She Stink!

"Hey! PP! I totally thought of you last night when I was at the YMCA!"

Her beaming colleague, Wondrous Admin Miracle Worker, twirled in her swivel chair as PP dumped her stuff on the floor and opened the desk drawer to search for the key to her office. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I was in the locker room, where the Hot Tub is. You know where I mean?"
PP nodded, "Of course."

"Well. I totally thought of you cause there musta been at least 8 women in the hot tub and when this other woman tried to get in without taking a shower there was the hugest Uproar!"

Laughing, PP nodded again. It was a Theme lately. The lack of Shower Taking before soaking. PP recalled DW's extreme distaste last Saturday night when this enormous woman, tattooed, folds of softness on her arms, and evidently a cloud of sweat surrounding her, climbed down into the tub. DW frowned at her, held her fingers to her nose, pinching it closed, waving her hand around, and mouthing "P.U." at PP. Then she'd proceeded to scold Enormous Shower Transgressing Woman "YOU need take shower first!"

EST Woman just glared at her and shrugged as she continued to edge into the tub. "You understand?" DW was not going to be dissuaded so easily from her Hygiene Enforcement Task. "Take Shower first, okay?"




EST Woman gave her a look that would sink any Normal Scolding Woman, but did absolutely nothing to dissuade DW. However, instead of settling into the tub, she did turn around and meander back out of the tub after DW's admonishing.

DW shook her head at PP. "She STINK! She go upstair. She work out. She Sweat. It disgusting!"

Laughing, PP had agreed. Was glad that DW was doin the policing and not herself. She was not about to police anyone, esp someone of EST W's stature and stench.

So, when her co-worker mentioned that this had also been a problem a few nights later, PP had to wonder if it had been the same woman or another sweaty culprit?

It was all so Important!

Yet there was something in the air at the Y lately. Much tension around closing time with the intercom's booming announcement declaring how the doors would be locked 'promptly at 10 p.m.', which caused much muttering and eye rolling amongst the women of Utopia. And then a 'cat fight' had been reported by SSW, some brouhaha between a staff person and a member. And now this business with shower disdain around the hot tub.

"...and I wondered, why do they care?" her colleague continued. "I mean. The jacuzzi was this icky green chemically color and anyone I mean anyone who went in there would be so cleaned. I didn't go in myself. Too scary. All those chemicals...." She shuddered, shaking her head at the very thought of such an enterprise.




Nodding, PP had found the key to her office and was now heading over to unlock it thinking how the greenness of the Jacuzzi was another story altogether, but also wishing that she'd unlock her office and find that they'd built a jacuzzi for her. Why one would fit just perfectly! She could lounge about in the bubbly warmth and read papers. Drink tea. Talk to students....

Well, maybe that last part might be a challenge. After all, she wasn't so sure she'd like to share a jacuzzi with some of her students.

Though Wondrous Ad Min Woman was another story. She'd be a delight to share a hot tub with. Esp if she updated PP on all the happenings at the Y that she'd missed.

Stories for stories.

How wondrous would that be?

Birthday at the Pool

It had been a mixed day.





Her Ex, the Famous, (or is it Infamous?) Owen Hill, celebrated poet and mystery writer, had rumbled into her drive in his 1989 Toyota Tercel with books by Roberto Bolano. This was a nice surprise! And her neighbor, the charming yet unpredictable, KE knocked on her door with Ritter Cornflake candy bars and a beautiful card of blue night sky, magic bird nest and resting woman.

So. These were a wonderful way to start her day.

But then, even though it was PP’s birthday, she still had to work. What are ya gonna do? It’s not like Woo Woo U was gonna give her the day off so she could spend her entire birthday at the pool. Which is, of course, what she would do.

And so, the City of Oakland would have to grant her free parking for her birthday so she could spend all day at the pool.

And the YMCA would have to clear ONE lane for her ALL day so she could swim blissfully without interruption ALL Day.




And the angels of the Neck Brigade would have to grant her a PAIN free neck all day so she could take advantage of her own lane and free parking!

Next, all the women of Utopia would have to gather and sing her Happy Birthday at the end of her swimming day and provide her with much delicious food from their various cultures and cake and cookies from PP’s own culture, which is the culture of SUGAR!




Finally, Greenlee on All My Children has the same Birthday as PP, Feb 20, so it would really be ideal if she would come back from the Dead already to toast PP with some Don Perignon! As only Greenlee can do!

Cut the BullCrap!

“I lost my cell phone the other day. My husband gave it to me on Monday and I lost it on Friday.”

PP laughs, though in retrospect it really wasn’t funny. Maybe it had something to do with Cell Phone Loser’s delivery. Sour Latina YMCA Clean-up Woman wasn't laughing, only grunting silently. She just wanted to float in the hot tub. Not hear stories about losing cell phones.

PP, however, was all about the story. But you all know that.
And it gets better.
And more intense.

“Where did you lose it?” PP asks, thinking it’s just a banal story, but she’s game anyway. The pool is Chaos according to Sweet Kindness Lifeguard who was up at the front counter ostensibly to learn the tricks of the counter check-in trade but PP thinks she just wanted to escape the Pandemonium of the Pool. Consequently, PP was gonna hang out in the Hot Tub till the pool calmed down.

Or CPL’s story was finished.

