Wet 'n' Waffled

All week the head Speech coach has been harping to the kiddos on the Nationals team, "You want to know once you get to the tournament that you did everything you possibly could during these practices." I drove my roommates car home blasting "All Night," sort of enjoying the skin graft feel of being inside a a black car that's 110 degrees. As a coach, I feel like I did everything I could to serve those kids, and that feels good, that feels light and right.

There's a waterpark visible from the freeway I've wanted to experience since I moved here. Last night I finally went! Wave pool, lazy river, slides and singing in lines for tube slides. Six little friendos from all walks of life: bartender, soon-to-be married man, social worker, goober, boyfriend, that chicklet with the neck-back laugh, a girl who is about to move away to Chicago to pursue something undefined for who knows how long. We kept seeing people carrying these mega four-person tubes for a fat bowl slide. They were squares and looked like huge yellow waffles. The more we said "waffles" the more we wanted them, so when the night was done, we went, wet and cold to IHOP for a midnight meal.

Waterparks are gross. Not just the snot and astroturf, assumed urine water. Mainly the teenage groping. So many teenagers, set loose in bikinis and holding each other in still lines. "Ugh," we comment. "Ugh."But this is huge for them. This is the night to write about in diaries. "The night me and X had the universe to ourselves and held hands in an inner-tube." 20somethings are ancient in the land of Dippin' Dots and locker rentals.

But it feels like another day, another year. Things change, but a waterpark can be fun for a long time. A group of educated rent-paying humans can discuss the best pancake option for half an hour.

We always dreamed about a better life, this better life.

We always felt it coming all along, yeah, all along.

We got the keys to open paradise, yeah, paradise.

Now let's go walking hand in hand.