinks to herself as she pauses to grab a kickboard, the Pretty Chinese Girl’s giggle echoing in the chloriney air.

Smiling to herself, PP shakes her head. Judging from his engagement of such a specimen in PCG, his Aesthetic Values are right up there with his Caring ones.

Or are they the same thing?

Watching MMM climb out of the pool, his rolly poly self heaving up the ladder, the large brown moles covering his bare wet back, stopping to whisper one final comment to PCG, who responds with appropriately tinkling giggles, PP thinks Yup, MMM has his Values intact.



And so does the YMCA, PP decides as she turns around and starts kicking toward the Giant Sea Tortoise she imagines swimming toward her on a aqua green wall, with dozens of darting colorful fishes eluding a large white cat floating on his tuna shaped sea raft.

WHERE ARE THOSE YMCA VALUES?

After being closed for an entire week, PP expected Big Changes at the YMCA pool, so when she entered into the Pool Auditorium and was greeted with the overwhelming smell of fresh paint, she thought, well, guess at least the walls are whiter.

So what?

Getting into the pool, she noticed right away that the water was freezing. What’s up with that one lately? Is it just her pool karma that every pool, whether it’s the normally warm Y or the unknown Heather Farms, is out to envelop her with goosebumple chills?

PP hates hates hates being cold!

But as she jumped into the icy Y this afternoon, sharing the lane with a lounging on the side French accented guy, she thought at least I’m at the Pool! This is really what matters, right?

Yet her shoulder and neck began to ache in earnest as she pressed on in the chilly water, glancing over at the poor pretty Asian lifeguard shivering in the lane next to her teaching teeth chattering little fish. Damn! She must really be cold just standing there!

Grabbing her zoomers, PP began the back kicking segment of her workout, staring up at the glaringly white washed walls and thought, hey! Where the hell are the YMCA values? The colorful primary colors of red, blue and yellow? They painted over them?
No more RESPONSIBILTY?
No more CARING?
No more HONESTY?
No more what the hell was the fourth one anyway?
See what happens when Values are painted over?
The go right out the window. Or deep underwater.
And as PP looked around, sure enough she saw the loss of These Values all around her. Sure, swimmers were sharing lanes –hey was that the missing value?
SHARING?

Well,if this wasn't it, no matter since PP wasn’t much for sharing herself. Lanes or anything else for that matter. She’s never liked sharing. Not her living space. (She’s lived alone now for how many years? 12? 13? 15?) Not her food. (Fortunately she lives alone so she rarely hasta worry about this.) Not her cats. (Well, actually she’d share Pablo if anyone wanted to partake of him. That big white cat had plenty of catness to go around.)

And didn’t the YMCA have plenty to go around too? PP often thinks not as she sees the swimmers pile into the pool now, the after 3 O’clock time crunch beginning.

She just wants her own lane. And her own pool. And her own house. And her own owness.

She’d never survive in Communist China. But this she already knows as she takes off her zoomers and tries to fit the stupid mask to suction her face so it won’t leak.

NO, sharing is for other people, not PP, as she tosses the mask off in leaking frustration and swims a couple more cold laps to try to warm down.

But what about the other painted over Values? Are all of these lost upon her too? PP thinks, yes, with the exception of HONESTY, but only in certain circumstances did she embrace this particular one.

Like when she was super cranky and needed to vent her crabbiness about the goddamn trees being chopped down, or the landlord losing her rent check or the Stomper upstairs.

Then she was all about HONESTY—she’d yell out her anger at the top of her lungs, bang Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C# minor as loudly and as badly as possible, write nasty irate letters to Wells Fargo Bank for charging her a $25 processing fee to stop a check that she didn’t lose!

GRRRRRR!!!!!

Lordy, it’s time for a swim! she thinks to herself as the crashing tree chain saws close in on her and the Landlady pounds on the door looking for the lost rent check.

Where does everything go? How do these Values get lost? Why is it all such a mystery?

So much loss, here on Sept 11, the national day of Loss, as she closes up the computer and makes her way back to the Valueless Pool courtesy of the YMCA.

Now if only she could find her lost equilibrium?
Smiling to herself, she shrugs. If she’s gonna find this anywhere, it’ll be at the pool. Values or no values.

