The Polish Gambler & The Serbian Beauty

"Where you talking about?"

PP plops down on the top shelf of Utopia. Interrupting Sandy and a Fluffy Blond Woman. Sandy'd been saying how she never goes there. Of course, PP has to know where it is that she never goes. Maybe she's been?

Nah, that's not her motivation. She just wants the story.

"Cache Creek," Fluffy Blond eyes PP suspiciously.
"Tanya, Penelope. Penelope, Tanya," Sandy introduces before rolling over onto her other side.
"Please to see you," Tanya says, though still with reservation. Then shrugging, continues on.
“You should see Those Chinese. Oh. They are smokers!” Tanya laughs, shaking her fluffy head at Sandy.
“And the way they hold their cigarettes," Sandy smirks.
Tanya stares at Sandy for a moment, shifts her towel up to cover her ample bosom peaking out, before frowning. “I don’t understand.”
Sandy holds up her third and fourth finger, (Can you tell PP teaches piano?) pins them together, pretends like she’s smoking.

Tanya continues to frown. “And the gambling! They love to do the gambling. For me. I don’t care for it. But it is my friends. They like it. Why one friend, he is retired and he is always gambling and I tell him, no I can’t go with you, I have to work, but he doesn’t understand. He wants me to come with him. But I only go sometimes. Not all the time. I have to see the sunlight.”





“Gamblers are Vampires!” PP blurts out. Wondering if Tanya's friend is Chinese too, or is it just racist stereotypes running rampant at 10 pm at the Oakland YMCA Sauna?
Figures that Vampire stereotypes would be less disturbing. Or not....

Tanya turns and stares at her, for a long moment, before nodding, “Yes. That is right. Vampires. But not me. I like to go to the sunshine and stay outside. Not inside in the gambling.”

PP eyes her. She sure looks like a Vampire. Pale. Shiny. Eyes wide and dark. Piercing. Of course, she must drink blood with That Accent.

Though with the blond hair, maybe not.

"I must go now," Tanya announces, rising, still holding the towel up, but it's no use. There's no contest between her bosom and the skimpy cloth. PP watches as she exits the sauna, then smiles, turns to Sandy, "Where's she from? Transylvania?"


Sandy chuckles, "No, Poland. But you're close. One of those Eastern Block countries.” She pauses for a moment, wistful. "I have visited Eastern Europe."

This doesn't surprise PP at all. Sandy seems to be a woman of some sort of Independent Means. Usually such means includes travel.
"Where to?" PP asks.
"Serbia."
"Serbia?" PP wouldn't have guessed this. Who goes to Serbia? Of course, Sandy intuits her surprise.
"Yes, well....My half sister, we share the same mother, and her brother’s cousin married a Serbian Beauty and we were all invited to the Wedding. And let me tell you, it was something.”

“I bet.”

“Yes. And so while we were there we toured around Serbia and saw the sights. Then we went on to Athens. I had to see Athens. My sweetie is Greek. And so he had family that had a sweet little hotel right downtown across from the Acropolis. We’d sit out on the porch and sip our coffee and gaze at those ruins and it was so….”
“History?”
“Exactly!”





PP nods, remembering her own trip to Athens. How much she hated that City. But she does remember the enchantment of the Acropolis. Lit up like a magic castle, golden and orange and shadowy as she and O stood on the rooftop of their hotel and listened to a Crazy Greek play some ukulele-like instrument.

It was another world.

Like Cache Creek. Or Poland. Or Transylvania.

Or Utopia....

That's How Hitler Started!

“Those Tea Partiers!” Danish Accent Woman almost shrieks, or at least it sounds like it echoing in the women’s locker room at Hilltopia.’
PP can’t hear any response as she makes her way around to the other side of DAW, the better to eavesdrop without engaging.

“That is how Hitler started!” DAW continues. PP can visualize her waving her scrawny arms in a wide dramatic arc even though she was on the other side of the lockers.

“No one remembers. No one puts two and two together. But in Europe....”
“Where are you from?” Some Brave Interrupter asks.
“Holland. I am Dutch. And let me tell you, in Holland, we remember. I tell you, these Tea Partiers. They are just like Hitler.”

PP finishes changing into her new cute suit ala LJ. So happy that finally she’s not dressed in her Punk Suit with the rip round the middle and back.(Though she was tempted to take CC's jest in earnest and use safety pins to accessorize the look.) Now, she wants to stay for more Fascist Eavesdropping, but the pool is calling.

Yet it's her lucky day! DAW is on her way to the pool too. PP ends up showering next to her before diving in; DAW smiles at PP, before donning her cap and heading out to the water.