“At Lucky’s,” she laughs ruefully. “I had it in my coat pocket and I was there with my 97 year old father and he wanted more water so I laid my coat over the carton of water that we already had bought and my cell phone was in the pocket and I told him to not move and to watch my coat. But he did. Move....what’ya gonna do? He’s 97 years old.”

Nodding, PP glances over at Sour Latina Woman who was gettin out of the tub. She’d had enough of the story. Or she had to get back to work. Or she was just done with the tub soak. In any case, she was outta there. Like it matters to CPL woman. She still had PP as an audience.

“Yeah...” PP nods, encouraging. “Maybe your phone just fell outta the pocket?”

”Nah. I don’t think so. I think someone took it. Cuz the pockets have that ZZZRRCCHHH” she makes a Velcro noise pulling open and closed with her flighty hands. “They’d have to open up the pocket to get the phone out. My husband couldn’t believe it that I lost it already. He got it for me cause I’m on the waiting list for a new liver. I told you that.”




PP nods. No. She hadn’t told her. All they’d talked about before was how CPLW had a bunch of pirated DVD’s and was gonna loan The Curious Story of Benjamin Button ("That one is so cute!" she'd exclaimed) movie to her. PP hadn’t really wanted to get into the ethics and borrowing of stolen movies so she was glad that CPLW had seemingly forgotten about this.

Now she knew why. Probably needing a new liver made one forget things.

“Well,” PP tries for an encouraging smile. How does one respond to a stranger telling you you’re on the waiting list for a new liver? “I’m sure he’ll get you another one. Cell phone that it...”

She nods, sighs, then grins. “Yeah, he will. I need it to get my liver. But you know, I don’t trip on it. I know I’m gonna die. But it’s okay. I can kinda get things in....” Her voice trails off for a moment, and then she brightens, “...I can stop all the BullCrap that I was pulling before this and really get my life to where the Lord wants it. You know what I mean?”

PP didn’t really, but she nodded anyway. Riveted, she just floated and smiled.

“.....I’m off the Marijuana. I’m on the Hepatitis Drugs. I go to this meeting over on 32nd and there are about 28 people in the group and about 15 of them are taking this hepatitis drug and it’s really working for some. For me...” She shrugs. “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t trip on it. We’re all gonna die. I just thank the Lord that I got the time I do.”

The God Squad. That’s what PP’s sis calls it. Their Gram is a member of it and it must be comforting as hell (no anti-pun intended). PP, on the other hand, wishes she believed in It sometimes. It would, perhaps, take some of the pressure off?

Yet, listening to CPLW’s story, PP had to admire her no nonsense bravado. It was inspiring and made PP question what her problems were in comparison to such hardships. She gets all worked up over the pool being crowded or cold. Or the cat peeing all over her apartment. Or the neighbor clomping overhead. Or a myriad of really inconsequential things.

It isn’t like she needs a Liver Transplant for Chrissakes.

And, later, in the Mayhem of the Pool, this is what she feels like telling the Frustrated Angry Can’t We Get Some Lane Management Over Here Woman who yells at Sweetness Kind Lifeguard when 2 super spaced out slow as tortoises Asian guys invade her lane.







“I Pay too! And I get kicked out of my lane cuz you people can’t be bothered to Manage the Lane!” she hollers at Pool Sweetness Lifeguard who’s trying to get off the phone, probably with her boss, before she can help. But Yelling Woman is outta there.

And PP feels like saying, “Hey, cut the BullCrap! Sure it’s frustrating. Sure the lifeguards are lame at managing the lanes. But hell, it’s not like you just lost your cell phone so you can’t get The Call about your New Liver!"

Yet PP knows this is easier said than done. To compare your life’s ills to another and assess how yours pales in the comparison, on the surface, seems like it’d help. But in reality, it doesn’t. Why is this? Is it just PP’s HSK (Highly Sensitive Kitty) on overload all the time that doesn’t allow for this kind of Empathetic Analysis? She’s just so hyped up about her own issues that she doesn’t have any spare issue room to initiate complicated (or simple) life comparisons? Or is it just a holdover from her childhood? “Remember the Starving Children in China and clean your plate!”

PP never got this. What did cleaning her plate have to do with China’s Starving Children? It wasn’t like they were gonna be less hungry if PP ate all her peas!

So, today, when she hears CPLW’s Liver Woes, she does in theory, ooze sympathy and compassion, but in reality?

She’s just goddamn thankful that all she has to worry about is Lack of Lane Management at the Pool.

And maybe this is what Cut the BullCrap is all about!

Graham Greene on Pools.....

No one can give you the chills like Graham Greene:

(Dear Readers, please see previous blog entry first for linear storyline if that interests you; otherwise, steal yourself....)

"I followed him down the path to the bathing-pool.... It was empty of water now. My torch lit the shallows and a litter of leaves.

“’Other end,’ Joseph told me, standing quite still, not going any nearer. Doctor Philipot must have walked up to the narrow cave of shadow made by the diving-plank, and now he lay in a crouched position below it with his knees drawn towards his chin, a middle-aged foetus ready dressed for burial in his neat grey suit. He had cut his wrists first and then his throat to make sure. Above the head was the dark circle of the pipe. We had only to turn on the water to wash the blood away: he had been as considerate as possible. He could not have been dead for more than a few minutes. My first thoughts were selfish ones: you cannot be blamed if a man kills himself in your swimming-pool….” (p. 53).
~from The Comedians


No wonder PP remembered this scene.

