So....

So…. (PP likes this beginning today. Jon Carroll wrote about the empathetic reader usage of the word ‘so’—PP is paraphrasing badly here—and how the word ‘so’ implies a continuing ‘invitation’ to the reader. We were having this conversation before, we were interrupted because the column, blog, book ended, but hey, we’re back again, ready to story away. Or in this case, to blog away…)





So….PP was doing just fine until she tried to go to the Oakland YMCA. No one had broken down in tears over her paper; no one had flaked on sending in her paper over the email; no one had had anything but smiles and appreciation all day for PP.

So….she was in a good mood. Off to Utopia to meet DL. It was always an event to look forward to, right?

So, when PP landed at Broadway and 22nd street where the Y was situated, and there were no parking places, she thought, well, this was to be expected. She did expect it. She liked it when her expectations were not realized around this situation, but she never expected to just drive up Broadway and park right in front of the Y. This is a rare and wonderful occurrence.

So, as you may have inferred, this most assuredly did NOT happen this evening. PP went around and around and around the YMCA block. Car after car scooped her on parking places. Yes! There’s one on Grey Plush Cat Street. Sweet! Nope, that stupid bitch in her Cadillac Escalade does a U turn and swerves right into it ahead of her. Damn. Okay, this happens.





So, she circles again. Another spot opens up. This time right in front of the Y. YES! But no, there’s a zippy black Lexus backing into it at 79 miles an hour.
Damn.

And so on…..

Finally, finally finally after 15 minutes, PP is very near tears. Muttering to herself, “What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? Damn damn damn if DL wasn’t going to be meeting me I’d just to home...."

And there it is. A silver Chevy pulls out. She screeches to a halt. Puts the emergency blinkers on. Cars swerve around her. She doesn’t care. She’s staying put till the silver Chevy exits. He does. The space is super small. Between two huge SUV’s. Her first attempt at parallel parking is a bust. She tries not to cry. Pulls out again, tries one more time. And finally.

She’s parked.

For a moment she just sits in the car. Breathing. Okay, she did it. Everything is going to be okay. All she needs is a swim to put everything right.

And, so...to the pool.

Up the stairs, lugging all of her junk, PP tries to smile at the chattering clerks. Till she sees the sign.

Pool closed
till further notice
due to Pump Failure.

WHAT!!!!????

How oh how could this be?

So…what do you think PP does?

Collapse in a crying heap on the lobby floor, sobbing piteously, wailing, “I can NOT believe the pool is closed. I can’t believe it!” at the top of her lungs, creating a scene worthy of a mad heroine in a Wilkie Collins novel?





Or….does she sigh, turn around and just leave?

Or….does she stand there for a moment, glaring at the clerks, who finally notice her, fins in hand, moroseness on face, “Oh, the pool is closed!” one of them exclaims, sympathy oozing.

PP doesn’t want any sympathy. She wants, no she needs to swim!

“Why?” PP asks, knowing the answer since it’s right there on the sign: Pump Failure. Whatever the hell that means. Why does a pool need a pump?

She was going to find out.

“The water level kept getting lower and lower,” one of the clerks offers, “and no one knew what was going on till we called in someone who told us that the pump was broken and so all the water was leaking out and so (so!) the pump has been replaced and the pool is filled with water again, but it’s too cold for swimming.”

”How cold?” PP asks.
“Like 60 degrees,” the other one shakes her head. “Too cold.”
PP doesn’t answer. As you all know anything under 80 degrees is too cold for her.
60 degrees?
The pool may as well have still been waterless. Cold water. No water. Same thing.

“I really needed a swim,” PP mutters, not looking at either of the clerks.
“You want go to Berkeley?” Cold Reporter One offers.
“NO, I can’t drive anymore!” PP sighs, grimacing. “I guess since I’m meeting my friend, I’ll just do the machines. But it’s not the same as swimming.”
CRO nods sympathetically.
“So, great!” The Other One exclaims. “Go ahead. Come on in. Take a hot tub. Relax!”

Relax?

PP almost slapped her.

But she didn’t.

So, what to do but do the workout with DL. And it’s fun. So (Isn’t this word everywhere?) You Think You Can Dance was on the TV’s over the treadmills. PP doesn’t have earphones, but this okay. She can watch. And remember.




All was well before she came to the Y.

And now all is well because of DL and SO YTYCD!

So, next time you’ve had a really fine day and then something really bad happens like you can’t find a parking place and the pool is closed, remember: Swimming isn’t everything. There is fine Y time without the pool.