She takes up the entire lane, DAW does, on her back doing her version of the Elementary Backstroke. It’s impressive in its flailing spectacle. PP is careful not to get in her lane; instead, she thankfully shares with gentle Asian Guy who does a languid breaststroke with nary a wave.

PP notes how everyone avoids DAW’s lane. She’s a terror. Maybe this has to do with growing up in Europe? You have to defend your territory from who knows who? It’s all so close there; all the countries are small and share myriad borders. PP can’t recall exactly how Holland is laid out, but she bets it’s vulnerable to invaders, unless those windmills are armed. And they might be.

It occurs to PP now that DAW’s backstroke is like a windmill. Her arms spinning wildly under the water. Lethal blades--that’s for sure.





Would Hitler survive such an assault?

PP thinks not. Though those Tea Partiers, that’s another story. They're a tough and supid bunch. Someone with the likes of DAW's weapons would be nothing to them.

Later in the Hilltopia sauna, PP lies exhausted on the upper deck when DAW lumbers in. She sighs deeply and begins:





“You see that sweet little boy? The one whose mama is 8 months pregnant?”

PP knows she doesn’t have to answer. DAW will continue regardless of a response.

“I told her she should go in the walking lane. Those kids. They are kids. They wouldn’t mean to, but she could get hurt. 8 months. She shouldn’t take a chance. And the little boy, he is so blonde, he loves the water. When I was growing up in Holland, I learned to swim at 1 years old. And by 3 years I was saving others."

PP does murmur an obligatory I'm Impressed Response, "Wow, that’s amazing.” She’s heard this brag before. DAW has a soapbox. Htler isn’t her only obsession.

No sooner does PP think this, then it’s off with Hitler again. “Those Tea Partiers!” DAW harrumphs, never mind that there is absolutely no transition between the 3 year old lifeguards in Holland and the Nazi Regime in Germany. “They are so scary!”
“Yes,” PP agrees.
”You know,” DAW pauses, dramatically. “That is how Hitler started.”
PP wants to say, “Really? What’s the connection between the Tea Partiers and Hitler? But she doesn’t. Just agrees instead.
“And in this country, in America. People just don’t know. I’m from Holland. And we remember.”
“Yes, that’s true,” PP agrees, “Americans are so gullible.”
DAW pauses for a moment, cocking her head at PP, eyeing her with a new found respect?

“You know, you are a very good swimmer!” she exclaims.
“Oh,” PP grins, only a little surprised at the non sequitor. “Thanks.”
“I love to swim!” DAW continues. “Nothing like it. I come every day. But I can, I’m retired.”
Sighing, PP wishes she were retired so she could come every day. But on the other hand, she’d have to be careful not to come at the same time as DAW.

That is how Hitler started. Remember?

Plush Outpouring of the Women in 3 parts

Part I

“I’ve been a Nurse for 33 years and I just haven’t been suited to it. Lately. All the time... I’m just Angry.”
“I bet,” PP answered, not sure at all what Hot Tub Nursie would be angry about.
“The HMO’s. Kaiser. You know Kaiser?”
Does she know Kaiser! She wrote a book about it, but PP just nodded.
“They are so gurgle gurgle gurgle….”

PP couldn’t hear what she said. The Hot Tub bubbles filling in the Kaiser Rant.

“I’m trying to get out of Nursing now. Doing more blah blah marketing.” PP didn’t understand the blah blah blah part either. But it obviously didn't matter.

“What’s that?” PP asked, pretending like she was hearing every word that HTN uttered.
“It’s like marketing, you know Amway, or Tupperware, though this is for Wellness.”

“Ah,” PP nodded. She hates Wellness. It’s so stupid. She’s all about Sickness. Well, not exactly. But she does get so tired of the woo woo buzz words.




"Anyway, I could get you a brochure, if you're interested."

"That's okay," PP rose to climb out of the tub, feeling just a little unwell. Fortunately DL had shown up, eyes wide, grinning at PP's Nurse Entrapment in the Hot Tub.
"What brochure?" DL asked. No, not really, DL just turned away from the conversation and tried not to laugh at whatever look PP had on her face.

"I could use one of those brochures," Jesus Tattoo Liver Transplant Woman had ambled over. PP tried not to look at where her liver used to be. How could that be that her liver was gone? That couldn't really be, could it?

PP was starting to feel very unwell.
DL held the door of Utopia open, and PP weaved into its sanctuary.


Part II

“Where Evie been?”
“I ran into her last Saturday, she was here early, and she told me she’s taking classes to improve her English.”
“Ummm…” African American Princess murmured.
“Yes; I hope when she finishes I’ll be able to understand her better.” Sandy sighed, turning over onto her back.
“I sure do miss her!”
“Me too, me too,” Sandy agreed, sighing again.
“I miss her laugh. I miss her talk. I miss her underwear hanging on the side of the hot coals there.”
“I don’t miss that!” Sandy laughed. “But you’re right, she is a presence.”
Laughing, AAP slapped her firm long thigh, “Aren’t we all? Why we all have our own Individual Characteristics.”