NEGATIVE EXPECTATIONS

“Did you have a nice swim?” PP asks her Lane Mate, now across from her in the shower.
“Oh, yeah….I needed it.”
Laughing, PP nods. Knows what she means. When you need a swim, you really need a swim.
“Yeah, I didn’t know what time the pool closed today,” LM continues, stripping off her bikini bottoms. PP tries not to stare. Even after all these years of swimming and communal showers, she still works hard at the Nonchalant Shower Etiquette. But LM is sexy in that swimmer works out way. Lean and muscular, with barely an ass but the flat tummy and wait, she hasn’t seen her breasts yet…..
“….so, when I got here, I thought the pool closed at 4:45 (it was round 4:20 when they’d gotten in the lane together), “cuz last year they did.”
“So you were pleasantly surprised?” PP finishes for her.
“Yeah. I had Negative Expectations.”

PP nods as she tries not to watch her take off the bikini top. But she does anyway, just a little out of the corner of her soapy eye—her breasts were surprisingly large with those big round brown circles surrounding the nipples. PP likes looking at breasts. They all have such different personalities. These were decidedly athletic, too, but with a touch of womanly vigor about them.

Tearing herself away from her nipple analysis, PP nods again, “Yeah, I know what you mean about Expectations. I wasn’t too hopeful either when I got here. It was so crowded. But then it worked out…..” Her voice trailed off as LM soaped up, involved in her shower toilette now. The chit chat over.

And PP has to wonder, what is it about these expectations that we all have surrounding swimming? For she too, often has ‘Negative Expectations’—today, for instance, at the Golden Bear Pool. Besides the crowds, she couldn’t get her goddamn mask to not leak….grrrrrr……and this pool, while cute and scenic with the eucalyptus trees surrounding the redwood decks and the grassy hillside with Mr. Yoga man doing hilarious balancing exercises, had way too much chlorine. PP had to wear her mask or she’d go blind from the chlorine red eye.

So was a trial, esp. with sharing a lane. And then Mr. Yoga got in their lane and here we go again with the dreaded circle swim. The lanes at Golden Bear were narrow and claustrophobic and PP knocked into the Serious Butterfly Guy in the lane next to her a couple of times when she finally threw the mask off in a fit of frustration and tried swimming with her eyes closed.

Yet, it all worked out in the end. The end lane opened up and PP got it all to herself, leaving her sexy LM to split the lane with Yoga Man. The water temp was cool, but not as cold as Heather Farms, and so though there was no Hot Tub like the Y or Mills, PP knew she could look forward to a Hot Shower here at Golden Bear.

And who could really complain as she watched her sexy LM, towel off in an efficient sporty way right outside the shower so as to not get the floor wet. (Like it mattered; the floors at Golden Bear were pretty yucky, though they tried with those plastic wholly mats.)

Negative Expectations? Sure PP had had them too when she’d started her swim this Sunday afternoon, but then, with her own lane, Sexy LM shower and even despite the leaking mask (What to do about this? Any ideas fellow swimmer readers? Goggles bruise PP’s eyes, and the masks leak….it’s a BIG dilemma!) Golden Bear Pool had been a good back up choice for this week without the Y.

Sometimes Negative Expectations can actually work in one’s favor. If you always expect the worst, when the happy positives happen, why, it’s even more satisfying and delightful.

Especially when the showers are HOT!

Satan or Savior

Ok, can PP just state for the record that Yahoo Maps is the Devil Incarnate? (And who exactly is Yahoo Maps? Too bad PP can’t find out, cuz she’d go and bomb their corporate offices, but how the hell do you bomb any entity in Cyberspace? )

Satan is the mastermind behind Yahoo Maps; she’s sure of this. All she wanted to do was find the beauteous Heather Farms Pool in Walnut Creek that she’d heard such rave reviews about so she could swim this week while the Oakland Y was closed. She looked this pool up on line. 20 Lap lanes! 50-meter pool. And the enticing picture of the Butterfly Guy (see insert in previous blog). Well, needless to say, PP was very excited and full of Pool Anticipation after her long day at WWU.

So, she’d gone to Yahoo Maps and gotten the ‘directions’. 11 minutes from WWU—perfect.

45 minutes later, on the insane Ygnacio Valley Road that had turned mysteriously into a goddamn freeway, PP was near tears and cursing Yahoo Maps.

45 minutes = 11 Minutes?

Not in her book!

But where to start? Yahoo Maps is NOT where to start. PP can tell you that. But let’s just for instance pretend that it is. Well, here we go.

Start at WWU—ok, she was there. So she did. Easy. Bear R on Longbrook. Already this was wrong and circuitous, so PP ignored this direction and just headed for Contra Costa Blvd. Next, there were 4 points listed that she just ignored since they made absolutely no sense. R on longbrook way. L on Massolo Dr. It was insane and shoulda given her a clue that Yahoo Maps was gonna be the WRONG to follow.

