I'm Pissed, and My Ass Is All Wet!

I nearly burst an aneurysm at the Y today.  I know y'all are sick of hearing about my disdain for the Y.  Up until now, my feelings were more along the lines of indifference than straight-up hostility.  Until now.

Right now, I am sitting at my laptop typing this blog in wet clothing.  My shorts are wet.  My tee is wet.  Hell, even my bra and panties are wet.  Soaked, in fact.  You want to know why!?!?!?  Of course you do, dammit.  At least, that's what you better say.  I'm not in the mood for guessing games or friendly banter.  Sorry.

Why am I soaked, you ask?  I'll tell you why.  Because I had to jump in the freakin' pool to save my drowning daughter!  That's why!  Never mind that there were 40 freakin' lifeguards sitting at various locations around the damn place.  Never mind that there were 4 fat-ass women sitting on the steps (and blocking the "safe" spot that the kids are taught to swim towards when they are in over their heads) gossiping about who gives a flying fuck!  Rude ass people and inept personnel.  That is what I had to deal with today.

Calm down, LB.  Deep breath.  Slowly.  Now from the beginning.

Okay, my kids have swimming lessons every afternoon at 3 p.m.  We try to get there a few minutes early so the kids can swim a bit beforehand.  My son, who has really gotten to be a pretty good swimmer this summer, loves to practice his moves before the teacher gets there.  He's a pleaser type like that. 

Anydammittohellandsonsofbitches, they hit the pool.  Or at least tried to hit the pool.  Like I mentioned before, there were several ladies hovering at the steps in the shallow end where everyone must ENTER and EXIT the pool.  Forget about the fact that my son nearly plowed them down when he jumped in.  They never looked nor did they shut their big traps.  No "oh, excuse us, baby.  Let me get out of your way so you can enjoy this Olympic-size pool too."  No "pardon me; am I in the way, sweetheart?"  Effn' rude skanks!

G, the baby girl, is not so abrupt.  She decided to jump in the pool from the side which is fine as long as she stays in that area near the steps.  She jumped in and swam to the side.  She can touch there, but only on the very tips of her toes.  Five feet further out, and she's in over her head.  Since those rude hookers were hogging the steps in the most shallow part of the pool, baby girl had to swim to the deeper area to get on the other end of the steps.

My daughter did this a few times successfully.  I was fully clothed but kept an eye on her because I knew how quickly the water went from safe to over her head.  I few times she went too far, but quickly stepped back to the more shallow water.  The entire time, those self-absorbed water witches ignored the fact that their asses were making it difficult for the small children to get to the steps.

Sure enough, G got in over her head.  There was no room in the shallow area as the extremely rude mothers apparently required even more valuable space in the shallow end.  She was sinking as their big asses continued to talk.  Bless my baby's heart...she tried.  She kept paddling, but it was too much.  She began to panic as did I. 

The life guard in our area (and I use that term loosely) was totally oblivious.  Apparently he had a hang nail that took priority.  He never moved.  Even as I climbed out of the water soaking wet, his ass stayed glued to his thrown on the lifeguard stand.  Still chewing on his nails.  Just staring.  Like he was watching another boring episode of Saved by the Bell.  Even when I yelled at him "Thanks a lot!  My little girl nearly drowned!" he did not move a muscle.

To make matters worse, his boss who is also my daughter's swim teacher acted like it was no big deal!  To her, I guess it was no big deal.  To a mother watching her daughter sink to the bottom of a pool while no one helps her, it's a big fucking deal!

Thank God tomorrow is the last day of swim lessons.  If Mr. OCD doesn't get me a pool built next year, I'm going to start digging myself.  Let me eff up his backyard...  Bet I'll get results then!

Local Headline - Kid Single-Handly Evacuates the YMCA

Okay, it's already been established that I hate the Y.  Many of the people there are weird, the camp kids are heathens, and there are no little TVs on the elliptical machines!  Call me a snob, but I want to be around my own kind with as few small children as possible.

There is something I love about the Y, though.  They offer swim lessons at an incredibly low, low price.  And the instructors are AWESOME!  They really know their stuff.  Seriously, my five year old can swim in the deep end without assistance.  I'm not talking treading water or dog paddling either.  Swimming.  Front stroke, back stroke, side stroke.  That's pretty freakin' awesome, in my opinion.

So every day, I take the kids to swim lessons.  I drop them off to their swimming instructor and return when the lessons are over.  It's not like I "leave" them, though.  I just walk about 100 feet away and hit the gym. (I'm still pissed about the antiquated elliptical machines, but I make due. Motherhood is about sacrifice after all.)  I'm sure the other moms are appalled that I don't stay to marvel at my children's new skills; but hey, I've got stuff to do!

Now, where was I???  Oh, yea.  At the gym.  Just when I found a good read and started to break a sweat, I hear this little voice.  "Excuse me.  Mama, I puked."

Still not seeing my child, I look around in the direction of that voice.  That very familiar voice.  That voice of an extremely well-mannered five year old.  No, I'm not the only mother in the joint.  But I know that voice.  And I recognize that phrase.  That all too familiar phrase -- "Mama, I puked" phrase.

