Road Tripping...

So I went to California and had a nice visit with my pops after the Kate Wolf Memorial Music Festival.

My pops is 76 and was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease maybe four or so years ago. The disease hasn't progressed at all, or very little, and pops is still alive and kicking himself quite well.

He plays racquetball once a week with a hot 46 year old broad... "she's better than me but she gives me incentive!"

His 2/3's acre yard was immaculate and full of flowering shrubs and trees and colorful thises and thats...

I remember thinking "when I get to be 76, I want to play racquetball against a hot looking 46 year old broad"... and "nice flowers".

We sat in the shade on his nice patio furniture and shot the shit for several hours. I told him the story of Mum and her incontinence pads. After laughing to nearly tears, he admitted he was wearing some himself. "I had my prostate cauterized last year and now every time I get around running water I dribble a little bit. I got tired of always having a wet crotch so I wear these pads. I think it impresses the ladies."

Having seen just how much those pads swell up when really wet, I suggested "You should roll a pad up before you stuff it in there. That way, if you want to impress the ladies, all you have to do is pee your pants."

My father has a great sense of humor thankfully and I didn't get run out of there until he made me a nice Dagwood sammy for lunch.

So I drove from Santa Rosa up 101 until I hit highway 20, which cuts over to Interstate 5. For dinner, I stopped at a Subway sandwich shop and got me a footlong, flatbread, roasted-chicken-breast-with-all-the-fixins sammy and ate it while navigating 20's windy bits. Of course I got a mixture of mustard and mayo all over the crotch of my nice shorts, as wet gooey stuff tends to flow downhill until it hits a flat spot (my crotch, oh wait! never mind...). When I got to 5 I pulled over into a rest area and grabbed a sock from my stuff and wet it in the ice floating on the bottom of my cooler..

Now all of this is very innocent, and so was the music I was listening to. On the radio was Men At Work's "Land Down Under", which of course, I had to crank on the radio so I could sing along without offending my own sensibilities.

So I got out of my truck and was dancing around to the end of Men At Work and then began my own work of scrubbing the juices from my crotch. Well wouldn't you know it, George Michael was on the radio next, and there I was, hunched over myself scrubbing madly at my own crotch, George Michael singing loudly on the radio....

I had my radio up so loud, I didn't hear the caravan full of Italian folks that pulled up next to me.

The same Italian folks who sat stunned in their seats while some stranger scrubbed madly at his crotch while listening to George Michael cranked way up on the radio- the George Michael who was arrested for masturbating at a park restroom not unlike the one I was near...

I just happened to look over my shoulder and saw them all there, still in the stealthy van, eight mouths agape with eyes so wide you'd swear they just saw somebody masturbating to a George Michael tune right before them....

I held up the wet and gooey sock and smiled, then got the hell out of there...