Not that such a ‘situation’ would ever occur in the downtown Oakland YMCA empty under construction Jacuzzi…..

Unless….

Nah, everyone’s way too happy here and would never consider bloodying the Jacuzzi. Yet PP wonders why Dr. Philipot thought of the empty pool for his last deed. Mr. Brown attributes it to ‘consideration’, yet PP wonders if that’s really the reason.



Maybe Dr. P was a swimmer and wanted to end his life where he’d been most happy? Maybe he remembered the days of glory at the Hotel Trianon before Haiti’s evil dictator, Papa Doc, and the corrupt, Tontons Macoute. The days of fancy cocktails and frolicking in the pool and as Mr. Brown recalls,

“….By midnight some of them (the visiting American Tourists) would be swimming in the pool naked. Once I looked out of my window at two in the morning. There was a great yellow moon and a girl was making love in the pool. She had her breasts pressed against the side and I couldn’t see the man behind her. She didn’t notice me watching her; she didn’t notice anything. That night I thought before I slept, ‘I have arrived’” (p. 51,)
~ The Comedians




Now why hadn’t PP remembered this sexy pool scene instead of the icky bloody body pool scene?

There’s definitely something wrong with her memory cells. She’s gonna work on this for future pool literary memory recall: Pool Sex over Pool Suicide.

If she can hone this, and she thinks she can, then like Mr. Brown she will ‘have arrived.’

Crime Scene

”It looks like a Crime Scene,” SSW announces into the dark and silent Utopian den.

What is she talking about?

The Jacuzzi. It’s ‘under construction’ and it’s scary. She’s right. It does look like a crime scene what with the yellow ‘keep out’ tape all draped across the metal handrails on either side of the steps and the little pool drained to reveal a most disgusting and frightening murky white grayness with 3 little squares on the bottom that may serve as drains but now just stare back and out in eerie uselessness.

Plus it stinks. Like something died in there.

And this is exactly what SSW says next, “It’s like a dead body could be discovered in there. With that yucky red drizzle of something oozing onto the bottom ….”

Her voice trials off as PP and DL sit heaterized and rapt. “Wow!" PP exclaims. "That reminds me of a scene I either read or saw in a movie of a dead body that was hidden in the bottom of a drained pool and the protagonist had to figure out a way to get the body out of the pool without the police discovering that it was there. And I can’t remember what it was….a book? Was it a Graham Greene novel?”

No one answers PP’s thinking out loud looking for the right literary reference. “DL, do you read Graham Greene?”
She nods, “Yeah, I read one, but I can’t remember what it was called.”
“Did it have a dead body in an empty pool?”
”No…no, I don’t think so….”




SSW gets up and wanders out of Utopia. PP wonders if she’s somehow offended by PP not asking her if she's read Graham Greene. Just assuming that she only reads the popular political nonfiction that she talks about. Something by David Brinkley or was it Tom Brokaw?

See, PP can’t remember any specific referents. Literary or otherwise. But the scene in the pool is so vivid to her and it really bugs her that she can’t remember the exact place where she read or saw it. Is it just her brain is going? That her middle age mind is unable to retrieve important pool body details out of its crowded morass so that she can impress DL and SSW with her literary prowess?

Yet PP is fairly certain it is a Graham Greene novel called The Comedians. She can see it on her bookshelf. She’s gonna pull it out when she gets home.



In the meantime. The Jacuzzi remains a scary empty crime scene. One that PP can write about.

Even if she is no Graham Greene.


“It was a dark and scary night. The local police were out in force searching for the missing person of one Dexter Fleming. Dexter had had his run-ins with the law, but this time he’d been undone. And no one, not Sam, not Desiree, not even his beloved pit bull, Angel, could help him now as he lay, motionless at the bottom of the seedy jacuzzi that had been drained for 'construction purposes.....”

Women Are So Vain

“Swim for me…..” Super Swimmer Woman sighs, longingly, “I haven’t been able to swim for three weeks.”

Trying to get her hair into her cap, PP grins down the row of lockers toward her, shaking her head in non-swimming commiseration. She wonders why SSW hasn’t been able to swim for three weeks, but doesn’t ask. She’s in such a hurry to get into the pool before Slacker Lifeguard blows the whistle.

“I can’t wear goggles,” SSW clarifies her reason for non-swimming without PP even having to ask.

Again, PP doesn’t ask why. She needs to swim and she needs to swim now. She’ll find out the story later. In Utopia.

This much she’s sure of.

And it’s true. As DL and she stumble, heaterized, into the dry dark cave after a blissful swim and productive weight training, in comes SSW, to towel off. PP can see now that there’s a HUGE bruise under her left eye. This is why she can’t wear goggles. Obviously.

But what happened?

They were about to find out as DL asks her about the bruise.

SSW shakes her head. “Cats.”

Of course. Everything wrong in the world is cats’ fault as far as PP is concerned right now. She is so completely at the end of her rope about her stupid cat, Mr. Pee, who’s been spraying all over her apt. for weeks now.

It’s stress. Or change. Or whim.
Whatever. It's extremely frustrating and anxiety producing!

He won’t use the cat door.
He won’t take the Salmon flavored kitty Prozac.
He won’t cooperate.

