There is quite the racket going on in the neighbor's pool this afternoon, with the screeching and the splashing and the whooping... I don't mind in the least - it's the middle of a hot day after the fourth of July (i.e., the fifth of July). The interesting thing is that the various rackets are being made by people over the age of pubescence.. also which doesn't bother me.. but leads me to think. "What on earth do people do in swimming pools?" I mean, I hooted and hollered and screeched and splashed and turned brown like a nut every summer until I grew breasts. At which point I'd get in and be all... soooooooo.... what next? It's boring, I think, limiting yourself to a little variegated-depth kidney bean with no diving or running.
This (in addition to terrible swimsuit self-esteem) is the main reason why I haven't owned a swimsuit in over 4 years. I can understand having a swimsuit at the beach... there are waves there to contend with, and boys (if that's what you're aiming for), and sharks, to boot. You can swim faster without full regalia, though dudes in shorts swimming around tend to look less like seals than nearly-naked ladies.
Back to the folks next door... I wonder, really, where the line between post-pubescence and actual adulthood is drawn. Does splashing around in a small organ-shaped pool make you a child or an adult? What about if you have a beer in your hand? Does sitting in your apartment next door writing blogs about them make you a child, an adult, or a nosy geriatric?
How about going to Vegas with a nearly complete stranger? What does this make one?
Answer: Adventurous and/or an idiot. I feel in our case it was only the former.
Our adult behavior last weekend included spending most of the day Saturday cleaning our old apartment in Long Beach to get it prepared for the walking out, then rushing home to pack in 15 minutes and meet our young bank teller, escorted by his friends to make sure we're "not the rape-y type", and drive straight off to Las Vegas, to stay in a hotel room with his other stranger friend.
Does this make me juvenile?
Regardless, the trip was well worth the expenditure and effort that it took us to complete it. Our two stranger friends couldn't have been better Vegas partners. Like, not good enough friends for us to have to spend any time catching up on stuff or having expectations of behavior or feeling indebted to do things together, but still totally awesome enough to be the perfect source of energy for mad taxi rides, debaucherous behavior, and general good times. Additionally, it was the World Series of Poker, so I'm sure those of you who have seen Jesse's facebook posts know what kind of extreme glee this would bring him. Ridiculous kinds of glee. Giggles, even.
It was also Jesse's first time in Vegas - so overwhelmingly crazy. I'm not sure if you would figure this out in casual conversation with the man, but he and Las Vegas were built to meet each other. If he wasn't already married to me, he would probably marry the city and elope to a foreign continent where hookers are legal.. so Antarctica. I guess that wouldn't work. But you get the idea. Vegas+Jesse Smith=LURV.
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