Ghost of Oaxaca

I first noticed her beautiful ass as she was ordering her mocha or latte.  When she turned around, I about shit a purple Twinkee.  I totally remembered her name, her ways, and her story.  I pretended not to notice her.  She didn’t pretend anything, spotted me, and came to my table to say hello.  She looked gorgeous.  I had met her two winters ago while she was here on a yoga retreat.  She was struggling through a hurtful divorce at the time, and naturally didn’t look all that attractive.  I could tell she was extra keen on me back then.  Prolly why I shifted gears into Extra Vague, and kept the sunglasses on Extra Dark.  Truth is, I was already comfortably hooked with a young gun from Montreal, and it’s tough enough to juggle brushing and flossing around here, let alone two ladies.  But here she was again.  Right in front of me.  Fair Skin.  Canadian.  Frizzy blondish brownish hair.  I’m sure a ton of grey ones in their too.  Probably about 42.  Flexible as taffy.  Great body.  Long and Lean.  Walks real tall.  Has that ballerina gait with the toes kind of pointed outwards.  Pretty smile.  Smart.  Sexy.   My hunches tell me she even has her own money.  She is also in a committed relationship.  I pretended I was happy for her.

She ‘liked’ us on Facebook.  Childs play!  Of course she ‘liked’ us.  She stole my leash.  With her big boobs and pretty face leading the way, she asked to borrow it for the day, kept it all week, ultimately deciding it was hers.  She(They)snuck her(their) pretty friend in for a night without paying.  I called them on it.  She(They) had a polished reason as to why the friend didn’t have to pay.  One of the bitches left super black footprints on the freshly painted white wall.  They chiseled me down to a ridiculous price.  They played bad music on their guitars.  I watched their giant backpacks at no charge when they went away for a few days.  They complained about something every single day, knowing damn well I was going to fall over backwards for them.  Total Takers.  And in this particular case, con artists and crooks.

Been seeing her.  Boy have I been seeing her.  Them actually.  Her and her dog.  They walk down my street most everyday, sometimes two or three times.  She is just something else.  She wears bottoms that create that ass fold, where the tail end of her ass folds over and under the true bottom, creating a good size crevice where it hits the top of her hammie.  She is dark skinned and way out of my league.  Always listening to music.  She’s probably 25 and just smoking.  Her female dog is full sized.  It’s some sort of Pit Bull from what i can tell.  They are a confident duo for sure.   

One morning I was out doing some ball work, without a ball, but with a good boy named Rocky.  You’d know him if you saw him.  He’s sharp.  We run in the tall sand.  The wet sand is impossible with the Little Man because a sand crab scurrying to its hole generates the exact same reflex in him that blinking an eye might have on you and me.  If you don’t see the ‘pull’ coming in advance, it could end up being your shoulder or arm socket.  This dog will send everything he has into that precise moment.  He will stomach a tablespoon of sand if it contains one dime sized sand crab.  

We finished around 8:30 am.  We were almost to the street, but still in the sand.  Rocky was on rope and panting.  It hit us both like a thunderbolt.  There they freaking were.  Her and her dog.  Her dog was off leash.  It didn’t seem like a good idea to introduce the dogs, but it happened quickly, and I spoke first.  “Hola, I’m Rocky, and this is my dog Aaron.”  Boy I fucked that one up. The Italian babe then opened her mouth and said three words.  Sara y Everista.  We kissed cheek to cheek.  All the focus immediately turned on the canines. The roughest true love imaginable.  

I’ve been playing lots of chess with my Jewish friend Jon Silver. The kind of Jew with lots of tattoos.  He’s in his early 50’s.  He was born in the same country as my brother and sister.  That would be California.  In the early to mid 70’s, when I was one of the fastest age group swimmers in all of The OC, Jon Silver was too.  During that period of his life in California, he was in the Mission Viejo area.  Too trippy.  That meant he was swimming for The Nadadores, coached by Mark Schubert.  And rubbing elbows with Olympic Gold Medalists Brian Goodell and Shirley Babashoff.  And closer to home, that meant he was competing against the legendary Vassallo Brothers,(Jesse & Vicente) as I was regularly getting lit up by their eight year old prodigy brother named Salvadore.  Jon opted out of swimming to pursue elite level H20 Polo, and opted out of Water Polo to pursue a career in riding Nasty Waves at The Mexican Pipeline.  He’s been in Puerto for 20+ years.

Of course I wanted pictures and stories.  He didn’t have swarms of pics from back in his day, but he did have a few.  One that said it all though.  In 2003, from a half mile away, Woody Woodworth took the pic of a 44 year old Jon Silver from the rooftop of The Santa Fe Hotel and Restaurant on a day that lured only a small handful of takers.  Coco Nogales was one of them.  Jon was riding a 10’6” and it was freaking giant.  I can’t begin to tell you how life and death it really is out there on XXL days.  He filled me in on many of his life and death oceanic moments.  He comes across as someone who has spent a good amount of time over the course of his waterman’s life, desperately trying to get that critical breath of air.  Gnarly is right.  He has an eighteen year old son named Aaron, who is currently in The States, perhaps trying to get into the Coast Guard. His eleven year old beautiful daughter named Kirra lives in Puerto Escondido and shares time with Jon and her mother.

Jon & Kirra