PP almost fell over. Did AAP really just say that? Did she know that PP was writing a Novel (cause that’s what it is at this point) about all of the ‘characters’ in Utopia?
“I just don’t need her Salad Dressing Vapors filling up the sauna,” Sandy frowned.
“Yeah, I tell her, she could eat herself!” AAP laughed loudly.
“Is it really salad dressing?” PP had to ask now, if for no other reason than to keep the conversation going.
“Nah, not really,” Sandy grinned.




“But it could be!” AAP disagreed. “It full of avocado, cucumber, lemon, what else?”
”Garlic” Sandy added, wrinkling her nose.
“That too!”
“But you’re right. I still do miss her in spite of the Salad Dressing.”
“Yeah….” AAP nodded, “She good people.”
“That she is. That she is.”

Part III


“I am so hungry! I’m going to faint!” PP announced to no one in particular while getting dressed. The row of lockers now filled with several women desperately trying to get their clothes on before the YMCA Get the Hell Out of Here Clerk kicked them out.
“Here,” Jesus Back Tatoo Liver Transplant Woman bent down, picked up a Trader Joe’s feta cheese container and handed it to PP.

PP didn’t really want any feta cheese right now, but felt it was impolite to refuse. So asked instead, “What’s in it?”
“Open it.” JBTLTW nodded, serious as she slipped on her thong panties that allow Jesus to peer over their tight elastic band.





Feeling a little scared, PP peeled away a side of the lid. Behold!
GRAPES!
She grabbed a couple, popped them in her mouth. “Yum! Thanks!”
“Take some more,” JBT woman encouraged, serious.
“Nah,” PP handed back the container, feeling a little queasy, but also a little better. It was hard to tell. “I’m fine now. Thanks I just needed enough to get me home.”
JBT nodded, received the container, plopped it back on the floor. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I just need a little something, too, to get me home.”

Hair Dryer Delight?

“I’ve just been so cold all day!” Sandy shivers, even though she’s in the hot heat of Utopia, naked, sanding the bottom of her feet.

PP, naturally, had just been complaining about the cold pool. Well, it wasn’t that cold, she’d been in colder, but it wasn’t what she’d call ideal.

“Me too!” Swimmer in the Dark Corner agreed. “It’s cold.”

“Yeah, we think it’s March and it’s gonna be spring, but in fact March is wrought with wretched wind and cold air.” PP sighs. She hates March.




“Getting in bed is the hard thing for me,” Sandy announces as she switches to sanding off her other foot. PP tries not to get too grossed out by this, but can’t get DL’s voice out of her head whenever she sees Sandy doing this, “She’s spreading little particles of dead SKIN all over Utopia!”

But, this is what Sandy does, and she’s very nice and entertaining otherwise, so PP tries not to hold it against her, but still….The things women do in the Sauna are often left best to the imagination and not the reality of Utopia!

“It’s so cold between the sheets,” Sandy continues. “I like to use a hair dryer to warm it up.”

PP nods. A hair dryer? What the hell was she talking about using a hair dryer to warm up the bed? Like she’s going to throw back the sheets, plug in the dryer, turn it up high and blast the bed with hot air? Or is she going to get in bed with the hair dryer nestled next to her and turn it on and…

Actually this sounds a little kinky.




PP is sure this isn’t what Sandy means, but then again, she doesn’t really know her very well except through stories at Utopia. Maybe she is into kinky hair dryer activities between the sheets.

This would keep one warm, wouldn’t it?

DL is lying quiet. Is she listening? Does she know what Sandy means by the hair dryer sheet method of warming? Or is she just in her own poet world, swirling around inside her brain, the hair dryer conversation not even registering?

It’s hard to tell. PP is gonna assume that she’s just taking it all in and will write a poem about it when she gets home.

She’ll ask her tomorrow.

"I'm hot," DL announces, sitting up. "I need to get out of here." She stands, makes her way out of Utopia and toward the showers.

PP wonders if all the Hair Dryer Talk had caused the Hotness?

Nah, it was probably just the sauna. It is hot. Unlike between Sandy's sheets. Before the hair dryer delight, that is.

Homage to Macaroni….

She was the Queen of Tortoiseshells. Macaroni was. Sassy, bossy, noisy, purry. She’d let everyone know what her needs were, and everyone knew that she would have them met! Or else!

She was DL’s constant companion. Through thick and thin to use a cliché. DL is lost without her. And PP knows this.