He’s a Cat.

And so when SSW blames her black eye on a cat, PP nods.
Of course.

“I slid in a pile of cat shit. That’s how this happened.”

DL and PP make suitable ‘oh no’ sounds as the large prone 3 bulks of basking brown women shift in uncomfortable silence. Do we really need to hear about cat shit while we're trying to relax in the sauna? their collective bodies seem to scream.




“Damn,” PP mutters. “Bad kitty!”

”Well, he’s a 15 year old cat. What're ya gonna do? But it was so stupid. I got up to go to the bathroom. It was 2 in the morning and I didn’t turn on the light. I can’t go back to sleep if I turn on the light.

“Me too," PP agrees. "Actually they say that it’s scientifically proven that turning on the light in the middle of the night makes it hard to go back to sleep.”

“Well, it’s true for me. But anyway, I didn’t turn on the light so it was Dark. And I was wearing a long flannel night gown cause it was cold. And Deana puts the litter boxes in the tub, cause that’s where she puts them. And obviously the Cat missed the litter box and whoops! There I go. Down. Landed smack on my face.”

”OH No!” PP and DL both cry out.
“Yeah. I wish it’d been my ass.”
“You can really hurt yourself there too,” PP offers. “You could land on your tail bone and cause all sorts of problems and….”






“I know I know. But I landed here on my face and had to have stitches in my nose and then the plastic surgeon who looked at it later said it was a horrible job the doc had done so he had to cut my nose open again and re-stitch it. Women are so vain. I was wearing dark glasses to hide. It all reminded me of my Chemo Days when I wore big dark glasses and a big floppy hat and put on bright red lipstick…….”





Her voice trailed off as DL and PP sat rapt. Damn. Kitty Litter and Cat Shit can be the cause of so much physical and emotional pain.

PP knows this. Hell, her Mr. P cat and his litter box issues are driving her to seek Prozac herself.

But this was nothing compared to Chemo.

Or not being able to swim for 3 weeks.

This, of course, seemed the very worst of the situation to PP, as all her readers know. Swimming is the answer to soothe all ailments and anxieties, large and small. Without it, well, you may as well just go into hiding.

Just watch out for the cat shit.
And the cat pee.
And the dark glasses.
And the red lipstick.
And whatever else gets in the way of swimming.

Though PP thinks that even if she couldn't wear goggles, she'd still find a way to get in the pool.

At least in the water, it's a Cat Free Zone for a little while!

True Beauty?

PP feels a surprise tap on her fins, stopping her in her tracks, so to speak, before turning at the wall.

It’s Hemophiliac Swimmer, waving her into his lane. “I’m done,” he announces, grinning his toothless smile at her. “It’s all yours!” He motions to his private lane, giving first dibs to her.






Feeling quite honored, PP nods and dives under the lane line, “Thanks,” she beams before beginning to head back down the lane. But not before seeing HS attempt to change from a water to air situation.

It’s alarming. HS has somehow managed to heave himself out of the water and onto the deck (PP thinks that he usually uses the stairs. Why not today? To get out of her way?)

Now he's rolling on the deck, in a near fetal position, teetering dangerously on the wet cement, his great turtle head rocking in a weird sort of lopsided bob.

Damn! she thinks. Is he okay? Has he just lost his balance for a moment? Or is he just tired after the effort of the swim and the heave-up onto the deck? Or is he having some sort of Hemophiliac Seizure or stroke and she needs to do Something?

“Hey,” she pauses, “Are you okay?”
Rocking still, he waves her away, “Yeah. I’m fine. Don’t’ stop!” For after all he’s all about the workout. Not wanting her to give up an instant in her aerobic aqua endeavors.

Worried, PP glances over at the lifeguards, Sweet Kindness and Stacked Dangly Earrings, chatting in oblivion at HS’s plight.

Thinking she better at least alert them (Once again it occurs to PP how lame the lifeguards can be here at the YMCA! Isn’t it their job to be aware of any swimmer’s distress? Esp. one who’s 82 years old with a life threatening Blood condition?), PP considers waving them over, but HS’s insistent, “Go ahead. Don’t stop,” he repeats, as she continues to glance between him and the lifeguards.

Now they seem to see him, their gaze moving toward the rolling egg-like form on the deck. PP can tell they’re going to meander over this way, but she wonders, did she do enough? Shouldn’t she have hollered out to them? Or gotten out of the pool and steadied HS till they arrived?

Or...?





Would PP have passed the True Beauty “test”? If the hidden camera had been filming would Vanessa and Cheryl and Nole’ have ‘passed’ or ‘failed’ her on her Inner Beauty in helping an old man in obvious distress?

As the lifeguards approach and HS sits up now, PP thinks okay! It’s okay.... he’s okay. She would’ve passed, not failed, like Chelsea when she swore at the gardener who ‘accidentally’ hosed her in her stilettos and fluffy squirt on the way to the Hall of Beauty.

Yet, she has to wonder. How can one really tell if the distress warrants aid or not? True Beauty aside, isn’t it better to error on the side of caution rather than assume someone is okay, even if he says he is? Who cares if he gets embarrassed or she misses a couple minutes of her precious workout. Isn’t the distress of another swimmer something that needs to always take precedence?

Of course. And Chelsea just couldn’t help herself when she swore at the gardener or burped at the crying hairdresser or called Billy an Idiot.