So….do you believe her when she says this?

Nah, you’re way too smart and have been in ‘this conversation’ way too long to believe even one word that PP writes!

This Means You!

“Did you just get outta the pool?”

She wrinkles her pert nose, the eyes behind her wire rimmed glasses sighing, “No. Did you see the sign?”

PP had indeed seen the sign.

Please keep fecal matter out of the pool!
Wash your butt before going in the pool!
(This means you!)
Thank you very much for helping
the YMCA to keep fecal matter out of the pool.

PP esp. had liked the ‘Wash your butt—this means you!' line. Like were the lifeguards gonna check everyone’s butt before they were allowed into the pool?
"Okay everyone! Line up. Drop your suit. Spread your cheeks….”

Somehow, PP thought not.

But it was kind of a funny image as long as it stayed that: an image in her imagination.

Yet Did You See the Sign Woman was not amused. “I’m not EVER going in the pool again!” she announced, before turning away from PP and beginning her getting dressed ritual.

Grinning, PP wondered if this was going to be the general consensus. Everyone would stay out of the pool for fear of unwashed fecal matter on butts.

And when she got in the pool 10 minutes later, it seemed so. She had her own lane. There were only 5 or so brave swimmers, daring the fecal matter to impede their workouts.

Yet, alas, the keep-out-of-the-water power of the sign was just wishful thinking. Sure enough, in 20 minutes, the pool was full of the usual suspects: sidestroke toenail man, grey hair in his face man, butterfly fin man, etc.

No way were they gonna let the threat of a little fecal matter stop them!

And PP had to admit that she certainly wasn’t going to let it stop her.

After all, she’d washed her butt!

Let’s just hope everyone else did!

Puffy Ass!

“You put on a little weight, huh?” Suzy chuckles her hazy laugh as she eyes PP’s ass.

Aghast, PP turns and eyes herself in the mirror, her swimsuit hiding nothing. “Gosh, I don’t know,” she answers, thinking. What the hell? Doesn’t Suzy know that you don’t tell a middle aged American Woman that she’s put on weight no matter how ‘slim’ she may be? That there are still issues? And PP and Sandy had just been discussing cookies. “My Aunt Doreen, we call her Aunt Do –get it?" Sandy had laughed, "her secret is in the flour. She uses a particular kind of flour for each kind of cookie."

“Yup,” Suzy continues, slapping her own ass and cackling, “That’s what happens when we work out. We puff out there. Of course, not me—but you, looks like you put on a bit of weight right there!”





Would she just shut the hell up already? PP does NOT need to hear this tonight. It brings up all those suburban white girl issues around weight and beauty and shit. Will she ever get over her teens?

Probably not. Or at least not with Suzy hammering away at her.

But Suzy pays for her puffy ass comments later. After PP's swim, Suzy is in total trauma mode. DL's trying to help her get her lock to work. To no avail. Suzy is beside herself. The tears near the surface, “Oh, shit oh shit oh shit! They’re gonna kick me out. This is what happened before. Oh what am I gonna do.”

For a moment, PP considers trying to help, but then the puffy ass comment comes back to her.

Forget it. Suzy can just have a nervous breakdown over her goddamn lock. Who cares if she’s completely crazy, delusional, liver transplanted and hysterical.

She deserves to get banned from the Y for insulting PP’s ass.

Or maybe she meant it as a compliment? PP did think of this later. After all, in Suzy’s world as an ex-user and dialysis patient, putting on a bit of weight would be a compliment, right?

DL can’t get the lock open. The No Nonsense Y clerk arrives with the lock cutters and proceeds to snap the lock off.

Suzy’s relief pours out. “Oh thank you Jesus. Thank you thank you. But now I’m gonna get kicked out!!!!"

(Some of you may remember how Suzy was called into the Director’s office and told if she was late again she was gonna lose her membership—hence the present nervous breakdown.)





“You still have 10 minutes,” NNY clerk intones, starting to pick up dirty towels from the floor.

“10 minutes! Yeah, okay, I’ll never make it….”

But she does. And she’s so happy. And grateful. Gives DL a teary goodbye, “I don’t know what I woulda done without you!” she exclaims. “You kept me calm. I don’t know what I would have done. Thank you thank you thank you.”

DL nods, embarrassed, “It was nothing. Anyone would have done the same.

Not PP!

Suzy wipes the tears away as she heads out, “God bless you. Thank you thank you thank you.”