But did she listen to her Intuition? She did not. This was her first mistake. And as she ignored the direction to get onto the 680 freeway for 100 yards and instead opted to just head on down Contra Costa Blvd since she knew it would hit Treat Blvd. , PP felt pretty smug about her decision.

Little did she know that Treat Blvd was definitely NO TREAT! Here was where she made her first wrong turn. A right instead of a left. Yahoo Maps just said to take #48 Treat Blvd exit offa the freeway, but since she hadn’t gotten on the freeway, well, she took a guess and turned the wrong way. Here was her first U turn. Back down Treat Blvd after turning around in a scary suburban cul-de-sac with a lot of For Sale signs in front of the tract homes and a mad guy trying to get his motorcycle started.

But once headed down Treat, PP thought, ok, this is right. What next? Glanced at the directions—no L or R instructions. Yahoo Satan just listed “Continue on Bancroft. And then Continue on Ygnacio Valley Rd.” Ok. Wouldn’t you assume (And of course this is where she got into trouble. All those Assumptions. But, wouldn’t you assume that since Yahoo Satan hadn’t listed any turn directions that Treat Blvd just turned into Bancroft and then Ygnacio Valley? All the streets in the Burbs had at least two names. Why the hell was this? One way was Treat Blvd. and one way was Geary? Hello? Why isn’t the street just the same goddamn name the whole length of it? Screwy suburbs!

So, naturally, PP thought that Treat was gonna turn into Bancroft and Ygnacio Valley cus it already was Geary and Treat.

Damn.

Do you see why Yahoo is Satan? Or is it the Suburbs? Yes this could be so. Hey, maybe Yahoo is the Suburbs? Okay, off the track a bit, but hell this entire quest for the Pool was off the track so it’s Thematic. PP likes this. Usually. But not when she’s tired, and hungry and in desperate need for a swim. Is finding the pool so much to ask?

Evidently.

So driving along Treat, looking for it to turn into Bancroft, she of course, passes a street called Bancroft where she coulda turned R or L, but doesn’t cuz Yahoo Satan didn’t tell her to.

This is her next mistake.

Driving driving driving. Away from the freeway, PP starts to think, this doesn’t seem right. Glances down at her watch. 20 minutes have gone by and Heather Farms Pool is supposed to be only 11 minutes from WWU.

Shit.

So, she does her second U turn and heads back down Treat. Turns on Bancroft when she gets back to it. Of course again, she turns the wrong way. Hell, isn’t there a 50/50 chance of choosing the Right way? But no, PP does another U turn on Bancroft after driving for several minutes. Again, this doesn’t seem right cuz she’s not in stupid Walnut Creek any more and at least she knows that the Pool is in WC.

Waiting at the signal on Bancroft to do her next U turn, she spies a couple teenage boys on their cell phones. Should she ask one of them where the Pool is? They look busy and bored. That teenage specialty. So she doesn’t ask and makes her U turn, heading back down Bancroft again.
Okay, now. Is this directionless pool story going on too long?
You bet it is as she heads back across Non-Treat Treat Blvd, now looking for Ygancio Valley Blvd. Hey! Yes! Here it is. PP turns what turns out to be the WRONG way again! Heads up Ygnacio Valley. It turns into a goddamn freeway. No place to turn around as she tries to choke bag the frustrated tears.

WHERE THE HELL IS THE GODDAMN POOL?

Not out here in the god forsaken brown-weeded hills of Contra Costa. Though there was a nice view of the red sun that was setting amidst the fire sky. But no opportunity for a U turn for at least 5 miles. All the huge SUV’s were on her tail eager to get home to their suburban martinis and barbeques and brats. PP glanced down at her watch. 45 minutes since she’d left WWU.

I don’t know about you, but 45 minute may be 11 minutes in Yahoo’s Hell, but not in her world as she finally hit the crest of the hill and a signal where she could do a final U turn.

At this point, near tears, tired, neck aching, PP wonders, should she just give up her quest? Is the pool really worth all of this? But she’s nothing if not stubborn as she heads back down the hill. She’s gonna find this pool if it the last thing she does and it might be as a Mean Black Chevy Tahoo guns past her, causing her to catch her breath as she stops for yet another infinitely long signal. (What the hell is it about signals in the suburbs? They’re all at least 5 minutes long! Another part of Hell, as far as she’s concerned as the light finally turns and she shifts the Geo into gear.)

