I'm in a gang. My parent's worst fear. They did everything right. Private school. Modest plaid skirts. Ovaltine in the morning. No sleepovers. No boys. No lipstick. No pinching, tickling or horsing around with other girls in study hall...because of course, you know what THAT leads to.
Still...I'm in a gang. Perhaps, I'm rebelling. Finally.
I can count on one hand the times I've called in sick. In fact, when I'm sick, I usually drag my ass to work anyway because I feel responsible, don't want to burden someone else with my in-box. I always make a deadline. I never complain. No excuses. On task. Even the canned goods in my cupboards...the labels all face out. My closet, organized by color and purpose. I know. I know. Freakish.
But. The sun is out. And when you live on Darkor, the watery, gray death star, that's a BIG fucking deal. So when a posse of boys to men pulled up and barked, "Yo, we got an extra scooter. Hop on and LET'S RIDE," I had to pull on my leather jacket and take it to the streets.
Ride. Baby. Ride. Barreling along the coastal road at 25 mph, the wind flapping my cropped jeans, I tasted freedom (and one or two low-flying insects). We scootered down to Nye Beach and beeped at all the cafe society, we scootered along the Waterfront and up the windy Bay Road, all over this laaaannd. To everyone out and about, we beeped our horns. And even the grumpiest faces cracked into grins. Waves. Pumped fists. Thumbs up. Whoo-hoos! Spreading the joy, man, spreading the joy. Everyone loves a scooter.
So I told the boys, "Hey, let's slip down the alley and huff the cheese bread smoke behind the bakery. Let's head to the docks and get some tats of big boobed women or a ship's anchor or a black widow spider clutching a dagger. Better yet, we can heckle the crabbers unloading their tanks, "Dude, you call THAT the 'Deadliest Catch?' Shit man, I've seen bigger crabs on your WIFE."
Ah, you gotta love life on the road. The leather gloves. The jaunty helmet. The cold beer. That's right. We drank AND scootered. So sue me. Powered up on something called Scotch Eggs (not for the ovo squeamish) then pinched the waitress' bottom for good luck because, well, we're in a gang. When we pulled up to a light, a ZZ Top looking fellow nodded over the handlebars of his Harley, "Takes a real women to lead a bunch of men." Uhuh. That's right, Kimosabe.
But when I insisted on one more spin around the lighthouse, the boys demurred. One had to have the house vacuumed before his wife got home from work, another had a conference call scheduled with his estate attorney and yet another had to take his son in for a check-up. You gotta be fucking kidding me! This is NOT how a gang behaves. We throw caution to the wind. We ruin our relationships. We shirk responsibility. We give The Man the finger. WE FIGHT THE POWER.
Then my cell phone rang. It's the boss. "Hey, have you finished that website copy? Deadline is today."
Gotta go. Plus, I forgot my sunscreen.
5 comments:
holly you lead a charmed and beautiful life.
so true. so true. and i never forget that.
Oh, how much fun it was to read this and maximize the photo to see all of you better. You're all just so very ... cute (sorry, it's just the right damned word!) Have a big grin on my face reading this. But! can you visit me and do my closets, in fact, maybe the whole house? That Virgo madness would work wonders here! Once I was allowed to ride my brother's friend's scooter and when I made a left to turn into our driveway, I turned the handlebar the wrong way and accelerated instead of slowed down and flew into the barbed wire fence (yes, there were cows next door in the olden days). Another time Dana "let" me ride his mini bike (talk about tiny!) and I was bombing down the orchard into the tall grass in the garden when, whoomp! hit a hidden culvert and "ass over diddleberry" as Ma used to put it. Dana laughed his ass off. One last one: I was riding the mini bike up this little hill in our yard when I fell off the back, was to duh! to let go of the handlebars, my face about in the rear tire and, whoomp! smashed into the chainlink fence-boom! Brother laughed his ass off. Did I tell you he hardly had an ass? He "hocked" his Jawa? moped to me when I lived up north and I used to whizz around going 15-20 mph and your story brought all these memories to me, as well as the joy of knowing you had an awesome Scooter Gang. Love it! KLH
Honey, I don't know that you're leading a charmed life. It seems to me you've had your share of pain & heartache...and then some. However, I agree with the beautiful part! It is beautiful because you make it so. The French do come up with the right phrase now and again and joie de vivre applies to you, chica. Trust you to find a scooter gang to run with!
p.s. Note how I maintain your anonymity (ahem).
Oh yeah, and what's up with those Scotch Eggs? I thought you were on severe pork restrictions! Those things will kill you! However, next time you're in ABQ and want to go down in flames together with me, they make pretty good ones at the Two Fools Tavern ;-)
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