PP will never forget the time that for some stupid reason she thought she’d let Macaroni out! (Mac was an indoor only cat. The big city is a scary place. Full of dangers that no Queen Feline should face!) DL and PP searched all over. In the apartment. Down the driveway. Under cars. Where oh where could she be? DL was near tears. And then, voila. There she was. Somewhere obvious. In the closet, on her pillow system. In her quiet Queendom. Looking at the two women like they were crazy. DL breathing laughing a sigh of relief: “Thank God we found her. Otherwise, you and I would have to go through a lifetime of therapy to work through it.”

So, now, with great sadness, the Queen has passed to her special kingdom where there’s lots of whipped cream, fat mice and color TV.

DL will miss her oh so much (This is why there was no Utopia last week), but Queen Macaroni will always be with us, esp. when we're feeling sassy, bossy, or noisy (or not!). We'll hear her Tortoishell MRRROOOWWW and know that whatever we're doing, it's with the Queen of Tortoiseshell's approval.

It's a Good Day!

“You are very good swimmer!” Square Asian Woman nods and smiles, the shower running full force next to her.
“Oh, thanks,” PP grins. “Today was a good day.” And it was. Being her birthday and all. She got her own lane. The pool was a perfect temperature. And now, compliments in the Shower. It IS her birthday at the pool!

“Yes. You are very good swimmer,” SAW repeats, then motions with her hands. Holds her right hand at about hip level, palm down, to measure height. “You swim very young?”
“Yeah, very young. Maybe 4 or 5?”
“Oh! That very YOUNG!”
“Yes, it is. I think I may have learned to swim before I learned to walk,” PP jokes, then thinks how maybe SAW may not get it.





But she does. “AHHH! Very Good!” she exclaims, beaming.
“How about you? Did you learn to swim very young?”
She shakes her head, embarrassed, “No…no….I swim as adult….”
“Good for you!” And PP means this. Thinks of her friend Miss WW who learned to swim when she was in her twenties having grown up in Toledo all her life with no pool? No swim lessons? No ocean? Or what?





Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter now. Miss WW did learn to swim and swims as obsessively as PP. Well, almost.

“You swim every day?” SAW asks.
“Nah, maybe 3 or 4 times a week.”
“Ah….very good.”
Shy now, SAW goes back to her shampooing, vigorously rubbing the suds all over with her puffy pink thingee. PP always thinks she wants one of these thingees. They seem to hold the soap so well and produce so many bubbles, unlike her feeble attempts to wash with her hands.

Oh, but this is off the topic of the story.

For after all, PP is a good swimmer. And this is a Good Day.
And happy birthday to her.

Maybe next year she’ll ask for a Pink Thingee for her birthday. If she's still a good swimmer, that is.

Make ‘Em Cry

As you all know, PP is a big fan of small children. She loves to hear their screeching in the pool, the showers, the sauna?

Hello?

It’d been a hellacious swim. Not just because of the birthday party filling the pool at Hilltopia with 30 plus gleeful 6 year olds. (Though this was ultimately what set her off.)

No. She had to share a lane with Multiple Kickboard Butterfly Kick Man. (Is his name self-explanatory?) This resulted in the requisite washing machine wave action which every lap swimmer just loves to pieces. Turning to breathe and inhaling huge gulps of water instead of air.

After he got out, Flailing Swedish Accent Woman got in. PP likes her, but FSAW gets on her back, and does a mighty flailing Elementary Backstroke that can be lethal if you don’t watch out.

And So. PP was really looking forward to the QUIET of the sauna. The Birthday Party’s noise level is beyond description. Just imagine 30 plus hyper 6 year olds screaming at the top of their little lungs while bopping each other on the head with the brightly colored noodles. There was laughter. There was joking. There was crying.

You get the picture.

In the sauna, PP lies down, sighs in relief. It’s QUIET!

But not for long. She hears the echoing screams of several of the Party-Goers pile into the showers. Damn. Why the hell do they come in the women’s locker room? Why don’t they use the kids' locker room like they do in Oakland?

In Oakland, these kids would be toast.




“Here’s the Warm Room, Cameron, come on in here…..” The soothing mom voice enters the sanctity of the sauna. PP opens one eye.

Horror of Horror. Soothing Mom is bringing her 6 year old BOY into the women’s sauna! PP can’t believe it. But then she can.

Mothers know no boundaries.

PP rises, “You know, you can’t bring kids in here.”
Soothing Mom ignores her, “Sit down over here, Cam….”
PP tries again. She is NOT taking a sauna with a 6 year old boy!
“NO ONE UNDER 18 IS ALLOWED in the SAUNA!” She tries not to shout, but it’s a close call.

SM glances over at her, perplexed for a moment. Was someone actually telling her she couldn’t bring her kid in the Warm Room?

Yes.