PP shivers. Part of her feeling like she’s just gonna get back on the freeway if she ever finds that ( she does know that Ygancio Valley hits the freeway home to Oakland since she passes it everyday.) Now she thinks, WHY THE HELL didn’t YAHOO maps just direct her to get on the freeway, then get off on Ignacio Valley?

Because they’re SATAN. Only explanation as she starts to look anxiously for her final direction. ‘Turn R on N. San Carlos.’

Is that it? Yes! N. San Carlos one way, and San Something else the other way. Again, why the hell are there two names to all the streets in stupid Walnut Creek? Something to do with the creek no doubt. It runs two ways. So all the streets have two names.
No logic there which makes perfect sense at this point as PP turns on N. San Carlos and then thankfully spies the sign “Heather Farms” and then “Swimming Pool!”

Pulling into the parking lot. (One good thing about the burbs---parking lots) PP turns off the Geo and sits for a moment in front of a long building that must house the Pool. Many teenagers running around with wet heads and cell phones as their parents sit idling in gas guzzling Suburbans chattin with each other.

Was it worth it? PP pays her fee and changes in the bare bones locker room as a group of VERY LOUD teenage girls scream over their hairdryers, still dubious at this point.

But then….

Pushing open the door to the pool, PP stops for a moment in absolute wonder.
The most beautiful pool greeted her. 20 laps and several of them absolutely empty. A lovely green hillside behind it and the water smooth, clear and inviting.

A smile came over her tired face as she plopped her gym bag down and grabbed a kickboard and pull buoy.

Now for the important point--Where was the Butterfly Guy advertised? She glanced toward the middle of the enormous pool as what looked like a Master’s swim team working out. Bet he was over there, she thought to herself but suddenly too cold and tired as an almost wintry wind whipped across the deck to give much more thought to him. Next time.

Jumping into her own lane, PP zipped quickly down the smooth coolness. The goose bumps rising on her arms. Damn it was cold! But no way was she gonna get out now.
Not after the Lengths, (or should she say ‘Laps’) she’d gone to to find this pool.
Giggling to herself, she turns and heads back down the lane, the underwater lights coming on to guide her through her workout; the welcoming water already working its magic on her tired, stressed out Yahoo induced breakdown as she stopped to turn around, spying out of the corner of her eye a Grinning Handsome Guy in the lane next to hers.

Yup, it was worth it as she kicked off the wall and headed back down the lane.

Anticipation

Collapses

Technically, this isn’t a pool story per se, but it’s a coming home from the pool story, so it counts. At least as far as PP is concerned and frankly that’s all that matters.

After an especially relaxing swim at the Oakland Y –own lane for a 1000 yards or so-- a definite rarity-- and then splitting the lane with the Beautiful Smiling T—more on her in another blog---PP hops, no actually she just sorta languidly slides into the overly warm Geo to make her way back up Broadway. She always pauses at the stop sign at Webster and 24th. Should she turn here and then make the turn on Broadway without the aid of the cute right hand turn arrow, or should she just mosey on up to the turn arrow and wait so she doesn’t have to think?

Today, she opts for not thinking.
Little did she know.

There they were. A Lovely Anxious Helping Woman holding her silver dashboard shield (later PP marvels at her ingenuity—what a wonderful idea to come up with in the middle of a crises—PP could never think so creatively and quickly, esp. given her usually spaced-out state, post swim) standing near the curb but still not outta traffic shading a Collapsed Chinese Man sitting on the hard hot asphalt. Damn. Wonder what happened?

Helping Woman sees the Geo approaching and steps outta the road enuf to wave her on to pass, which PP does, initially thinking she has help, but then sees the Collapsed Man sitting on the asphalt all hunkered over in his too hot black jacket and black pants and thinks to herself. That situation doesn’t look too good.

Heat exhaustion? Could that be what had led to his collapse? It was a warm day, but not as warm as it had been, but still, it was hot, particularly if you were wearing long black pants and a black jacket and black shoes and why the hell did some people wear so many clothes in the Heat? Could everyone be trying to protect themselves from the sun?

PP thinks not. It’s just elderly people. They were always cold. She got that.

So, because HW had waved her past, PP had pulled around them. But then sitting at the signal on Broadway, staring back at them in her rear view mirror,she thinks, Damn. What the hell are they doing just standing/sitting in the middle of the street on a blazing Hot first day of September at 3:30 in the afternoon in front of the Ford Dealership? (Afterwards, PP wonders why no one at the Dealership called 911, but more on that later.) So she swings a U turn and heads back to them, pulling in back of them and parking the Geo so no one will run them over, turning on her emergency flashers as a warning to other unsuspecting drivers.

