Esoteric Bowl

After spending Saturday night in downtown San Diego, my friends and I decided that we would go to Tijuana on Sunday. Because there wasn’t a city bus traveling directly from San Diego to Tijuana, the three of us spent a good deal of the day sitting at bus stops in obscure little towns as we waited for the next available transfer.

Outside of being in the Navy and serving on the same ship, the three of us couldn’t have been more different. Mike was a stocky Italian kid from the tough streets of Brooklyn. He was a proud New Yorker and had joined the service to escape the gang lifestyle. Bill was a studious Native American from an Arizona reservation. He joined the military as a means to get away from the reservation. And then there was me; a rather confused kid from Hawai’i who had joined the Navy to see the world, but got stationed back at home instead.

The three of us were excited to be going to Tijuana. Actually, after recently spending so much time out at sea, we were excited about going anywhere. I had told the guys about a great café in Tijuana that I had gone to a couple of times when I lived in San Diego. The café was a place where young people hung-out, and everyone was super cool and friendly even to outsiders. Everyone would sit in a circle on futons and they would drink and sing and talk and just have a good time. My friends thought the place sounded fun, so we agreed that it would be our first stop.

We finally reached the boarder and did the whole I.D. thing. Although the three of us were wearing civilian clothes, we might as well have been wearing signs that read, American Military. As soon as we crossed the boarder, a hoard of taxi cab drivers began yelling in unison, “You want to go to a whorehouse?” The three of us stopped. A whorehouse? Us? Go? Do we? Just like that we had forgotten our plans, and in no time we were in a taxi heading towards an authentic Tijuana whorehouse.

As soon as we got out of the cab, three women came out of a large building and began walking towards us. Now I mean no offense when I say this, but these three women were the ugliest three women that I had ever seen in my young life. Each of us were taken by one of the women into a separate room.

Now I’ve got nothing against prostitutes or their profession, but frankly I wasn’t interested. First of all, I didn’t have a lot of money to spend after getting pinched by that girl and her taxi driver friend the night before. Second, I didn’t like the idea of paying for it. And third, there was that whole issue of her not being so very attractive.

She had no idea how I felt, so she began asking me what I would like. I did my best to say no thank you, then I tried to convince her that it was my friends that wanted to come. She had the tenacity of a used car salesman, and she was determined to make a sale. Then she pulled out her ace card by asking, “Would you like to see a woman do it with a dog?” Her question hit me like a punch in the stomach. I had heard about such things happening, but one is never prepared for such a question. “You mean here? Live?” I was confused, repulsed, and intrigued all at once. “Oh yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “You can get anything you want at a whorehouse.”

I declined all her offers, but she continued to press. Then I did something that I had never done before; I told her that I couldn’t because of Jesus. She looked confused at first, but then she began to understand. The Jesus card trumped her ace and she gave up on her sale.

I went grocery shopping. Although some consider grocery shopping somewhat of a chore, it is a task that I really do enjoy. Kind of strange though that I don’t particularly like to go grocery shopping to pick up just a few things, but I do enjoy those occasions when I can take my time in walking the aisles in filling the shopping cart.

For a number of reasons, I like to go grocery shopping at night. There is a different energy among those that shop in the evening. Daytime shoppers are often in a hurry and impatient, while those that shop at night seem to be a little more mellow and less hurried.

Once I arrive home with all the groceries, putting everything away has a certain pleasure all its own. Each cabinet and every shelf has a specific purpose. Canned goods over here in this shelf, dry goods over there in that shelf, cereal up here and rice over there, and cat food way up there so it’s not mistaken for something else.

Few things in life provide as much comfort as seeing the cabinets filled with groceries. Anyone that has ever looked inside their cupboards and had a Mother Hubbard moment can understand the joy there is in seeing the shelves stocked with food. When all the groceries are put away, I often step back and just admire its beauty.

I stood outside my home, looking up at the sky to gauge whether the rain showed any sign of letting up. I had been considering going to the stadium to watch the home-team Rainbows play baseball against Alabama, but the sky was telling me that there was no chance the game would be played.

As I stood outside, I saw Wilson huddled against the building. Poor guy, he looked wet and cold. I invited him to come inside and he gladly accepted the invitation. I gave him a plate of tuna and a saucer of warm milk. After eating, he curled next me on the rug as I did some computer stuff.

On most occasions when Wilson comes inside the house, he stays for a little while and then is ready to go back outside. But with all the rain falling, he was in no rush to leave. I tried to entertain him with a little ball, but he’s never amused by the ball and shows no interest in playing. He is much more interested in grooming himself and dozing off into little naps.

I had never noticed before, but Wilson has a distinctive scent. It isn’t as strong as some of the other stray cats in the neighborhood, but there is a definite odor. I wondered to myself how he would react to a quick shampoo, but eventually decided against it.

Since I don’t have a litter-box for him, I’m always a little concerned when he visits. But last night he got up from his nap and scratched on the door. I opened the door and he ran out, only to come back meowing about ten minutes later. I’m not positive, but I would like to think that he went to the bathroom while he was outside.

Anyway, it was getting late and it became time for me to go to bed. I was unsure what to do with Wilson as he has never slept overnight before. In the past, the two of us have talked about the idea of a slumber party, but in the end he always leaves early. But last night he seemed content with staying and sleeping on the rug, so I left him there as I went to bed. At around five this morning, Wilson woke me with his meows. The rain had stopped and he was ready to go back outside.

With Valentine’s Day just around the corner, I’ve been thinking about the loves of my life. For the most part, I’ve been blessed to cross paths with a number of unique individuals. There was a time when I could remember all the names and faces of those that I was intimate with. Then somewhere along the way some of the names became fuzzy, but still I could recall the faces. Now I can’t remember all the names or the faces, but there are some that I will never forget.

I met the first love of my life while in the second-grade. I didn’t know about love at that age. All I knew is that her cuteness was irresistible and a complete distraction. I couldn’t help but to look at her at every opportunity. Her name was Debbie, and I can still recall her cuteness.

What I felt for Debbie wasn’t what one would consider real love, but it was definitely a bad case of puppy love. I eventually found the courage to ask her if she wanted to be my girlfriend, and surprisingly, she said yes. I remember writing in many of my books; Debbie + Kane, and Kane + Debbie. I also wrote her name with my last name and thought it looked and sounded good together.

Each day during lunch break, Debbie would buy a popsicle for each of us. Mom later told me that the boy is supposed to buy. That was my first lesson in having a girlfriend. One day during lunch break, Debbie was playing tether-ball while I was eating my popsicle. Debbie came running over to me and told me that this forth-grader named Jimmy took the ball from her. I went over to Jimmy and asked why he took the ball. All of a sudden, he punched me in the stomach. The punch didn’t really hurt, but it did surprise me. I looked at Debbie and asked, Why do you have to play tether-ball for anyway? After that, I decided that maybe Debbie wasn’t so cute after all.