PP, DL and Sandy all shake their heads, “You know her gratitude was really heartfelt,” Sandy says once Suzy is out of hearing range.
“Oh, yeah, I believe it,” DL agrees.
“She did seem a little overboard though,” PP observes, “Like there was something really traumatic going on.”
“Yeah, well, she’s in Recovery.”

Oh, that explains everything, PP thinks, as she slides her puffy ass into her jeans.

Waterproof

“ARRGGHHH!!!” She laughs into the mirror, “I guess that mascara wasn’t waterproof!”

PP nods, smiling. She’d noticed this while sharing a lane with Mascara Smear Woman. Why someone would wear mascara in the first place, let alone in the pool, was beyond her. Nevertheless, PP realized that many women (and some men?) do decorate their eyes with this black stuff.

Yet it wasn’t waterproof. Or pool proof. PP observed this whenever MSW turned her head to breathe. The black smudges were getting bigger and blacker with each lap.

It was kinda funny. But also kinda alarming. After all where was all that black stuff going?

In the water. In PP's lane. Granted the pool at Hilltopia was chlorinated to the max, but still….

PP didn’t like the idea of swimming in diluted make-up.

So later, back in front of the mirror, PP asks, “Was it supposed to be water proof?”

“I don’t know,” MSW answers. “Obviously it’s not. Wow!”

She bends over the sink, starts to splash water on her face, making the black gunk run even more. Down her cheeks. Surrounding her eyes in big black circles. Like someone had slugged her in both eyes and these ‘black eyes’ were the resulting wounds.







“It won’t come off,” MSW laughs.

She’s very good natured about it. If it had been PP with such a situation, well. Those of you who know her know that she would not be good natured about it. She’d be swearing. And scrubbing and crying and generally just making matters worse.

Which is often her want.

This is why make up should be avoided at all costs. Especially while swimming.

Unless you’re Esther Williams.
Somehow she was able to keep that perfect made up smile and face smear free while swimming.





But she was magic. From another swimming sphere than mere mortal swimmers like MSW.

Who continued to laugh while she pats her face dry. The black spots still stubbornly evident.

"Guess I better remember to take it off before I swim next time," she muses to the air.

Nodding, PP finishes wringing out her suit. Glad that her aversion to make up all of these years has at least saved her face in and out of the pool.

It Can Kill a Kid!

“Can I ask you a question?”
The two bored YMCA Hilltopia clerks force a yes-we’ll-try-to-help-the-troublemaking- member smile.
“Kids aren’t supposed to be in the sauna, right?”
“No. No one under 18 is supposed to be in there.” Mousy Guy is adamant.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Last night there was this woman with her kid in the sauna and I was just too tired to engage in a confrontation so I let it go, but I just wanted to double check."
“How old was the kid?” Pinched Face Woman Clerk asks.
“Oh, I don’t know. She was little. 2 or 3.”
PFW shook her head. MG started in, “That’s against the rules. No one under 18 should be in the sauna," he repeated.
“Yeah, isn’t it a health risk?” PP asks.
“Yeah it is. Their little lungs aren’t as developed as ours. They can’t absorb the heat. Their temperatures rise much faster than ours. It can reach 105 like that.” He snaps his fingers to demonstrate the lightening speed of the sauna's deadly heat on wee ones.
“Okay, well that’s good to know for future reference,” PP, nods, armed with this info.
MG shakes his head in amazement. "You know some parents. They think they know what's best for their kids. But...." He pauses for dramatic effect? Or is this just PP's perspective?
“Children under 18 should never be in the sauna. It can kill a kid.”
“Really?”
MG nods.
“Okay, well, that’s really good to know."





And so it is. Next time the Stupid Superior Kid Mom comes into the sauna and PP says, “Kids aren’t supposed to be in here,” and SSKM gives PP that look like you are a piece of shit don’t talk to me about what I should or shouldn’t do with my kid and proceeds to lay out a towel while offering some bullshit explanation like: ‘It is just for a little while. The pool was so cold',[It's not--if PP can swim for 45 minutes without chilling up, then it's NOT cold!] and the kid sits down and then stands up and whines, 'Mommy I want my water!' and mommy says, 'Okay honey I’ll go get it' and she does and gives it to the kid who grabs it and proceeds to turn it upside down and laughs at how the gushing water spills all over the hot cement floor and then starts crying cause now she doesn’t have any water and PP gets up and leaves cause she just doesn’t have the energy to fight with the stupid bitch. And oh, did she mention that SSKM was pregnant? Smug pregnant bitch. Wonder what the sauna does to her unborn child? Those little lungs are super small, aren't they? And those little blood vessels are tiny tiny tiny, right?