She’s a girl. She gets bitchy. Girls are allowed.

Vanessa and Cheryl and Nole’ are careful not to test their Beauties in any life or death situations. This would be way too risky.

Esp. if Chelsea were involved.

Thank goodness she doesn’t swim. And HS is okay.

And PP’s True Beauty is intact.

Now if only she could work on her outer beauty.

But that’s for another show.

Capoeira & Heels

“I took a Capoeira class last night and today I can barely move,” Beauteous M grimaces a smile as she climbs out of the pool, and begins limping toward the locker room.

“Good for you,” PP nods, as she follows Beauteous M, noting how the muscle limp somehow makes her even sexier.

“Yeah, in theory, but tonight I’m not so sure.” Beauteous M laughs as she holds the door open for PP. “I just want to try everything while I can.”

And here it is again, PP thinks, Beauteous M’s zest for life. How is it that some people just have boundless energy and can explore everything and anything while PP has zero energy and it’s all she can do to get to the pool and swim her laps? Are such people born with this energy? Or is it something that they acquire through hard work and practice?

Or is it just all a ruse? Such people don’t really have anymore energy than PP; they just talk about what they do more than she does?

Now PP is trying to remember how the subject of High Heels came up while she was walking/limping with BM to the hot tub. But she can’t so she’ll just write down the dialogue. It was some sort of transition with the Capoeira class and the limp.

“Now I don’t know how I’m gonna be able to walk in my high heels tomorrow,” BM jokes, exaggerating the limp.
Laughing, PP shakes her head, “I can’t wear high heels on the best of days.”
Pausing, BM stares at her seriously, perplexed. “Really? Why is that?” She genuinely didn’t get it that any Woman wouldn’t be able to wear pumps. This astounds PP since she knows quite a few who don’t don such dangerous footwear. It’s not like she’s the Only Woman to avoid them.




“I have terrible ankles,” PP grins. “They just buckle under me. Even when I’m not in heels I can trip on the flat sidewalk.”

Beauteous M laughs, “Wow. I guess I’m lucky. I have very strong ankles.”

PP nods. Yeah, and that’s not all that’s Strong about you. But she doesn’t say this. It’s so obvious. Beauteous M has that wonderful Strong Swim Stroke that just plows through the water with energetic determination. PP envies her this strength. Knows that she probably has this in more facets of her life than just swimming and ankles. That her job must demand it to deal with the insane inmates from PP can’t remember where as a Therapist.

Now easing into the Hot Tub and wading through the Anti-Mom Talk (how refreshing PP thinks—they’re talking about having a ‘Talk Show” of 30 something Women without kids instead of all the usual ‘My kid this…. my kid that’ talk that dominates Utopia), Beauteous M shakes her head, rolls her eyes and grins over at PP.

“How’s this feel on the Capoeira Muscles?” PP asks.
“Delicious,” Beauteous M answers, sinking into the warm bubbles. “Tomorrow I think I’ll take another class even.”

Nodding, PP sinks into the tub herself, trying to absorb some of Beauteous M’s Strength thro the warm, energy reviving waters of the hot tub.

As for Capoeira?

PP giggles at the image of the Beauteous M in high heels limping into a therapy session but still all power and determination.

High Heels can do this, she’s heard.





But for PP, she’ll stick to her flippers. This is where her Power flies from.

Emily in Utopia?

“Excuse me, Ma’am? Are you Emily Dickinson?”

A tired smile escapes PP as she settles into the top heated corner of Utopia. Did she just hear that right? Did Diabetes Woman’s Sidekick (DW is nowhere in sight) just ask her if she were Emily Dickinson?

Were there little Flowers, Bees, and Butterflies escaping from around PP, surrounding her Aura? What was it about PP tonight that would make anyone, least of all DWS, think she was the most esteemed and beloved American Poet?






Grinning, PP just shakes her head, and then asks DWS to repeat her question. She just couldn’t have heard her right. Right? “I’m sorry,” PP smiles, “But what did you say?”

“Are you Emily Dickinson?” DWS is serious as she stares at PP. Why is PP giving her such a hard time? Here she is, trying to start a friendly conversation in Utopia by trying to find out her correct name, and all this woman can do is ask her to repeat herself?

Well.

But now, there was no mistaking it. PP had heard correctly. DWS had asked if she were Emily Dickinson.

Should she just nod and say, yes? This appeals to PP who’s all about a good story. But yet, come on. There was nothing about PP that remotely resembles the Great Poetess.

First off. She can’t write poetry.
Second off, she has no appreciation of the Sublime.
Thirdly she’s not a Recluse.

Well, on second thought, she does have to fight this sometimes. The cold, the noise and the cat force her out into the world and into Utopia. If you can call that the World.

DWS is staring at PP waiting for an answer, rubbing her breasts with some weird goo as she watches PP closely for an answer.

Sighing, PP opts for the Truth. Which, is she supposes, a little bit in the Spirit of Emily. “No, I’m not Emily Dickinson,” she finally answers.

DWS nods. “You look like her.”
“I do?”
She nods, “Yes. She is friend of my daughter.”
“Oh....”
What’s PP supposed to say to this now? DWS has a daughter who's best friends with a Dead Poet?