Hops outta the car now, her former languidness completely dissipated. Another Good Samaritan, an Emerald Green Tank Top African America Woman was at the scene now, all business to PP. “I called 911,” she announced.
“Oh thank goodness,” PP exclaimed as she peered around the silver dashboard screen at the poor confused collapsed man, maybe 60? 70? Hell, PP can’t tell. And, yes, definitely overdressed for the day. Couldn’t they somehow get his jacket off at least?

But he doesn’t budge. Confused. Scared? In shock? He doesn’t speak nor look at any of them, but continues to sit kinda cross-legged, his head bent down, his heels propped into the asphalt. ‘It is so pity’ as one of her students from China would say.

“What happened?” PP asks Shielding Woman.
“I’m not sure. I just saw him lying here in the street so I parked my car and came over to help.” She angled the silver shield over him. “Thank God he’s sitting up now. When I got here, he was just lying here not moving at all. He didn’t look too good.”

PP thought how he still didn’t look too good as she glanced anxiously around. Should she go get someone at the car dealership to help? But then, African American Green Tank Top woman had called 911. For the second time in a week, PP wished she had a cell phone to call about Collapses on city streets. Yes, maybe it was time to join the 21st century, resister that she was.

“And his companion,” SW nods toward a slender Chinese man, elderly and gray, sitting on a bench in front of the dealership, staring anxiously over at the little group gathered around his friend. “He’s very worried. But their English isn’t so good. So, I don’t really know what happened.”
“Did you ask?” AAGTTW eyed the companion and SW dubiously.
”I did, but I don’t really think their English is good enough. I mean, they may understand English, but speaking it……” her voice trailed off as they all turned at once to the sound of the ambulance’s shrill siren.
“Wow!” PP exclaimed. “That was fast!”
The two other women nodded. “I hope they brought a translator,” SW murmured as the ambulance pulled up and out hopped two Movie Star Beauty Paramedics, the guy with muscles and tattoos, Brad Pitt watch out, the woman looking like a young butch Liz Taylor. PP thinks, Hell, maybe I better arrange a Collapse for myself on Their Shift for some much-needed resuscitation. Though then they’d probably just cart her off to Highland Hospital where there certainly were NO Movie Stars.

PP watched as they knelt down to help, immediately all business, ignoring the little group of helpers.
“Let’s see if we can get this off,” Butch Liz took charge right away, prying away his heavy hot jacket as Tattoo Brad Pitt reached into Collapsed Man’s pocket and retrieved his ID. Began asking his name. Address. Etc.

PP sighed. Thank goodness that help arrived so quickly as she got back into the Geo knowing she wasn’t needed any longer if in fact she ever was. But at least she felt like she had done something. Is this a theme lately? Seems so. And as she drove home, PP marveled at how three total strangers had come together to help another stranger in need here in Oakland, which has the reputation of a big, alienating urban war zone.

Yet, what was it about the human capacity for compassion? Strange is what it was. And here in Oakland, where you’d least expect it, it all happened so fast and naturally. Unlike SF when she had watched helplessly as all the Cell Phone business people walked around the poor homeless man, collapsed on Market Street in the middle of the afternoon rush.

Was it Oakland that had the compassion? Or just Kismet that these three women all converged together at this particular point on a Saturday afternoon? Later PP thought about how it had been all women, no men had stopped to help. Now of course, this could just be gender coincidence, but then again she had to think that women were just more helpful. They were raised this way, right? Frankly, PP hadn’t thought herself particularly compassionate, but then where the hell were the guys at the Ford Dealership? Didn’t they notice that an old Chinese Guy had collapsed in front of their dealership?

Maybe not. After all it was a Sat afternoon. Labor day. Big balloon sales. Busy busy busy selling selling selling. And this brought PP back to thinking about SF and the poor collapsed man there on Market ST. Everyone is so busy, making deals, talking a blue streak that they don’t even see the life or lack of it in their paths.

It was a sorry world sometimes.

Unless of course, you’re in downtown Oakland, on a certain Saturday afternoon, with Two other helping women, making a small hopeful difference in one poor man’s unfortunate collapse. (With a little help from the Stars, too, of course!)

Oh, Puhleeeze! Not another Bird Drama!