Frankly, PP doesn't care about the unborn child. It's quiet at least. It's the one that's in her sauna now, whining and crying and jumping and giggling and .....

Hey! PP has an idea!

Next time, instead of just walking away incensed, she's gonna smile sweetly and say, “You know, the sauna can kill a kid.” See if that will get SSKM out of there.

Or....

PP could just keep this info to herself and let the kid fry in the sauna till its little lungs explode or its little heart stops beating or its little temperature spikes to 105 degrees.

Nah, she wouldn't really do that.

Would she?

Blog Post #300! : Mush Brain

PP’s brain is just mush. She knows that there musta been lots of stories this last week. But where are they now? She just can’t summon them. Perhaps if she just keeps typing rambling something will appear. Or not……not…not….not….okay, that’s not working.


She remembers snippets of several stories. Shall we try that?

I.

“If you’re gonna swim in my lane, you need to stay on your side of the black line!” PP stops in mid lane to admonish super rambunctious teenager. He grins at her. His lanky brown arms flailing in happy abandon.

She shakes her head. Almost done anyway with her swim. When she gets to the wall, he’s there, grinning at her, “You sure do go fast!” he exclaims.
Her hard admonishing heart melts. She can’t help but grin back. His enthusiastic amazement wins her over. Not to mention that she’s always a sucker for compliments. “Well….I’ve got fins on.” She raises one leg outta the water to show him her extended blue and yellow foot.
His eyes open wide with delight. “WOW! I gotta get me some of those!” and off he goes, finless, weaving down the lane.

Not on his side at all.


II.






"I hada drove around forever!" She sighs as opens a locker, takes off her security guard uniform and dons a bright red swim suit. One of those with the old-fashioned skirts round it. The kind that PP cut off her swimsuit when she was 12.
“Yeah, the parking is so crazy round here,” PP nods as she squeezes into her suit.
“I sometime park in the lot, but then I don’t like to cause sometime I get outta here close to 10 o’clock and then …..” She shakes her head, “I don’t wanna go there. But I don’t wanna park out back either.”
”Yeah,” PP agrees, “it's super dark and scary back there.”
“Yeah it is.” She slams her locker closed. PP feels like if Red Swimsuit Skirted Security Guard by day is wary of parking out back, well then it’s a good thing PP never does. RSSSG looks like she could take on anyone when she’s got her uniform on.

But now?

She’s just ready for some water aerobics. “Craig’s class. He’s so great!” she announces as she heads out to the pool, humming to herself.


III.

“Your daughter is such a beautiful swimmer,” PP praises to Diabetes Woman in the Sauna. DW nods, “Yes, she is. She swim very good. Don’t you.”
The Daughter smiles shyly, nods, “I used to swim at college but they don’t have it anymore,”
“That’s a shame,” PP laments. “Must be 'cause of budget cuts?”
”THEY DON’T THINK THEY NEED SWIM BUT THE DO THEY CUT ALL THE SWIM AND NOW MY DAUGHTER SHE HAVE NO PLACE TO SWIM!” DW asserts, just a little too emphatically.

Sandy glances up from her prone heaterized position. “It’s like that all over. There’s no money.”

“BUT MY DAUGHTER!”

The daughter continues to smile, beatific. She knows something, but PP isn’t sure what. Maybe it’s just her defense mechanism again her mom’s overly enthusiastic crusading for her?

Or maybe she’s just had a wonderful swim here at the Oakland YMCA and her smile says it all.


IV

“You get what you put in to it. I tell you. That’s why I come here twice a day. Once in the morning from 8-9 and then again in the evening from 7-8.”

“Wow!” PP exclaims, genuinely impressed. She’d never be able to swim twice a day. But then it doesn’t really seem like Twice a Day woman is a swimmer. Sure she has a swim suit on, but her girth speaks of a more sedentary sort of floating then PP’s languid laps.

“Look at her!” Twice A Day Woman exclaims, “She don’t have one ounce of fat on her!”
Dyed Blonde Afro Woman laughs, kinda embarrassed as she settles down in the sauna. “Oh, yeah I do. I used to be a size 5 and now I’m a size 12 and I don’t know how the hell that happened.”