She doesn’t respond to PP at all. No apologies. No acknowledgement whatsoever of PP’s presence. Though she did hear her since she backed out, her arm around Cameron, “We can’t go in the Warm Room today, Cam. I….”

"WHAAAA!!!!!! EERRRRGGGHHH!!!! ARRRGGGHHH!!!!" Cameron screeches at the top of his lungs.

It’s an Impressive Tantrum.




PP is quite pleased that she’s elicited it.

Her day is always satisfying if she can cause one child to break down in tears for no good reason.

Who was it that sang, “Make ‘em Laugh?” Wasn’t it Donald O’Connor in Singing in the Rain?





Well, PP has a slightly different take on the lyrics, “Make ‘em Cry! Make ‘em Cry! Make ‘em Cry!”

A New Mistake

Since PP is so pressed for time and focus and energy this quarter (What the hell ever possessed her to teach Research Writing of all things on top of her writing center job?), she’s just going to give a brief summary (this will be a good exercise for her) or a pivotal piece of dialogue (without context—see you can tell she’s been reading way too many woo woo research papers.)in this blog entry.

Why is she doing this besides her time crunch?

Aren't you all just dying to know what’s been happening at the pool and in Utopia?


“Are you okay?” PP asks, suddenly concerned when Dunking Under the Water in the Hot Tub Woman comes up for air, but can’t catch any. Coughs dramatically till PP and DL are forced to stop chatting about cats.
“Yeah,” she DUW grins, still choking. “I put my face right next to a jet and I choked.”
“Oh,” PP nods, thinking how this is just one of the many reasons she doesn’t dunk her head under the water in the hot tub.
“It was a New Mistake,” DUW shakes her head.
“A New Mistake?” DL’s eyes get big and shinning. “I love that!” she exclaims, then looks over at PP and starts to giggle and giggle and giggle and giggle.


“I have a good cat story for you,” DL announces as they walk the tread mills. (This isn’t the same cat story as above if that matters.)
“Okay,” PP nods as she watches the Millionaire Matchmaker snap her whip.
“You know how D got these two kittens. Well they’re not really kittens anymore….”
“They’re teenagers, right?”
“Yeah. That’s right. And one afternoon, D was in the kitchen and she noticed that the Tortie was chewing and chewing and chewing on something and you know what it was?”
“No.”
DL grins, “A BIG FAT WHITE WORM!”
”UGGGHHH! GROSSS!!!! DISGUSTING!!!”
“Yeah.”





“How was your swim?” DL asks as they climb into the hot tub, DL making ouch it’s so hot faces as she sticks her toes in.
“It was crazy cranky,” PP answers.
“Why? Was it crowded?”
“No, not really. But the lanes are so narrow that it can feel crowded and then when Sidestroke Giant Man kicked me, scratching my hand with his Big Toenail…”
“EUUUU!!! GROSSS! Where?”
PP stretches out her palm and turns it over, looking for some tell tail evidence. But frankly can’t even remember which hand it was at this point.
She points to her left hand anyway, showing DL a spot between her thumb and index finger. Nothing’s there.
But DL nods, “I don’t even know what Sidestroke is.”






“Sandy, you know what Sidestroke is, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure of course.”
“It’s very relaxing, right?” PP asks as DL lies down on the hot utopia bench.
“Yeah, it’s that. But it’s also one stroke where you can keep your head out of the water. You don’t have to worry about that breathing aspect.”
“That’s a good point,” PP nods.
“When I was a kid, I literally had to learn to sink or swim. My dad threw me in the water and I dog paddled or sidestroked cuz these were two where I could keep my head out of water.”
“Wow!” PP exclaims, thinking this is pretty wild. “How old were you?”
“About 3.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s like chopsticks. You learn to use them if you’re hungry.”
PP tells them about her experience in China when she had to use chopsticks her first night there and all the waitresses lined up against the wall of the Garden Moon Restaurant and stared at her, laughing and pointing.
“The White Devil,” Sandy nods.

PP just stares. Did she really say that? Should she say anything back?
Nah, cuz if she did, well, she would surely commit another New Mistake.

That Sucks!

“That sucks!”

PP grinned to herself under water as That Sucks Swimmer shook his stringy mass of graying locks in disgust.

“Now there’s two lanes,” he moaned, shaking his head as the lifeguard struggled to attach the heavy lane line to the underwater hook.

PP’s relieved though. She’d been swimming in the ‘family section’ of the pool since there were no screaming children and smiling parents at 9 pm on a Thursday evening. She swam by the wall. Far away from the rest of the in-the-lane swimmers. Plus it was warmer. There were little wall heaters lining it. Gushing out warming streams each time she passed.