My son, the puker, struck again.  I knew I should have made him eat lunch at 11:30 a.m. instead of 1:00 p.m.  My kids always eat at 11:30 a.m.  I knew I should have stopped him at 2 grill cheese sandwiches and not forced him to take a few bites of the A-B-Cs & 1-2-3s.  I knew it; I just knew.

Sure enough, he got full as a tick just before we headed off to swim lessons.  Once there, he went to the restroom.  He said he had to poop.  I didn't freak because he always goes to the restroom.  Everywhere we go, E has a bowel movement.  Kinda like a dog marking his territory.  No big deal.  Poop, yell for Mama to wipe his hiney, wash his hands, and then off he goes.  Same routine.  Every day at various locations throughout the Mid-South.

His sister and the other little girl in his class were already swimming when he finally got to the pool.  He seemed fine, and jumped in.  He was not fine.  He puked all over the side of the pool.  He puked all in the inside of the pool. 

A full scale evacuation ensued.  Swimming lessons were canceled.  Swim team practice was canceled.  Granny water aerobics was canceled.  The director announced that the water was "contaminated and not suitable for swimming."

I grabbed the kids and high-tailed it out of there.  Embarrassed and amused at the same time.  This is our life...

The Y Just Ain't My Scene

I am such a freakin' brat!  I've grown up quite a bit over the years, but I can feel Hollywood Bitch trying to express herself these days.  I call my bratty side Hollywood Bitch because that was my nickname growing up.  Well, my cousins called me "Hollywood," but I know what they meant.  Omarosa ain't got shit on LB!  I put the D, the I, the V, and the A in DIVA.

Anysnottybitch, I have been nagging my husband to death for a pool.  I want my own damn pool in my own backyard!  Our kids are getting older and fight too much love to swim.  We need some recreation around this junk!  What better way to survive the sweltering summers of West Tennessee, right? 

Think of Hell with a bonfire going at all times.  That's a Midsouth summer. One hundred gazillion degrees.  In the shade.  All day long, I'm sweating like a whore in church.  Ain't no way on God's green earth are you getting me outdoors from June 1st to September 1st.  That is, unless there is some nice, refreshing, cool water close by.  I. WANT. A. POOL. AND. I. WANT. IT. NOW! *insert clinched fists and foot stomping here*

Mr. OCD-I-pay-the-bills-and-we-are-broke says, "no."  He's such a party pooper!  I wasn't happy, but figured I'd compromise.  Here's the deal...If I'll wait another year, I just may see a sparkling oasis in my very own backyard.  I have to wait, though, something I've never been very good at.

Fine, then.  I'll just join the Y!  The kids and I can go to the pool every day!  Besides, they have babysitters...um, I mean...lifeguards!

I was almost giddy just thinking about it.  I could workout while they stayed in the childcare room.  Then we could hit the pool!  It actually sounded better than I'd expected.  Until this morning.

First, it took me like an hour to get our shit gear together!  I packed swimsuits.  Check.  I packed sunscreen.  Check.  Floats, goggles, towels.  Check, check, check.  Since it's a bit of a drive, I packed lunches and snacks and water.  By the time I was finished with that, I was exhausted.  Not to mention, the kids fought the entire time.

Finally, we got to the Y.  I checked the kids into the nursery then hit the gym.  Disappointment.  At my other gym, there are little TVs on all the cardio equipment.  This equipment was in a large room with several TVs turned to various channels with subtitles.  I was bummed, but found a bright spot in the magazine selection.  It was nice to read a chick magazine, something I only do when getting a pedicure or waiting in line at the grocery store.  Before I knew it, I'd done 30 minutes on the elliptical and learned about a few "super foods" at the same time.

I thought, okay, this is not my ideal gym setting but I'll manage.

Afterwards, the kids and I hit the pool area.  With lifeguards (yippee!!!). 

I know why they need lifeguards now, though.  There were forty thousand kids in the damn pool!  Seriously, they were all over the place.  Not a single cubic inch of the pool was vacant.  Made me a freakin' wreck!

Not this bad, but you get the idea...

In addition to all the screeching kids, there was a "Mommies Club" to contend with.  Great, I thought.  I hate playing nice in an effort to fit in. 

All the mommies sat poolside with their chairs lined up together.  They all wore similar black tankinis and had similar looking children with nice little tans.  The moms wore big floppy hats and nibbled on Triscuits.  The kids grazed on apple slices and drank from little juice boxes.  I was in Stepford Hell.  I was in no mood to "play" so I found a nice chair in a corner away from them.

Of course, Stepford Hell was a far better place than the Redneck Riviera on the other side of the deck area.  The moms on that side of the pool weighed in the rotund range.  As the swimsuits they sported weren't bad enough, a few were tatted up with the most heinous of all tattoo art.  One woman actually had what looked like a portrait of the Insane Clown Posse on her left leg.  I saw barcodes on the neck, homemade monograms on the shoulders, crosses and religious memoriams on the back.  It made me long for the Mommies Club Rush parties.

Who'd put this on their leg?!?! Her kids are probably serial killers in training!

No commentary needed here...

The Y just ain't my scene.  I may have to pull out my sex trick arsenal.  Daily blow jobs for the rest of the year???  I dunno, but Mama really, really, REALLY needs a swimming pool!