I had the opportunity a few weeks back to go sailing near Marina Del Rey, California with a group of people I’d never met. Hesitant as I was, once I heard the group planned to sail for a while then land at Marina Del Rey in time for a concert by 70’s recording artists and Grammy winners The Fifth Dimension, I was in. That sealed the deal. I didn’t care who I didn’t know. All I could think of was a favorite song growing up by The Fifth Dimension:
Bill, I love you so, I always will
I look at you and see the passion eyes of May
Oh, but am I ever gonna see my wedding day
I was on your side Bill when you were loosin’
I never scheme or lie Bill, there’s been no foolin’
But kisses and love won’t carry me till you marry me Bill!
You get the point. That and a host of other hits (“Up, Up and Away,” and “Aquarious” notwithstanding) made me all the more determined to go to the show. “I don’t mind hanging out with a bunch of older people!” I bragged happily.
OF COURSE, just when I’d agreed to go sailing with these perfect strangers, the agenda was changed, and they weren’t going to make it back to the harbor in time to see the concert. Well, much as I love the idea of sailing, I quickly declined the invite. Nothing was going to stop me from singing along with the Fifth Dimension. Come hell or high water it was going to happen. That’s all there was too it! Little did I know what was REALLY in store for me.
If you are new here, welcome! Whatever you do, don’t let a little thing like old songs from the 60’s and 70’s frighten you – what we talk about in here is RELEVANT I tell you! I’ve got everything from skinny Jabba the Hut women, to lesbo propositions, and drugged-up homeless boat captains. It’s all fantastic – and as the title eludes – TRIPPY. HA!
I arrived that evening to a sea of seventy year olds with their grand kids in tow. There were a few people in their thirties and forties, but we were definitley in the minority. I scanned the crowded lawn for a place to park myself and realized things were going to be difficult. There wasn’t a single inch of real estate available for little ole me. I managed to get into a war of the wills with one woman, who when I sweetly asked “Do you mind if I sit here?” (on a 12X12 inch piece of grass), quickly snapped, “NO. I have three kids and three dogs, and these people (motioning to an empty blanket) haven’t come back yet, and who knows how many people they’ll have?”
‘Wow, this is a TOUGH crowd,’ I thought to myself. I SAID, “Well, I’ll just wait until these people get back then.” And I plopped down on her piece of land. It wasn’t long before “these people” came back and started giving me the evil eye, so I got up and started the search for land all over again.
As I walked along the thoroughfare in front of the stage I overheard a gal talking to some local law enforcement, saying, “What else did they sing?” I looked, and she was smiling sweetly at the officers and appeared to be with a couple of guys to her right that looked like golfers at a tail-gate party. They had their cooler between them and were wearing standard golfing attire. It all looked safe enough to me, and I just couldn’t resist the challenge to educate this chick about the Fifth Dimension, so I went right up to her and asked, “What songs do you know?” And she smiled and started to sing, “Up, up and away in my beautiful, my beautiful balloon!” I sang a few bars of a number of their other tunes, and apparently this was all this gal, I’ll call her Sy Snooty (I’ll tell you why later), needed in order to invite me to join her on her large and uninhabited blanket. I looked at the blanket, which reminded me of something I had as a twelve year old, only this one looked like it hadn’t been washed since I was twelve. I somewhat hesitantly agreed, rationalizing that I could triple up my blanket into a little square and sit only on it – not ever touching her blanket.
Okay – so I’m adventurous and willing to talk to just about anyone. It’s served me well in the past, and I don’t regret my social voyeurism in the slightest. But the blanket should have been a MAJOR red flag. Also – Sy was very drunk and was already slurring her words. Not only that, HER BLANKET WAS EMPTY! Where were all her friends, since apparently the golfer guys – who were now having a great laugh at my expense – didn’t even know her.
Sy was trying to get to know me, and told me that she lived on her boat. That they (apparently her friends) were cooking tri-tip steak, and that she belonged to all the yacht clubs in the marina. (I couldn’t imagine it, considering she could hardly even say “yacht clubs” in her drunken stupor). But she really did say things in that order. 1) She lived on her boat; 2) They were cooking tri-tip steak; and 3) She belonged to all the yacht clubs.