“At least it’s not trying to get in the hot tub anymore,” the Lovely I said philosophically.
JL nodded, concern worrying her brow. “But he’s drinking an awful lot of water. I’ve never seen a bird drink so much water.”
“And it’s got yucky chlorine in it,” the Lovely I tsk tsked. “Here, Birdie, have some good clean Berkeley organic water,” she floated across the tub and poured out a puddle next to the thirsty pigeon who of course ignored it.
PP sighed as she settled into her favorite corner of the hot tub. Bird drama. No more. She’d had enough after the little crow escapade which in the end had turned out all right, but still……
A thirsty pigeon? Maybe it was just thirsty? It was a hot day. Don’t pigeons deserve a drink too?
But yet……
PP turned around to watch its little brown head sucking up the yucky water. LI shaking her head. “Hey, bird. Drink the good water!”
And it did. Like it had heard her command and then hopped to.
It drank and drank and drank.
PP had to admit that it was drinking an awful lot of water.
JL moved up to the side of the tub and leaned on the edge watching in heavy bird concern. “I don’t know what to do. Lindsey won’t take pigeons. When I found my pigeon here, I called them and they said, no, not unless it’s a wild pigeon. And when I described it. White with a little pink on the wings. They said, nope that’s no wild pigeon. We can’t help. And when I told them there was a hawk circling overhead, they said, well if you leave it there, the hawk will get it and of course I couldn’t do that so I took it home and then to Liberty Wild. Did you hear that story LI?”
The Lovely I shook her head as she continued to coax the pigeon to drink her healthful water.
“This pigeon is brown,” PP offered. “Does that mean that they might take it? That it’s wild?”
“Oh, I never thought of that. Does their color show their wildness or tameness?” JL mused.
“I don’t think so,” the Lovely I offered. “I just think the color is like you know our eye color. Brown eyes or blue eyes.”
“Is it like race? Like the brown pigeons are a different pigeon race than the white ones?” PP asked to be silly.
“No,” JL answered very seriously. “I think I is right. It’s like eye color. Though there aren’t as many brown ones that’s for sure.”
PP nodded as she turned away from the drinking bird for a moment to soak in the tub and gaze at the group of pine trees blowing in front of her.
OH! There he goes!” JL exclaimed, excited and happy.
PP turned and yes, there he had gone, but not far. Only to the tarp covering to land there, a dark shadow now trying vainly to get up to the top of the tent like structure. But the shadow kept slipping down. Like he was drunk.
Oh, no. there was something wrong with him.
Damn!
Now what to do?
JL and the Lovely I climbed out of the tub and moseyed over to check out the progress. He’d hop up the slope and then slide back down then hop a bit more and then slide, but each time he did get a little higher till finally, he reached the metal bar pinnacle and perched there, resting.
Ok, PP thought. He must be ok to get to the top and then just hang out. If he were really sick, wouldn't he fall back down?
Shit.
PP decided she was gonna go take a shower and not get involved. She wasn’t in the mood to drive to Walnut Creek with a drunk pigeon. She wanted to go to Moe’s and listen to Al Young read poetry and then go up to O’s and have grilled cheese and watch the Marilyn Monroe Marathon on AMC.
Was she just a selfish bitch?

PP thought probably so, but then, if JL and The Lovely I wanted to somehow rescue the pigeon though lord knows how they were gonna get it now that it was atop the shade tarp thingee, well…..let em. She was gonna go partake of poetry and sex appeal.

But then, in the shower, PP felt a Pigeon Pang. What if a hawk came by and saw the poor little guy perched atop the tarp all forlorn and tired and drunk on pool water?
Could she sleep at night knowing that she’d left the poor little guy to such a fate?

She could not.
And of course, neither could JL and the Lovely I.
“We have to go check on the pigeon one more time before we leave!” JL had insisted, knowing that they were all going to do this anyway.
And they did. Clean and showered and spacey and hungry they ambled over to the far side of the pool to take a look.
No, he wasn’t on top of the tent tarp anymore.
Was this a good sign? Had he flown away?
Or….
Had he fallen down into the grass of the dark dense hedges that surrounded the hot tub area?
JL and the Lovely I started to peer around the surroundings. PP did too, but was hoping she didn’t see anything. And if she did?
Would she tell them?
Oh, of course she would. Marilyn Monroe could wait.
“I don’t see him, do you guys?” JL asked anxiously.
“No, I don’t see him,” the Lovely I shook her head.
“Me neither,” said PP. “But I’m hoping I won’t’ so I’m not looking very hard,” she joked.
They laughed but not very hard. It really wasn’t very funny. Bird Rescue. It was a very serious business and PP knew this but she just couldn’t help herself sometimes. It was only a bird after all. Not a human being.