There’s a short silence. PP knows that Twice A Day Woman would give anything to be a size 12. “And look at her,” TADW points in PP’s direction. “SHE SO SKINNY! But that’s why you’re here. You and her,” She points to a shapely slim woman up top in her blue bikini. “I don’t’ know why the two of you is here, you so skinny. But I guess that’s why, right?”

Blue Bikini woman grins, doesn’t answer. Neither does PP. Another woman starts in about the movie It’s Complicated, “It’s so true to life. You just want to sleep with your ex one more time and then you don’t really want to but you do and well….” She chuckles. “It’s complicated.”






"You can say that again Girl.” TAW shakes her head, rises, lumbers out. PP watches her for a moment before she disappears round the corner to the showers.

Nothing complicated about swimming. If you wanna swim, you do; if you don't wanna swim, you do.

PP's brain has no mush around this. And besides, her brain likes this ending.

Even though it's still mush after (or because of) writing this blog!

Obsession

“I’m obsessed with Cephalopods!”

Sandy stops her Octopus story for a split second, turning toward the young buxom woman who’s made this extraordinary claim. PP glances in DL’s direction. Cephalopods! Obsession! What are the odds? Number 1, how often has an octopus story been told in Utopia? Never in PP’s experience, not to say that it doesn’t happen, but c’mon. Cephalopods? And then , number 2, in the context of this story telling, what are the odds that one of the women in Utopia listening to the story is obsessed with them?

Are you a betting readership? Like what? 1 in a million?

Sandy continues without engaging the Cephalopod Obsession Woman with more than a glance, and a “Really?” After all, she was on a narrative roll. Had to keep the momentum.

“....and so this diver, he was a free diver which makes it even more intriguing, is trying to get his camera away from the octopus and the octopus just makes off with it and the Camera Guy gives chase and it’s all on Utube….I gotta check it out. I don’t know what it’s called…..

“I think it’s called, ‘How the octopus stole my camera.’” COW ventures.




Black Pantie Woman chuckles softly. PP’s worried about her. Earlier in the hot tub she’d gotten in with PP and had been strangely quiet—not her usual bubbly self—telling stories, asking questions, so when PP had just made a friendly, “How ya doin'?'” BPW had sighed deeply, her eyes so sad as she leaned into one of the jets and said, “Not so good,”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” PP had sympathized.
“Did you have a good day?” she’d tried to smile at PP.
“Well, yes….’PP had thought about it and decided it hadn’t been so bad after she’d recovered from the Pablo Morning Pee Trauma, “It was a good day.”

BPW woman had nodded slowly, “That’s nice. I had a rough day,” she'd murmured, not really looking at PP so PP decides not to ask her why. Normally she would but there was an added thick palpable sadness to the air so she refrained. It scared her a little. So when later in the Sauna, Sandy was telling the Octopus Stealing camera story and BP woman had given a quiet little chuckle, PP felt relieved. Things weren’t so bad that she couldn’t appreciate a good old Cephalopod Yarn!

Sandy takes a new interest in Cephalopod Obsessed Woman now that she knows the Utube title, “Yes, that makes sense. That the video would be called that.”
“Why do they steal cameras?” PP asked. “Are they gonna take some octopus family pictures?”
Laughter. PP likes this when the women of Utopia laugh at her stupid jokes, “Actually, they like to redecorate,” COW answers. “They like bright shiny objects to bring back to their dens.”
Did she say dens? Do Cephalopods have dens? Maybe they inhabit octopus condo compounds with their shiny cameras, spear guns, tin cans etc decorating their living rooms?




“Why are you obsessed with Cephalopods?” PP finally squeezes in this all important query.
“My dad is a Marine Sociobiologist (Or some such esoteric sciency profession).
“Wow,” says The Serene Science Teacher. “Then you must have traveled all over the world with him growing up.”
“Yes, actually I’m from New Zealand, but yeah…we did. It was pretty cool.”
“So that’s why you’re obsessed?” PP presses.
“Well, yes, that. But also they’re so smart! Why they’re as smart as dogs and parrots but without bones!” she beams.



PP nods. Like the intelligence of species is contingent on bone possession? Are the two connected? She’d never thought about this. Of course humans have bones and are generally thought to be intelligent, though PP had her doubts about this. It somehow made sense that boneless creatures might indeed have intelligence. After all, did the brain reside in the marrow?

PP thought not.