Within a few moments, a homeless guy with a captain’s hat and dirty, torn khaki shorts and shirt started staggering toward us carrying something. I thought, ‘uh oh, now what? Who’s this drugged up homeless boat-captain guy?’ I thought to myself. “Honey!” Sy cooed gleefully to the guy. ‘Great.’ I thought. He was carrying their dinner (tri-tip), which I think he’d just cooked over on the boat.
Following him were another couple that were just as odd, and definitely on drugs. The other girl couldn’t open her eyes, and she kept swaying to and fro as if she would fall over any second. They all sat down behind me and started to eat, as the band took the stage.
Immediately Sy jumped up, and in front of everyone, started to dance. This was not some cute girl doing a little happy dance with herself. She had a ragged black sundress, and what should have been lats (those are the muscles on the back near the outer shoulder-blade area, for you anatomy & physiology-challenged peeps) – were these over-hanging pouches of cellulite that jiggled when she danced. She kept grabbing herself, and apparently thought it was pretty damn sexy. What she LOOKED like was the lead singer from the Max Rebo band that performed for Jabba the Hut in one of the Star Wars movies. The lead singer’s name was Sy Snooty, and I am NOT kidding. Everything from the skinny legs, and big, Rolling Stone lips, to the jiggly, fat torso – made this woman Sy Snooty incarnate.
What was truly priceless to observe that evening, however, were the kids standing off to the side with their families, minding their own business when all of this began to unfold. Most had been happily jumping and dancing around, but were now frozen and saucer-eyed, jaws dropped to the ground as they stared at Sy doing her sexy, feel-herself-up dance, cellulite back jiggling as she shimmied.
I coped – at best – with it all, thinking I’d be able to write about this, at the very least. I tried to enjoy the show, which turned out to be more of a variety show, with only one remaining member of The Fifth Dimension present. All in all, it was a disappointment, but I was handling everything fairly well – including dodging Sy’s attempts to shove a fork full of tri-tip into my mouth, and to get me to join her up front for a little dance.
Then it happened. Sy sat next to me, and propping herself up on a stanchion pole on her right, started to stroke my hair with her left hand.
“I’m not hitting on you,” she stuck her steamy mouth into my ear and said in her husky, drunk voice, “I’m just balancing myself.”
“Well, balance yourself on my SHOULDER then,” I demanded, to the now apparent deaf, drunk Jabba the Hut girl.
She stroked my hair again, and repeated herself, once again getting right next to my neck to whisper in my ear, “I’m just balancing myself, I promise. I’m not hitting on you.” She backed away for a second, then came back to my ear to say, “Well, maybe a little.”
To my GREAT DELIGHT, the band requested that any ladies who wanted to dance up on stage come up, and everyone in Sy’s circle shouted at her that “now was her chance.” Off she skipped to dance on the stage. I turned back to look at her friends, and surprisingly drugged-up boat captain guy said, “Now’s your chance. I’d leave while you can.” I’ll never know if these friends of hers were actually prisoners in a way, who were empathetic as they watched Sy make her moves on me. It sure seemed like it.
Drugged-up boat captain guy did NOT have to tell me twice. I jumped up, grabbed my blanket and RAN back to my car.
So, boys and girls, what is the moral of the story? Well, I really don’t know. HA HA. I suppose I could rattle off some nugget of wisdom about how my frivolous behavior is what got me into this very predicament, and that is probably true. But I have to say, I wouldn’t change it for the world! What fun would that be? And, what a great story!
I tell you, people don’t experience life by watching it from the sidelines. They take chances and they MAKE things happen. So, I challenge you to get out there this week and make something happen. Would you? Just be careful, and try not to make my mistakes. Do as I SAY, not as I do. HA!
Until next week, when I tell you a story about a little birthday party off Mulholland Drive.
Love you people! Mmmmmmphhhuuhhhhhh!!
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