You all know I usually spend my weekends in a swirling nest of fast cars, hot women and cocaine. Well, this was a holiday weekend, so I did things a little differently. Today I drove my white economy car out to Norco for a gal’s skateboarding bowl jam. I almost skipped it. I had a lot of reasons to avoid this event, including: there would be no one with whom I could fall in love (BESIDES MYSELF, but I had already done that upon waking up and seeing my hand laid delicately on the sheets), it was an hour drive, I’m out of gluten-free beer, and the bowl is made of skatelite. Only one of those is true with regard to my hesitation. So I realized I was letting skatelite get in the way of meeting new skateboarding women and men. So I drove out.

First I listened to Gillian Welch in the car. Then I realized I wasn’t meeting friends at a hot springs to cry all day so I switched to Light Asylum. I effectively was pumping myself up, booming tunes like a city buffoon into the sky of an agrarian locale called NORCO, which is also the name of a painkiller akin to vicodin. Good information; you’re welcome. I rolled into town and saw many people riding horses. I also saw vintage cars. I also saw a lot of homes that looked like they were the model home that enticed buyers into the area. Being enticed by a model home seems like getting into art because you saw a rad Monet poster. But carry on, I salute you, available minds of California.

I parked in front of a home that was vaguely Spanish style but not really. I saw green tarps strung up in the backyard so I knew I found the right place, as I had seen photos of the tarps protecting the bowl from the sun.

I walked up and met a guy with long, honey blonde hair and bangs named Kevin. In his 30’s, I suspect. I walked into the house, whose front room was sparsely populated with a poofy sectional couch, cuckoo clock and low round table covered in a variety of chip bags, a jar of liquid cheese and a jar of salsa. It rips me up not to be able to eat liquid cheese owing to my dairy allergy. DAIRY ALLERGY. DAIRY ALLERGY. DAIRY ALLERGY. I stepped out into the back and saw a giant garbage can full of crushed aluminum beer cans. I walked up some wood stairs and there was the bowl. Elbow shape, two cradles, metal coping and pool coping. Some people might have taken a picture but I was living my life and having anxiety about how slippery the surface would be. I feel like I hurt myself worse on skatelite than concrete. A bunch of guys were cleaning out the bowl exceptionally diligently. I felt grateful. There were young skater girls dying to get into the bowl. I was the oldest woman skating, and I think the oldest skater, period. This is neither here nor there, it is just a fact like how my couch is a little dirty (I’m going to vacuum it tomorrow).

We skated. There was a well-known skater girl, probably about fifteen years old, and she was not cheering on other people or stoking anyone out with verbal encouragement or joy. At first I thought BUMMER. Then I thought, if that was a dude, I would not be AS disappointed, though I would still be like COME ON. I realized again what a sexist race car driver I am. I then felt glad she didn’t feel like she needed to be on a PR campaign to be loved by all via Price is Right spokesmodel efforts. Then I thought about the fact that she is something like fifteen (I think) and that all kids that age are sociopaths and then I was just glad I didn’t get emotionally scarred by her. JOURNEYS.

I looked over and my friend was on the ground, sitting on the tail of her board and acting like she was riding a bronco (ostensibly it was bucking). I didn’t understand how this came about, and was thankful for the random moment.

After a couple hours a bunch of us left to skate Chino. Oh Chino. I really do like that park. I especially enjoy the pool in back with the pool coping. I had a lot of fun there, though I did catch a glimpse of my shadow at one point and was disturbed by my flapping arms. When will my style be awesome? When will I stop resembling an oil rig whilst rousting about the bowl?

I did not yell at a single child today. This is especially notable when you consider the boon of scooters at the Chino park.

For the rest of my life I will use the word “boon” and it will make me laugh because it is a reference to a Carole Murphy line:

“The fruit compote was of particular note owing to the boon of cherries.”

I still think that is one of the funniest lines Beth and I have ever written.

I just hosted a small party to watch Liz and Dick. Now I sit with a bag of conventional baby carrots, a bag of lentil chips and a glass of champagne, writing to you. My kitten is across the room with his big belly rolled to the ceiling. I hope all is well in your world.