Later, walking back to the Geo with DL, PP brought up the line of ‘I’m obsessed with Cephalopods' again to DL.
“Me too!” DL exclaimed as they climbed into the car. “I wrote this paper on Cephalopods when I was in Jr. High. I was totally obsessed with them.”
"Why didn’t you say something in Utopia?” PP laughed, knowing that DL doesn’t like to divulge such personal info while saunaing.
“You know,” DL shrugged.
“Yeah, I know,” PP laughed. “You’re shy. Or so you say.”

Dropping DL off at her car, PP watches as she gets into Moondoggie (her Toyota’s name) and starts the engine, marveling at how now there had been not only one, but two, Utopia listeners who were obsessed with Cephalopods. The odds of that? Maybe obsession for Cephalopods was more common than she'd thought?

Yet, PP had never known about DL’s Octopus Obsession. Who would have thought it?

See what she learns in Utopia?
Not only a plural for octopus that doesn’t include the pretentious sounding ‘Octopi’ but a bit of unknown sea knowledge about DL.

Obsession? It’s a secretive thing sometimes. Maybe esp. if it has to do with boneless intelligent beings? Nah, it's those strange obsessions that lurk from our secretive teenage years. Those are the obsessions that usually remain buried deep in the dark and mysterious sea of our awkward pasts.

Inverness Pics

There's no pool, but it took a pool to get to Inverness, so that counts, right?

Of course!

So enjoy! (Yes, it's possible to enjoy life without a pool, but not for long!)



PP looking pensively from the deck of the cabin between rain showers.




Sunwater diamonds on the old pines.




"We're being watched!" happy hiker up from McClure's beach, pointing at Elk on the ridge.




PP hiking down to McClure's Beach right before sunset. It was cold on the trail down, but the beach itself was magically still.



DHBF on the magic beach. Doesn't the water look inviting?

NOT!



DHBF poses in front of his Rock Tower. See? No wind!




It's getting dark and PP can't tell what this is. Can you?

Meltdown –Part II (Left Brain Readers May Want to Read Previous Entry First)

“How’re you doing?” Handsome, (too handsome?) dark-haired young man (Isn’t everyone young now?) grins over at PP, who’s been soaking in the hot tub waiting on a lane. So far, the lanes at the Mill Valley Community Center are all full, but not too full. Just full enough to be unenticing.

So how was she doing? Still a little cranky, but better than an hour ago when she’d been standing morosely in front of the empty Marin YMCA pool.

But Handsome Friendly Man doesn’t need an answer from her. Cause he’s doing fine. “This is a perfect way to spend a Friday afternoon. Now all I need is a beer,” he chuckles, not really looking at PP anymore.

DHBF leans over to PP and mutters something about Whiskey and Hot tubs. Or was it Whiskey and Lakes? There’s some lake in Scotland that’s full of Whiskey?

Two boys clamber in the tub next to PP, begin to fiddle with her fins behind her on the deck. She turns around and thinks she doesn’t glare at them, but she probably did. They shy away, stricken as she grabs her stuff and pulls it toward her just as Mom admonishes them, “Those aren’t yours. They belong to someone else.”
PP laughs as the two stare at her, petrified.“Guess I scared them,” she jokes.
“Yes you did,” Mom glares at her.





Damn. What the hell were kids doing in the hot tub anyway? Oh yeah, this was Mill Valley. Kids rule here. She watches the screaming group of children frolicking in half the pool set aside for them leaving only 3 lanes for lap swimmers.

Lap swimming at the Mill Valley Community Center takes second place to kids. Just like China. Only in China kids really ruled. There were NO lap lanes. She just had to swim around all the screaming kids. It was a kid obstacle course. Needless to say, PP didn’t get much swimming in.

This was kinda true now at the MVCC. But aha! Someone was getting out of one of the lap lanes. PP hurriedly grabs her stuff and heads over. Watches as woman with one of those skin-colored nose plugs stops at the wall. PP has always thought these plugs were so gross; how did they even work? But supposes that it must help some poor souls who for whatever reason inhale water up their nostrils. Now she dangles her finned feet into the water to stop her.




"Can I split the lane with you?” she asks Nose Plug Woman, who smiles spacey at her, “Sure.”

And so she’s off. And it’s okay. NPW gets out, and Tan Scrawny Guy gets in. He’s splashy, but there’s only the two of them. And then he gets out and Equipment Man gets in. It seems that no one swims for very long here in MV. Must be the lure of the Whisky Hot Tub.

