So close, yet so far. I actually have high hopes for The Skank With the Gum (see earlier post.) We swam laps side-by-side. She fussed with her flippers. Tugged at her jacket. Slammed the water enough to actually displace some. But as long as she wasn't littering band aids and chewing gum in the pool or on the locker room floor, I was cool with that. I get out of the shower just as she is coming into it. Something about this chick I just don't like. And it's not because she weighs what I did in 8th grade. It's because I heard the other day from the other Ladies in the Locker Room that The Skank actually stepped right over the paper towel with her gum underneath it last week. Never bent down to pick it up. Never bothered to even wave at it. So, again, I'm out of the shower today and head for the sink to grab a paper towel on which to honk my honker. And there, lying every so brightly on the teeter-totter top of the garbage can, is a wad of gum. Chewed, red gum. Can't the bitch even push the top down on one side and spit or toss her gum in while the top is pivoted open? Did she spit it onto the top? Did she toss it and then become so busy, so important, so whateverthefuck, that she couldn't remove it and then dispose of her filthy byproduct herself? Or is she waiting for the immigrant janitor to do it for Her Skankness. Really, she is disgusting. I don't care how thin she is or how fast she swims.
What Berkeley power couple did I just see sipping fuzzy wuzzy loco lattes outside a cafe and talking as if they were total strangers? Well, as this is my first blind item, I can't spill of course. But I can dish. And I'd like to dish out a bit of advice to her: He's a randy pecker. A Lothario. A fool. It was only a matter of time before he tossed you over the side of his boat like the many who weighed anchor before you. But he's a good looking jerk with a good build. You on the other hand, look like he's mopped the floors with you. As my mother, the socialite from Edina would say: stand up straight. Put on some makeup. Comb your hair and look disinterested. If you're going to bump into him on a sidewalk, put your shoulders back, stick out your chest and close your mouth. You're not catching flies. And if you are, hopefully they'll be nicer than this big gnat was.
I came home from the pool today (see skank and band aid post) and tossed my wet suit and swim jacket over the porch railing and propped up my thong (the floor kind, not the bottom kind) to dry in the sun. My bathing cap, goggles, toiletry bag...all of it laid open on the porch for the world to see and the sun to dry. Andy, love of my life, and architect to the Berkeley elite, crossed my path on his way to make a cup of coffee. "This place always looks like a tenement when you do that," he commented dryly (yes, I know, an adverb, so shoot me). He further wondered what Bob and Janet next door would think. Personally, I don't think that they think. I think they are slouching toward dementia and a good day for them is when they recognize each other and Bob manages to urinate in the toilet IN the house. And not down the walk way separating our houses while singing an old navy tune from the top of his lungs. So, here's the rule: if Bob can drink till he's pissing like a sailor outside my dining room window, I can hang up my size bazillion Speedo and air out my soap for a few hours. "nuf said.