And if this is true, then there’s the Age Question too. DWS’s daughter must be half of her age, which would be half of PP’s age, which means what? That PP looks like a 20 something Dead Poet?

Giggling, PP shakes her head. While a part of her Vanity likes this idea, her Realist side knows that it’s all just a case of Mistaken Identity.

Which doesn’t answer the question of why DWS thinks PP looks like her daughter’s friend.

Nor that the daughter’s friend is named Emily Dickinson.

Maybe Emily has come back to live a second (or third, or fourth?) life as a Best Friend to an Ethiopian Immigrant’s Daughter?

PP likes the Poetry of this. And the Absurdity of it. And yes, there’s something even a little bit of the Sublime in it.

Now if only PP could write a poem.

Then she really would believe in Life after Death.

A Kiss & A Coronation

“Excuse me?” Cute, Pert Lifeguard (not the usual scab pickers) stops PP at the end of the lane as she was turning around. “I just wanna let you know,” CPL smiles so sweetly, apologetic, “that I’m gonna have to close this lane in a few minutes. So I’m gonna have to ask you to move.”

PP glares up at her through the foggy mask, glancing around at the relatively quiet pool now that the goddamn swim lessons are over. Paddle Man is hogging the lane to her right; Slow Moving Asian Woman and Brisk Woman are sharing the lane to her left. She can’t see beyond these two lanes cuz of the fog mask factor, but thinks, whatever, as long as I don’t have to share a lane with Paddle Man.

She doesn’t say this of course to Apologetic Sweetness Lifeguard, but just shrugs and says, “When do you need the lane?”
“In about 5 or 10 minutes.”
“Okay, I’m only gonna swim for another 10 minutes anyway, so just let me know,” and she takes off down the lane thinking how this must be what DHBF was talking about yesterday when he got moved out of his lane for Hemophiliac Swimmer. A new regime? HS gets the lane prepared/closed for him before he even arrives?

Now that’s a King for you.







Which is perfect since today was all about the Coronation. As PP and DHBF sat riveted in front of the TV that morning, watching the procession of Diane Feinstein and Nancy Pelossi and various other personages before Barack Obama and his family came marching into the arena, PP couldn’t help but make the comparison to the Showtime Series she’s been watching, The Tudors, when Henry the VIII crowns Ann Boleyn with all the pomp and circumstance.







Not that Barack is any Henry the VIII or Michele is anything like Ann Boleyn, though that would be interesting, wouldn’t it?

And so, today at the pool, when Hemophiliac Swimmer did make his entry, and was hanging around the deck chatting with Sweetness Apologetic Lifeguard and PP glanced up and grinned and said, “You want me to move to another lane now?”

HS waved at her, beaming, as SAL nodded, “If you....”

But before she finished, PP spied another lane at the other side of the pool the fog suddenly clearing in her mask, and thought, what the hell, I’ll just move. “I can just swim over there,” she called out, grabbing her equipments and diving under the lane lines, popping up in the end lane, only to be met by HS, who came rushing over, bending down with a big toothy grin, holding out both of his hands to reach for hers.

Laughing, PP gave him both of her hands, and he grasped them, holding onto her with his papery 82 year old ones. “You really didn’t have to do that!” he joked.

“It’s no big deal,” she smiled. “I don’t really care which lane I’m in.” She was gonna say as long as she wasn’t with PM, but then before she could, HS raised her right hand, bent his old bald turtle head down, and gave her hand a KISS! Like a real southern gentleman in the movies or something.






Charmed and embarrassed, PP let him hold her hand for a shy moment after the kiss before he let her go. Grinning, she turned around,diving under the water, the feel of his strange old man’s lips still on the back of her hand.

What a weird day, she thought.

A coronation.

And a kiss.

She felt like Royalty.

But only for a moment..... At the pool...... On Inauguration day.

I Have a Dream....for the Pool!

Martin Luther King day at the pool. But did freedom reign? Well, in a manner of speaking.

Did peace and goodwill and equality for all prevail?

Hell no.

There was a CRASH. And of course, there are two sides to every crash. Literally and figuratively. Literally, Flailing Chinese Woman climbed into Powerful Swimmer Woman’s lane without telling her. Figuratively, the Culture Crash was something that could have been avoided if only Someone had been paying attention.

So. FCW began her flailing spastic backstroke down the center of the lane as usual. But watch out! Here comes PSW, careening down the center of the lane (because naturally, since FCW didn’t inform her that she was joining the lane, she was swimming down the center). Her backstroke was strong. Her powerful arms churning through the water. Her eyes on the ceiling, not ahead of her where lo and behold, here comes FCW and KAAABOOM!!!!

Heads collide. The lifeguard gets up off his ass and starts blowing his whistle way too late. Much language confusion as PSW tries to mime how FCW shoulda told her that she was getting in the lane before she started swimming. Of course, FCW is pissed off. What the hell is going on? Why did That Woman run into her? She was just swimming along, minding her own business, flailing in oblivious abandon.

Well.

Later, when PP was getting ready to get out (she’d had enough, too, though no crashes, thank goodness, just lots of sandwiched swimming between mighty splashers) PSW was getting out and offered her lane to PP.
“Thanks,” PP grinned, trying to make light, “I bet you’ve had enough after your crash.”