Yet, it all works out. Though there is that subtle ‘class’ thing going on. PP felt it with the Mother Glare, and feels it again in the locker room after her shower. She’s got her stuff all over the bench—it’s small and narrow, but no one else is around at the moment. A middle aged white woman rumbles in with her roller suitcase, sighing heavily. Sees PP’s stuff and stops, stares, smiles at her, “Can I sit down here?” she asks pointing at all of PP’s stuff.

Why the hell does she want to sit EXACTLY there? PP wonders and this must have shown on her face cuz Suitcase Must Sit Down Woman pauses and then rumbles to the next row. “Oh that’s okay,” she echoes out. “There’s room here.”

Yeah. There was always room there, PP thinks. Again, it’s that subtle “Class Entitlement” thing going on. No one at the Oakland Y woulda asked her to move all of her stuff if there were other places to go. They’d just smile, say ‘How y’all doin' today?' and then head for an empty spot.

What is it about some people who think that the world is all theirs? Maybe it’s not Class. Maybe it’s just personality.

Or maybe it’s just PP’s HSK (Highly Sensitive Kitty) disorder in overdrive this afternoon. After the disappointment at the Marin Y and the ‘fight’ with DHBF, she just wasn’t in the mood.

PP grins to herself. Yeah, this was it. And actually, like she’d predicted, she did feel much better after her swim. Sure there'd been kids in the hot tub, crowded lap lanes and locker room power trips, but overall, it'd been worth it. The restorative magic of swimming triumphs once again.

Now if only she could find that Lake full of Whiskey! Then all of her former crankiness would definitely be drowned!

Marin Meltdown

Part I

Of course going out of town is supposed to be fun, restorative, peaceful. But only if there’s a pool. And when PP and Dashingly Handsome BF got to the Marin YMCA the fiasco began.


“Looks like no one's in the pool,” PP murmurs, already having a bad feeling. Why would there be no one in the pool at 3 in the afternoon?

Only one reason.

The pool was closed.

Shit.

It’s once again goddamn spring break. This means that pools are subject to all sorts of wrong scheduling situations.

At Hilltopia it’s ‘Splash Week’—but that’s another blog.

At Utopia it’s Kid’s Boot Camp—but again, this is another blog.

At Marin?

The pool is closed all weekend for Special Spring Cleaning. Or some such shit.

“It’ll be open again Monday morning at 5 a.m.,” the Too Cheerful Marin Y Clerk offers. She wants to hiss, “That doesn’t help us now, does it?” but refrains. Instead she turns and stares sullenly through the glass at the empty pool, one lone pool man skimming the bottom.

Why couldn’t they just let her swim? It looked clean to her. She'd only swim for an hour. Over in the far lane. No one would even notice her. She'd be very quiet and very small.

She sighs loudly, “I’m going to the bathroom." Without looking at either TCMYC or DHBF, she tromps down the hall.

It was all so wrong! she thought as she began her bathroom business. She’d had a hell of a week: grading stacks of Research Papers; navigating her landlady’s move, leaving her stranded with no cable TV or internet; taking the Geo back and forth to the Chinese Mechanic to fix the Check Engine light to no avail.





The trip to Inverness had been her idea to ‘get away from it all’—and the stop at the Marin Y was the first key to this.

And now the goddamn pool was closed. She was hungry. And tired. And it was pouring rain.

What the hell was she going to do? she thought as she headed out of the bathroom to discover DHBF beaming, holding out a sheet of paper to her. “There’s a Y in Santa Rosa that’s open. But that’s pretty far.”
PP grunts.
“And then there’s the Mill Valley Community Center. It’s …”
“I HATE that pool!” she interrupts.

Undaunted, DHBF pretty much ignores this assessment. “It’s open for lap swimming at 3:30 and it’s 3:15 now, so we’ll time it just perfectly.”

PP resists commenting. They’d just been in a stupid fight over ‘time’—she could go on and on about this, but she won’t bore you all with the details. Suffice it to say that Time is usually not DHBF’s strong suit. She thinks he’d be the first to admit it. But maybe not. She'd rather not start another fight because of this blog. Or maybe she would. At least this orneriness captures her mood at the Marin Y.




In any case, the Mill Valley Community Center was always a goddamn Zoo. Full of screaming children in the hot tub; circle swimming adults in clueless abandon; and too much chlorine in the goddamn pool.

Yet……she knew she’d feel better if she got a swim in. She knew she’d feel even worse if they drove to the cabin in Inverness in the pouring rain and then she just sat there in the cold watching it hail down from the sky with no pool in sight.