PP suddenly shuddered to herself as she remembered the Homeless Man she’d seen lying comatose on Market St when she got off the BART on her way to work the other day. Everyone just sidestepping him. Talking on their cell phones, completely oblivious. How could this be? As she stopped to see if he were ok. And he wasn’t. This much she could tell. He was in really bad shape. Lying there on his side, his face
all scrunched up and purple and his jeans offa his ass and it was
awful.... it was so sad. She’d almost started crying...and so when she got to school, she tried calling the homeless advocacy agency in SF—but of course, could only leave a message--then social services who was a person, but then this person, a Harried Woman with a tired edge to her voice, just hooked PP up to their homeless issues division--another message---so PP had called back and HW was really bitchy and said well, if PP thought he was sick or dying they don't go pick people up off the streets. She needed to call 911.....

Stupid bitch why didn't she tell PP that in the first place?

But at least the 911 lady was nice and said they'd send a paramedic out
right away. Which made PP feel better, but.....will that help him? She didn’t know. It's all so sad and she felt so powerless. Here in the richest country in the world and this goes on. He’s a human being for crissakes!

Maybe this is why they tried to rescue birds. At least they could do Something. Even if it was just capturing the poor sick bird and taking it to the Lindsey Wildlife Rescue. At least it felt like solid help. Whereas with this poor man. Did the paramedics really come to help? And even if they did, then what? They’d probably throw him back out on the streets and the whole process would start again.

At least with the birds, if they get better, they fly away, right?

“He musta flown away then,” JL sighed in relief.
PP nodded, thinking how she wasn’t going to mention the Homeless Man. How it was just a silly pigeon they were so worried about.

But it was a life. And isn’t that what the real issue was here in both cases? Life is so precious, whether it’s a pigeon, a Homeless Bum or a Swimming Kitty.

“Can we go now? I’m really hungry all of a sudden.” The Lovely I sing songed softly, and she was right. It was time to go. Eat grilled cheese. Drink bubbly water.. Listen to poetry. Drool over Marilyn. Play with the cats.

.And the pigeon was fine, he had to be. Just like the Homeless Man. The paramedics came and helped him. Right?

PP shook her head as she stared up at the vast blue afternoon sky.
“I don’t see any Hawks.” JL proclaimed as they headed out of the Mills Pool Compound.
“Nope,” PP agreed.
And with a sigh of relief, PP turned and followed the Lovely I and JL outta the Aquatics Compound and out into the lovely summer evening where birds flew, Homeless Bums thrived, and Marilyn proved she was a girl's best friend.

SOLAR CRAZY

“So, I haven’t seen you guys around lately.” Handsome Hot Tub Guy stares at DHBF, and PP, interested, curious.
“Oh, yeah.” DHBF chuckles in his good-humored affable way. “That’s because she,” he points at PP who’s trying to sink down into the hiding bubbles, “hasn’t been coming much.”
”Oh….” HHG turns his stare at PP, who just smiles, making no comment. She’s just not in the mood to explain why she doesn’t come to Mills much anymore, esp. to HHG, whom she didn’t really know, even though he’d been swimming at Mills for years. You’d think that a year after surviving the Melanoma Scare, she’d be more blasé about it, but she’s not. So she just says nothing. HHG doesn’t really care about her anyway. He wanted to partake of some Guy Solar Business Chat.

BORING!


But then, to PP’s delight, the Large Blue Floral Woman who’d been soaking in the tub's corner pipes in, “MORE PEOPLE WOULD INSTALL SOLAR IF IT WASN’T FOR THE GODDAMN GOVERNMENT REGULATIONS! IT’S ALL BULLSHIT IF YOU DON’T MIND MY SAYING. BULLSHIT IS WHAT IT IS!” She harrumphs and frowns, sighs heavily and then glares at the two men. PP sinks back into her corner under her hat--this is so great! A solar crazy! How wonderful! Now we’re talking!

HHG stares at Bullshit Woman in friendly disbelief. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s part of why people don’t install solar, but for the average family it’s gonna cost upwards of what would you say?”

He glances over at DHBF who shrugs, “Depending on the size of the house and the amount of electricity they use it can generally run 30 to $40, 000….”

“YEAH! BUT HOW MUCH OF THAT IS FOR THE GODDAMN PERMITS? I mean, I live out in the El Dorado foothills, and we got around all the permit costs by installing our own system, but I know people who spend upwards of a couple thousand dollars just for the goddamn permits and then the rigmarole they have to go through to get their rebate from the state. It’s BULLSHIT!”