Shaking her head, PSW smiled ruefully, “Yeah, not only did she crash into me head-on, but then she hit me a couple of times and she even scratched me right....” She glances up and down her arm and then shrugs. “Well, she did.....and I just think that if the lifeguards were a bit more proactive, then this sort of thing wouldn’t happen.”

PP nodded, agreeing. She’d thought the same thing. After all, the lifeguards know the scoop. They watch in bored nonchalance as FCW gets in a lane everyday and proceeds to spaz out at every swimmer who has the great misfortune to try to share a lane with her. But no. The lifeguards just sit up on their stupid chair, picking at some scab on their leg, while the pool devolves into complete anarchy in a matter of seconds.

They know that FCW is a challenge. The guy today had to have seen her get into PSW’s lane. Why the hell didn’t he get up and stop the Crash before it happened?

Oh yeah, that woulda taken not only some initiative but also some highly advanced speculative critical thinking skills that obviously is not in the YMCA’s lifeguard job description!

Hello? It’s not Rocket Science, Lifeguards. Wake the hell up and stop the Chaos!

But then, later, in the hot tub, when PP sunk into the thankful warm bubbles and FCW was in the tub nursing her wounds and her psyche, PP did feel a little sorry for her. FCW proceeded to act out the Crash in the hot tub for PP’s elucidation. “Blah blah blah (this is all in Chinese) BOOM! Blah blah blah blah...BOOOM!!!” etc, all the while motioning at her head and the imaginary lane lines symbolized by the hot tub tiles.

And PP had to think, hell, she didn’t get it that she was in the Wrong. And then PP had to remember, that it was MLK day, and what would Dr. King have said about the situation?

After all, he was a Pacifier and Negotiator kinda guy who might have had a solution to the Pool Chaos that’s been rampant at the Y the last few weeks.

Well, at the very least, PP would like to echo his sentiment:

“I have a Dream that one day every swimmer will have her/his own lane and live out the true meaning of the pool: Utopia”

Baring this, PP has the dream that at the very least, there are always two stories to every crash, and with a little bit of Dr. King’s compassion, well, maybe just maybe, we can all get along.

At least for a little while. In the pool. Let Freedom ring till the next crash happens!

6 days.....

“6 days….” She sighs, smiling mysteriously, settling into the bubbly warmth of the hot tub. PP smiles back at her. 6 days? What the hell is she talking about? She’s been able to do her workout here at the Y 6 days in a row? Or it’s 6 days till her birthday? Or 6 days is the magical number for when the world changes?

And yes, this is precisely it when PP questions her, “6 days till what?” she asks.
“6 more days till the Inauguration.”




”Ah….” Of course. Duh. PP shoulda known this, esp. as she sees now that it’s Pantie Pundit she’s talking to, with her gaped teeth and bright eyes. Readers may remember how Pantie Pundit had held court a few months back about Obama and his father. How they’d only met once when Barack was 10 and how this had been such a pivotal influence upon him.

So tonight, with the 6 days pronouncement echoing in the air, PP nods in agreement. The Inauguration. Yes, everything will change, right? Right? Right?

PP is dubious. But this is her innate pessimism shinning through. She just can’t wrap her mind around anything changing for the better lately. Not the new presidential regime and all the hopeful ramifications around it. Not the stupidity of her job situation. Not the chaos in the pool. (Though tonight it had been blissfully calm. Why? Who knew. But she was just glad that everyone had gone off Oprah’s Wagon so soon!)

“Hillary is my Girl. Look at her now!” Pantie Pundit was onto another political favorite. DL later had commented on how she loved the fact that Pantie Pundit has called Hillary ‘Her Girl’. And yes, PP had to agree. They were all Sisters.




“Yeah, she don’t take no shit,” Dyed Blonde Woman nodded.
“You got that. How many women would take back their man for the kind of sexual transgressions he enacted upon her! And not just once.”
“Mmmmm…..”





DL had climbed into the tub by now, her eyes wide with delight at the Hot Tub chatter as usual.

“And now the Leap Year, it’s Woman’s Year!” Pantie Pundit announced.
“Really?” PP asked. “I didn’t know that Leap Year was Woman’s year.”
”Me neither. They said so.”
PP stared at her for a moment.
“The news people,” Pantie Pundit clarified.
“Ah…” PP nodded. Of course the news media was a reliable source.




Yet,was this year a leap year? She had no idea. She’d hafta look at a calendar to double check. But then if it really were Woman’s Year, then why hadn’t “Her Girl”, Hillary, won the election?



“You should teach a class in East Africa Dance!” Pantie Pundit and crew had moved into Utopia where Diabetes Woman was resting. Evidently, she was an expert in East African Dance.
“Yeah,” PP joined in. “I’d take your class.” This was a hilarious idea since PP can’t dance at all. But she’d give it a try for Diabetes Woman.

And the story.

“Really?”
“Yeah,” PP enthused.
“She is so talented!” Pantie Pundit nodded, pointing over at DW who would’ve blushed if it weren’t so dark in Utopia.
“I believe it,” PP has nodded.
“Will you come, too?” Pantie Pundit had asked DL.
“I’ll try to. Usually I can’t make it on Fridays, but I’ll try.”
“Good! There, you see! You have a class.”




DW nodded, pleased. It was set. 8 pm on Friday. She’d bring her music. They’d take over the mind/spirit studio. It’d be a party.

PP can’t wait till Friday.