Then another swimmer got in the Family Section. She caught PP’s attention cuz she was completely clothed. Long black pants. Long sleeved shirt. Black shoes! Shoes for chrissakes! What’s that about? Was she practicing her stroke in case she fell off the cruise ship?



It was weird.

So, when That Sucks Swimmer approached, crazed and cranky, scanning the middle of the ‘family section’ thinking that he could swim between PP and Clothed Woman, PP made a conscious effort to swim more in the center to discourage him.

He glared at her as she swam down the almost middle of the lane. His stringy long black-gray locks hanging round his swarthy angry mug.

PP had seen him swim before. He was a Major Splasher and she did NOT want him swimming next to her, esp. if there were no lane lines.

So, when the lifeguard spied That Sucks Swimmer fuming on deck, he actually got off his ass and put in another lane line. Which PP thought was astounding, given that it was 9 pm and the lifeguards so rarely do anything to make the swimming experience more efficient and enjoyable.

But That Sucks Swimmer?

He was pissed off over the lane line addition?

Why the hell was that?

PP thought she heard him mutter how ‘Now there’s only 2 lanes.” Like there’d been more before? Technically there’d been NO lanes, or at best 2 lanes with a choppy ocean in the middle.

TSS got in with Clothed Woman. Began his frantic freestyle. Head lifted out of the water with each breath, vast veils of stringy grey hair covering his face every time he tried to take a breath. How did he breathe, she wondered.

Maybe he’d drown in all that hair!

Or all that That Sucks Frustration.

Either way, PP didn’t care, cuz she got her OWN lane at the wall, with the little heaters, and NO one else dared enter into her lane domain.

Still, she did wonder why TSS man had thought putting in lane lines so he could swim was something That Sucks.

Maybe he just needed to take a Cruise with Clothed Woman. Get away from it all. Jump into the sea. Swim with the turtles. Get attacked by a shark.....





Now that would really Suck, wouldn't it?

Dice Man—Take 2

“You ‘bout finished with your 400 laps?”, Dice Man chuckles.
PP giggles. She’s a sucker for gross exaggeration.

“This one here,” DM nods toward PP as he chats up Beefy Swimmer Guy whom he’s sharing a lane with, “she’s something else. I try to keep up with her, but no way. She just zooms ahead. I think I can catch her, but her arms just pull her ahead of me no matter how hard I try.”

BSG grunts, unimpressed, takes off down the middle of the lane in a show-offy butterfly.

“You remind me of Esther Williams,” DM continues.
“Really?” PP grins. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in years.”
He laughs. “Yeah, my mother, she was a sucker for Esther Williams. Those were quite a production, those movies….”

“…and she smiled the whole time!” PP interrupts, thinking how this is where his comparison with Esther would stop.

DM nods, serious. “Why I remember when we were kids, I had a twin brother, (PP wonders what the story is here with the “had”—Did the twin brother die? Run away? Become estranged?)”we’d go to the picture show. 'Show' that’s what we called 'em back then. And for twenty-five cents, oh now I’m dating myself,” DM laughs, shaking his head, “we'd go and spend all afternoon at the theater watching The Lone Ranger, or Roy Rogers or the likes of them…”





His voice trails off. Wistful. PP thinks that the brother did die. Some tragedy when they were young. Maybe a car accident. Or a lethal lingering terminal illness where all the family and friends shook their heads in disbelief. “He’s so young. Too young to die… if only the bone marrow had been a match.....”

Do you think PP watches too many Soap Operas?





“You really are a nice person to share the lane with,” he says suddenly, interrupting PP’s Tragic Twin Brother Soap. She nods, remembering how he’d said the same thing last week after the Dice Counting Laps Discussion. So she says the same thing back that she’d said last week. Likes the parallel universe of it: “You’re a nice person to share the lane with also.”

He nods, leans over, stares down at the dice, gives it a turn, then takes off down the lane, his left side flailing a bit more than his right as he breathes.

Sighing, PP climbs out of the pool, chilled a bit from standing around bullshitting. She glances down at the dice, notes that it’s on number 6.

Bending down, she turns it.... back to 1.

Hah! Not really! But she wonders if he woulda remembered that it’d been on 6?

She’ll never know. About the dice and the laps.

The Twin Brother?

She’s gonna hafta work on getting more about That Story!

Dice Man

"What’s up with the dice?” PP stops at the wall, grinning at the swimmer sharing her lane.

He's stopped at the end of the lane, contemplating one green dice (is di the singular?). The dice sits on the edge of the pool, surrounded by kickboards, pull buoys, flip-flops, puddles of water.

“I use it to count my laps,” Dice Man looks at her like she’s crazy. Doesn’t everyone use dice to count their laps?





