~Pool Day, Pool Day!!

Annual Lorna Doone Octoroon Pool Day was held yesterday.  I donno?  Maybe the past six, 7 years or so, my friend Lorna Doone Octoroon (or LDO for short), has invited me to her condo pool.  In all honesty, it's not like I'm only allowed there once per year.  Although that would be a prudent rule.  I probably have a standing, "any ol' time invite', but I know too much BBG is simply too much BBG and I wouldn't want to wear out my welcome, ya know?  Plus, once a year makes it a special occasion. 

(BBG gettin' my burn on)

One of the best things about pool day is that I know just what to expect.  It's the same thing year in, year out. 

• Too much mid-afternoon boozin'
• Too many girlie magazines (sorry penis people, I only meant Cosmo, More and People-ish variety.  Sorry to shatter the lil' scenario of girls scantily clothed laid back lookin' at porn.)
• Too long spent the pool, causing ridiculous amounts of "pruning"
• Too much sun, resulting in sunburns for everyone
• Too many laughs

Pool Day 2011 was no exception.  In addition to LDO et moi, the other annual inclusions are LDO's grown daughter, Captain Morgan (before confusion ensues; the rum-y pirate, not some BBG code name), LDO's crazy ass good corn on the cob and my dill potato salad, which if I do say so is fuckin' outstanding.  Other than that the guest list varies year to year.  This year was a boy heavy year, which resulted in, as LDO put it, "hair flippin' flirtin' from the pool".  I recall no such thing, but am hesitant to outright call LDO a liar, as I do want to be invited back for 2012.

(LDO possibly too tipsy to hold her head upright,

BBG and floating gator comin' after us)

I made a stunning self realization when I arrived for Pool Day.  I asked if I could help do anything as she readied the food cooler.  LDO asked if I would finish blowing up her float-y.  I immediately got all, "uh...really?!?"  In my mind all I could see was my sad ass, semi asthmatic (says the girl with 3 inhalers) who also enjoys 'my retirement plan' (aka: smokes) lungs huffin' and puffin' for the next 3 days to fill this fucking inflatable.  

Then she showed me the electric float-y filler.  Now that?  That I could do.  After I spent all of :45 seconds and the effort of pushing the go button and holding the doohickey in the stem, I had to quasi apologize for the in a split second attitude I copped, but rationalized it with a--  "ya know how some times you ask people to do a favor and you hope it's not too much, to big of a favor to ask?  And ya wonder, would they tell me if xyz was an inconvenience?" 

Well, apparently, you never, ever have to wonder that with me. 

If I commit to the favor, I'm completely down with doing it. 

But if I think it's gonna entail 72 hours of lightheadedness (Double score new word invention!!) and that cold, clammy feeling just before your peepers start to tunnel into darkness before you actually loose consciousness, too much, I'm gonna balk.  ...Might not be the "proper" way to conduct oneself, however at least ya always know where we stand.  I have zero problem sayin' no.  (It's one of my best and most productive traits, actually.)  And really now, isn't that a much better spin than, I'm a straight up ass?