By then it will only be 4 days.
Would her frame of mind change by then?
Would Her Girl help with this?

Nah, PP thinks not.

Though the prospect of learning even one move of East Africa Dance did cheer her considerably.

Esp. if DL came too!

Damn that Oprah!

Thanks to her genius colleague, Agent J, PP has finally figured out why the YMCA is so goddamned crowded.

Oprah!

She had her stupid 'Bestlife' series last week, and encouraged everyone who's fallen offa the Diet Wagon to get back on--of course this entails getting back into the Gym Wagon too.





Which has obviously spilled over into the pool!





Damn that Oprah!

Just eat another chicken and shut up already!

So, PP can get back to swimming in peace!

Without any Oprah Bestlifers to contend with.

Okay?

TattleTale

“Hey!” Paddle Man spits, “He’s got a Band-aid on!” He points at Hemophiliac Swimmer’s big toe, wrapped tightly in a gross skin colored Band-aid. “He’s not supposed to be wearing a Band-Aid in the pool!” PM hisses and postures, his sad wide pink torso heaving in indignation.

PP starts to giggle as she watches HS completely ignore PM and jump belly flop into the pool and start swimming. PM’s indignation rises. The nerve! Doesn’t he know that Band-Aids aren’t allowed in the pool? Who the hell does he think he is?

PM tries again, wailing at the group of 3 lifeguards who’ve all been standing around at the side of the pool, chatting amiably with HS as he waits for a lane, “Did you see that?” PM’s ire rises as he waves at the disappearing band-aided swimmer, “HE jumped in the pool with a Band-Aid on! Aren’t you gonna do anything?”




One of the lifeguards starts to laugh and then waves at PM dismissively. “Oh, that’s Boyd, he’s okay. He can do what he wants.”

“But...but....he has a Band-Aid on....and....” PM sputters as he watches helplessly. HS is halfway down the pool and going strong. No doubt the Band-Aid is doing its job. Keeping the blood from oozing out due to his hemophiliac condition. Frankly, PP is glad that HS has a Band-Aid on. She wouldn’t want any of his blood condition to leak into the pool. This is much more distressing than some stupid Band-Aid coming off in the pool. Though she has to admit that Band-Aids floating around on the bottom of the pool are disgusting.

But not as disgusting as PM trying to get HS to remove his Band-Aid before entering the water.

Nah. If PM got his way, he’d be like the tattletale on the playground ratting out the other kid for some minor transgression. And getting the teacher to listen to him. Now this would really be a travesty.




Letting a tattletale get his way. His big mouth telling all.

PP has a solution for that.

Just put a Band-Aid over his big sputtering mouth, and let the games begin!

La La Laaa, Sanctuary!

“La, La, Laaa!” the handsome middle-aged Asian clerk sings at me as I walk into the lobby of the Oakland YMCA. I’m cranky, but can’t help but let a grin slip out. “Sanctuary!” he calls out as he swipes my card and motions for me to head on into the Y. “Enjoy your swim!”

As I grab a couple of towels and head down the stairs, I shake my head. Sanctuary? Okay, yes, sometimes I do believe this. That the YMCA is the only sanctuary I can find in my hectic and frustrating existence here in the Bay Area, esp. when I partake of Utopia with DL. This can be paradise. But today?

No way is the Y anywhere near a sanctuary. It’s all those New Years Resolvers. Crowding into the locker room. Into the pool. Into my psyche.
And frankly, this is no sanctuary.

Unlike the sanctuary-blessed Magdalena Ecke YMCA in Encinitas. Now here is Sanctuary. A Free Parking Lot! A locker room that’s uncrowded and clean. A big beautiful new pool that is sunlit and turquoisy even though it’s indoors. (The sunlight shines through the glass tiles of the tilted roof.)

And best of all: My OWN lane!

When the hell did I get my own lane here at Oakland? Certainly not today. In fact, today was Crash Day.

Foolishly, I thought, just maybe, I would get my own lane cuz the end lane became available and so I snagged it. And yes, for about 15 minutes it was my own. But then......

Wide Load Snorkel Woman got in and watch out.






“You wanna circle or lanes?” she asked.
I eyed her snorkel and wide load self and thought, I’ll keep my own lane. Circling with her would be a hazardous chore. And so we did. Split the lane. And it went ok for a little while till ‘whap!” she conked me on the arm. And being the HSK that I am, it hurt! But I swam on. And she did too. Of course.
Till she whacked me again. Then she stopped, “Sorry!” and since she was so sincere, I didn’t growl at her. But again, this is my Sanctuary?

I think not.

And what would be? I mean, what does sanctuary mean anyway? I can only think of a Bird Sanctuary where the wild near extinct ones can alight and be protected from all the housing developments and such.



Well, the Y was full of Housing Developers today and I’d had enough. “It’s sure busy,” I’d commented to Wide Load as I prepared to get out.
“IT’s always busy!” she harrumphed.
“Not usually at this time,” I argued.
“It’s all the New Members,” she agreed.
“Ah, yes....well, that won’t last long. You know how those New Years Resolutions go.”
She stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing. “You got that right!” before heading down the lane, her wide load floating in slow easy fluidity.

And I hafta stop and think. This pool is Her Sanctuary.
And yes, maybe it’s even mine, thanks to her.

As far as the La la la Part?

Well, I’ll leave that for the Birds!