So, it was off to the Mill Valley Community Center.

Would all of her objections be realized?

Stay tuned for the next part--Mill Valley here she comes!

~to be continued~

Utopian Community

“Did you ladies hear what happened to Suzi?” Sandy sits up slowly. She’s been in Utopia for over an hour. From before when PP went to the pool. PP remembers asking her once how she doesn’t pass out from saunaing so much.

Sandy had grinned. Proud of her Sauna Stamina. But PP can’t remember her answer right now. But she digresses.....

DL shakes her head ‘no’ to the current Suzi Query. Later asks PP who the hell “Suzi” is. The Grape Giving Lady with the Liver Transplant and the Jesus Thong Underwear, PP had replied.

But at the moment of Sandy’s story, DL was in the dark about Suzi’s identity. Not that it really matters.

Well actually it does.

“What happened?” PP prompts, ready for the story even though she’s exhausted from another cold harrowing swim at the always crowded Oakland Y Pool. What the hell was up with that anyway? Why weren’t people home watching cable TV.? Eating dinner? Walking the dog? It was just weird how crowded the pool was at 9 o'clock at night! But again, she digresses....

“Evidently, she was called in to have a special conference with Dora. You know Dora, don’t you?” Sandy asks.
“Just vaguely,” PP replies. “She showed me around when I first joined."

“Yeah, well, she can be a bit of a bitch. As you’ll see.”
DL nods, rapt as always with Utopia Story Time.
“Did she do something Bitchy to Suzi?” PP asks.
“You might call it that. Evidently, Suzi was told to make an appointment with Dora or she wouldn’t be able to come back to the Y.”
“You mean she’d be banished from the YMCA? What did she do?”
“You’ll like this story. One night, she spilled something on herself. You know how she’s always carrying around all this food and drink.’
”Yeah, she has that frozen cranberry concoction she’s always sucking on,” PP offers.

“Exactly. So that’s probably what she spilled on herself. And so she had to try to get it all off before she left. Why I’m not really sure. It was after 10 at night after all.”
“What did Dora say exactly?”
“She told her that in the future she would have to get out of the Y by 10 o’clock on the dot or she wasn’t going to be allowed in again.”
“You’re kidding!” DL exclaims.
“Yeah, I had the same reaction. I mean. What was the big deal? Suzi has issues. She’s got some things that she needs to take care of. She’s always a little overwhelmed.”

PP thinks how she’s just plain Crazy but in a Sweet Way. And who wouldn’t be? What with a huge hole in your side from dialysis and a Jesus Tattoo on your ass, anyone would be Crazy.






“How late was she?” PP asks.
“20 minutes.”
“Oh,” PP shakes her head. It was pretty late. Once in a while she and DL are 5 minutes late and this is nerve-wracking enough with the loud speakers and the towel Nazi and the frantic nakedness.

20 minutes was late. But hell, to be exiled from the Y? Wasn’t that a bit extreme? Didn’t they need their members?

“I mean,” Sandy continues, “isn’t this place all about community and relationships and values and blah blah blah and then Dora goes and slaps Suzi with this ultimatum. Well. I just think it’s not right. Dora coulda just said that her employees need to get out by 10 that they’re not paid for any time after 10 that they have to stay.. But no. She throws her weight around. And at Suzi no less!”

PP shakes her head. Wonders what Suzi’s reaction had been. The summons to Dora’s office. (Which is weird enough) and then the scolding from the Head Bitcho. Well. Such action by Dora certainly did seem counter to all that the Y stood for.

Though PP has always been dubious of these so called ‘values’ anyway.

Honesty. (Someone did steal her swim cap)

Responsibility. (Dirty Used towels were often left on the floor for someone else to clean up)







Sharing. (Just look at the pool for gross abuse of this value! Of course, PP was one of the main culprits. She hates sharing a lane!)

Community. (What the hell does this even mean? it’s one of those Oprah words that gets so bandied about that it means absolutely nothing.)






Besides, if there really were ‘community’ at the Y, then Suzi wouldn’t have been treated like this. She woulda been welcomed into a nice cozy Cranberry filled room with Jesus watchin her from above and lots of grapes overflowing from silver bowls surrounding a sparkling pool with cushy lounge chairs with cable TV’s attached.

Poor Suzi.

No way was there any community for her here at the YMCA.

Except for that of Utopia. Here is where the Real Community lies.

Just don’t tell Dora!

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.”