Food...and Fear

Hey, A,

Okay, in my first paragraph wherein I explained my food supply and choices I almost added, Another thing to consider is that I only have my own palate to consider. I don't need to worry about kid friendly foods. You said it for me. :)

Before I move on to other topics I will say, in a moment of truth kind of way, that I am a bit of a food snob and, frankly, not a fan of dips. I find them....pedestrian (what you would call prosaic; but I'm talking about the food, not you). I'll eat them if they are presented to me, but I try not to serve them, unless it's hummus with pita or pita chips and served alongside some Kalamata olives and done as part of a Mediterranean food theme. I know, now I just sound like a b*tch. On to FEAR...


Despite the gorgeous (day 4 of our San Diego stretch) weather, and the fact that it is Saturday, the pool was quite quiet. I didn't get out there until 2:30 today (I had a full blown visual migraine when I was writing this morning that I still needed to recover from after painful shopping with my mother to help her buy a shower gift from a registry), but I'm glad I took advantage of the day. I actually love late afternoons at the beach or by the pool, and I was just getting into a new book that C brought over (The Ten Year Nap, about a woman who has given up a career as a lawyer to be a stay at home mom, written my Meg Wolitzer, daughter of my new fave Hilma) so around 4:30--rather than call it a day-- I came in to refresh my water bottle and to get a happy hour tumbler of wine to take back out.

I had just settled back in to my chair, only one other person around, similarly sitting and reading, when 2 young guys--20-something-- come in with ginormous plastic mugs. They sit on the bench under the gazebo and proceed to make me fear for the future of America. You know I am no stranger to the F bomb, but come on, now, these guys were out of control. Clearly drunk, burping, farting ("dropping ass," they called it, as one was congratulating the other), quoting movies, as if they were at a frat party. At one point, as I heard them lighting up cigarettes, after one wished aloud that the friends who were on their way had marijuana (he didn't bother to give it a code name), the other said, "I like a girl who smokes. I figure if she's willing to get cancer, she's willing to get VD." Um, I don't remember going to a frat party; I thought I was at my pool. It took nearly every breath in my body not to turn around and lambaste them. Instead, I packed up and came inside, breathing through the moment I wanted to say, "I don't have kids because I'd live in constant fear that they'd end up like you."

These are kids who passed through our high school corridors and were accepted to college somewhere--and graduated. Now they're making enough money to live in this complex in a Connecticut suburb. And I'm afraid. The selfishness, self-centeredness that these frat boys exhibited makes me shake my head, because even if there had been little kids at the pool, I'm sure they'd have behaved the same way. Why would/should they show any more respect for kids than they would a woman sitting within earshot? It's all about them. No deference, no decorum, no modicum of respect for elders, no self-censoring. It's disgusting.

So needless to say, I am jealous that you aren't going back to those corridors--while I am due there Monday morning. (You did not share the text message story; please do!) And I agree with you about chaperoning. No thank you. I'd rather pay my own way and not have to be responsible for a busload of kids in Europe. It wouldn't feel like vacation at all, just another day at High School Hell.

Hope you enjoyed gardening today and treated yourself to a little something more than iced tea when it was time for shade. I'm around tomorrow but my cousin D is coming over for sun therapy. If you're around, I'd love to chat-maybe in the evening after she leaves. (I'll report on the menu then.) Tomorrow is probably the last night I'll be up till 11 my time, 8 yours, for a while. (Can you hear me crying?...)

Love, Barb