HHG laughs, “Yeah, well you’re right about that. The rebate system is pretty convoluted….

”I mean they have to make sure that they’ve installed the panels on the proper side of the house with…..”BW starts in, fire in her wet eyes.

DHBF interrupts her, “That’s because if they didn’t have those regulations then people would just be installing panels wherever just to get the rebates. People need to install them where they can get the optimum sun power.”
”Yeah,” HHG agrees, “that’s true, but wouldn’t people just be motivated to do that anyway? The better placement just leads to more power and thus bigger rebates? The rebates should just be on a strict….”

Here is where PP zones out a bit. All the technical jargon. Then the kilowatts. What the hell is a kilowatt anyway? In the past, when DHBF had been really into the Solar Thing, he’d start going on and on about the goddamn kilowatts till PP was ready to Kill a BF!

“AND LET ME TELL YOU GUYS ANOTHER THING!” BW interrupts, pointing her finger at them in energetic zeal. Maybe she’s bored with the kilowatt talk too? “The Shipyard? In Berkeley? You heard of them? Well, cuz of the city of Berkeley’s goddamn regulations, they got shut down. The city came in when they found out that the Shipyard, which if you don’t know is an artists’ community hooked up with Burning Man you heard of that I’m sure. It’s amazing the amount of energy they generate for that event. But anyway the Shipyard had this whole Solar Set-up with this self-sustaining energy-enhancing situation, and the city got all up in arms and went and raided the Shipyard and dumped out all the batteries there were tons of batteries being used for this situation, and I ask you? Where the hell did they dump all that battery acid?”
”That’s a good question,” HHG tries to intercede.
“And isn’t it worse to dump the goddamn battery acid wherever then to let the artists generate their own energy? I mean, granted, maybe they weren’t doing things strictly by the book….” BW chuckles conspiratorially.

"That’s just it,” HHG took advantage of her chuckle, opening the door a crack in her tirade, “you’ve got people messing around with electricity and you’ve got to regulate it somehow. It’s dangerous.”


“Yeah, DHBF tried to help his cause, “it’s not like they’re installing a pool.” PP laughs. Did he really say POOL or did she just imagine it? She thinks she probably imagined it, but hell, this is a pool blog, so such watery flights of imagination are allowed.

In any case, BW harrumphs mightily, spraying her indignation all over the tub, “Yeah, I know you’re right on one level, I just think that if the government or the city or whoever made the whole regulation process less expensive than it wouldn't be so prohibitive to install solar. Look at us!” she waves her arm expansively toward the sunny blue sky above. “In California. With all this sun! We should be completely powered by solar. There’s no excuse!” Pointing her finger more vigorously, she puffed up her cleavage, thrusting out her chin in Righteous Solar Indignation. BW was a force to be reckoned with.

“Yeah, but like we were saying, “ HHG is trying to talk to her reasonably like she’s a normal person instead of the El Dorado Solar Radical that she is. “It is expensive. The regulation fees are only like about 10% of the total cost which comes to ….”
DHBF jumps in. He’s the expert. “If it’s a $30, 000 system, then it’s even less really, usually no more than a couple thousand.”
More harrumphing. “THAT’S JUST MY POINT! IT SHOULD BE FREE!!!! I mean, sure people could still have regulations to follow and paper work to fill out, but they don’t need to charge them up the waazoo to install something that is so goddamn good for the planet!”

PP tries not to laugh as HHG and DHBF stare at her, both thinking of some response. But she’s not giving them an inch.
“AND SO, TO CONCLUDE MY WONDERFUL SPEECH,” BW smiles and gives a little bow, “I’d just like to add, and it seems like you guys know what you’re talking about and are behind me in this, but the government just needs to get rid of their BULLSHIT regulations and get behind the actual installing of solar on every unit in California before it’s too late!”

And with a final satisfied harrumph and dramatic point of the finger in their direction, BW heaved herself out of the tub and waddled away.

DHBF glanced over at PP who was doing the silent giggle in sheer delight. HHG shrugged, before stepping out of the tub, “Well, it was nice talking to you, kinda.”
DHBF chuckled, “Yeah, maybe next time we won’t have such a lively audience.”

Giggling, PP started out of the tub, but DHBF pulled her back, “Not so fast. What’s so funny?”
”Hey, lemme go, I wanna go take a shower at the same time as El Dorado Bullshit Woman.”
“Haven’t you done enough eavesdropping for one day?”
“Never!” PP giggled as she wriggled out of his grasp and hurried after the large blue flowered ass jiggling ahead of her.