PP, on the other hand, is mystified never having been much of one for games. Wasn’t Yahtzee the one with the dice? But she can’t remember other than the game was around at her Grandma Birdie and Aunt Tea’s place. The Dodger game blaring on the TV always taking precedence though. She can still hear those two old ladies, "Those goddamn Dodgers! What the hell was that?"




“How does that work?” she asks Dice Man.
He slowly turns toward her, serious. “Each side has numbers on it right?”
“Uh, right….”
“First there's the number 1 then turn it over, for the number 2, then turn it over again for 3, etc.”
“Yeah, so how does that work with counting laps?”

He shakes his head. She’s so slow! “I roll the twice and then half it again for 15 laps.”

PP nods slowly, trying to do the math, never her strong suit. How does 1+2+3+4+5+6 times 2 and then half again equal 15? Doesn’t it add up to a lot more than 15?





“The problem is,” he continues as she gives up trying to understand, “that I start bullshitting with people and then lose track.”

Aha! PP thinks. He’s just bullshitting her. The dice isn’t for counting laps at all. It’s for starting conversations with unknowing swimmers who should be doing laps instead of talking about them.

“The other problem is that the kids will find it and swipe it and then I’m lost.”

“Stupid kids,” she mutters.




“You’re a very nice person to share a lane with, you know?” Dice Man beams over at her as he leans on the pool’s edge and turns the dice over.

“You’re nice to share a lane with too,” she answers, not knowing how else to respond.

Yet he was she thinks, as she gets out of the pool and heads for the showers. After all, what better lane sharer could she have than one who provides such a thought provoking story for the blog?

Saffola Girl

“Is that baby oil you’re using?” CC asks; PP can hear her pert nose wrinkling in disgust.

“No,” Non Baby Oil Rubber answers. “I can not use Baby Oil. My skin. It is allergic. It’s Saffola.”
“Really?” CC asks, not keeping the shock out of her tone.

Saffola? PP thought to herself. Isn’t that what you use to deep fry chicken? Was this woman preparing to deep-fry herself after the sauna?

“Yes,” Saffola Woman continues, “I was using Olive Oil, but then I saw on Dr. Oz how it can enter your skin and you can smell like it,” she giggles.





PP thinks, Is it better to smell like fried chicken rather than a Greek salad? Personally, the salad seems better, but then there's no accounting for taste as the cliche goes.

“Have you tried Tetri Oil?” CC suggests, “It’s kinda got that mentholy thing going, so it might not be too good for your skin either."

“What’s Tetri Oil?” PP asks, trying to keep the Oil Conversation alive.

“It’s this kinda oil that’s actually really nice for dry skin. But like I said, it’s got that mentholy scent, so it’s kinda strong.”
“I could try it....” Saffola Woman offers, reaching for her Saffola and smearing some more on top of her thighs. “But the Saffola, it work pretty good!” she declares, slapping her thighs with a resounding smack.

PP can’t get the image of deep fried chicken out of her brain. The way you boil a big pot of oil and then drop the floured pieces of chicken into it: the thighs, breasts, wings. Then watch them all sizzle and splatter, floating about in the hot oil.





How disgusting was it to slather Saffola all over your naked body in sauna?

But wait, maybe it’s a cultural thing? Like maybe some cultures might believe that preparing your skin for deep-frying is a good thing?

Saffola Woman lies back, sighing contentedly.

CC gives PP that look. Like she knows exactly what PP is thinking. Cause she’s thinking the same thing.




They leave Saffola Woman alone. Discuss the hilariously unintentionally funny movie 9—how Penelope Cruz was the only thing worth watching, except for Kate Hudson in her sparkle mini dress. “I thought of you when I saw her dancing that go go,” CC laughs at PP, “you’d look dynoomite in that dress!”







Saffola Woman rises, collects her stuff, and exits. No scent left in her wake. Saffola must be oderless until you throw the chicken in it. But now, PP can’t contain herself any longer. “Saffola Oil!!!!????" she shrieks. "Isn’t that what you use to cook with? Like Crisco?”

“Yeah,” CC nods, wiping a bead of perspiration off her delicate red headed forehead, “you deep fry chicken in it and....”
“That’s what I thought!” PP exclaims. “Disgusting!”

CC laughs, then rises, “I’m about fried in here myself,” she jokes. “You ‘bout ready?”
“Yeah,” PP sits up, following her out into the locker room.

Later, driving to Fat Apples to pick up ollaliberry pies for her friend’s birthday party, CC comments, “I hope Saffola Girl didn’t hear you.”
“I don’t care!” PP laughs. “What the hell does she expect using Saffola in the sauna?”
”I know, but later, after my shower, I think it was her, this woman was giving me the Extended Eye Contact, and I thought, what’s up with you, Bitch. And then I thought, oh shit, I wonder if she was Saffola Girl giving me the Evil Eye.”






PP laughs, “Probably. I’d watch out if I were you. Saffola might start oozing out of your pores.”
“Gross!” CC shakes her head. “What I don’t get is how people can think it’s okay to use the stuff they do in the sauna. Don’t they get it that the oil sinks into the wood and then it’s there? It never leaves?” She shakes her head. “People do the weirdest shit in the sauna.”
“Tell me about it,” PP nods. “I’ve written a book about it.”

“I don’t know where I learned the etiquette, but it just wouldn’t occur to me to use oils in the sauna and let them seep into the wood where other women would be sitting later. Different cultures have different ideas of hygiene though. I have this friend, who said he was visiting some third world country, I forget where, and it’s not about relaxing in the sauna, but it’s about getting clean.”
”I don’t think Saffola is a cleansing agent!” PP jokes. “At least she’d given up
Olive oil thanks to Dr. Oz.”

“Yeah, and it took someone on TV to get her to stop.” CC shakes her head as she makes the left turn onto Hwy 80.

“Thank goodness for Dr. Oz!” PP proclaims. “Otherwise, we’d all smell like Italy!”
“That wouldn’t be so bad though,” CC jokes as she floors the Acura, zooming past about 6 cars lined up in the slow lane.
“Be Italian!” PP starts to sing, ala 9.
“I didn’t really like that song in the movie,” CC frowns.
“Really?” PP grins. “I thought it was great! All the sand flying out of the tambourines and Fergie’s cleavage.”





Laughing, CC takes the Carlson Exit, as PP smiles to herself.

Wonder what Fellini would think of Saffola Girl?

She'd be worth at least one fantasy, right?

The Zen of Heat

“Ahhhh….it feels so good!” she sighs, letting her towel fall softly down in response.
PP nods, agrees, “Yeah. I’m so needing this. My neck has been killing me all week and I think it’s cause the sauna’s been closed.”
“That’s right!” Relaxed Towel Woman says, “We don’t need pills. We don’t need doctors. All we need is this sauna……it feels so good….” she sighs again.

And so does PP. Her neck, back, and shoulders all begin to melt. The constant nagging pain begins to evaporate.

Was all she needed this entire week was an afternoon in the sauna?

But what about the Zen Springs? Why didn't its magic last longer?

DHBF was so sweet. On New Year’s Day, PP was in Neck Agony. Whining and whining. DHBF comes up with the idea to go to some hot tubs, but of course all are closed, except the skanky ones on University and the Zen Springs in Downtown Oakland.

Zen Springs?

PP was dubious, but what the hell, it couldn’t hurt any more right?

“You have sit,” the soft-spoken young Asian man motions to a wooden bench when they walk into the quiet Zen of the Springs. “I make room ready.”

“Okay,” DHBF says, but doesn’t take a seat. Neither does PP. She has to go to the bathroom of course.

When SSYAM returns, she asks where the bathroom is. He looks at her, embarrassed. “It is occupied,” and nods toward a closed door in the little hall.

This distresses PP just a little. Only one bathroom? And how many ‘spa rooms’ were here at Zen Springs?

Well, it couldn’t stay occupied forever, right?

Right.






So in the meantime, SSYAM shows them their readied room. It’s super cute with soft lighting, a brand new spa type of hot tub, and a little sauna room.

“You push on Red Button for the jets,” he instructs. He’s already started the water running into tub, then asks, “You want Sauna too?”
”Yes, please,” PP’s eyes light up. She can’t wait to get some HEAT!
He turns on the sauna. It’s stone cold now but hopefully will heat up between the time PP uses the bathroom and when she takes the first plunge into the hot tub.

She takes another peak out into the hall. Whew! The bathroom opens up.

Relieved, (almost) PP hurries in. It’s all oriental. (Yes, she knows this is politically incorrect, but it is.) With a greeny bowl for a sink, bamboo in a tasteful planter, a welcome cat on a shelf underneath a tasteful print of pink and blue kimonoed ladies playing lutes in a gazebo.




Now relieved, (really) she heads back to the room, and fiddles with the new agey sound system. She chooses the most flutey recorder-like sound track and turns the volume just right. Greensleaves. Of course. Then messes with the lights. A dimmer switch up and down. Soft and loud. She chooses soft.

DHBF is already undressed and in the small tub. He’s very tall so he takes up most of it. This is okay, though, since PP is small. It’s a cozy tub. And it’s hot. As she sinks into the tub, soaking her poor aching neck, the hot water begins to work its magic. She thinks back on the day: the chocolate cream pie for breakfast; (Nations was the only place open on New Year's Day); the little nap after the pie (pie will do that to you); and now this: Zen Utopia.

"Ahhhh…....." she sighs, grinning over at DHBF as she slides her legs under his.