A question for the men...

Since my teen years, one question has continued to present itself to me repeatedly in a variety of situations. I've decided I need answers, and I'm counting on my male readership (all two of you) to help me understand the reasoning behind what I am about to ask.

Why the Speedo? Why?!?

As a member of the Terra Nova High School swim team, I came to an understanding of why some men wear a Speedo. These Speedo wearers are hardcore, kick-ass swimmers. And it makes sense to wear less as you just can't get killer lap times when you're wearing a pair of swim trunks. I get that.

One of the funniest Speedo moments in high school came when I started dating Eric, a hottie surfer guy, who happened to be friends with my hottie next door surfer neighbor, Mike. (Thank you again, great god(s) above for putting cute boys within feet of my home!) Eric was a member of the swim team, and also played on a water polo league. I broke new relationship ground with Eric, becoming the first girlfriend to ever be invited and attend one of his water polo matches. Why you ask? I was a swimmer myself...and thereby subjected to also wearing flimsy, body bearing lycra in public settings. I already knew the humiliation that came with wearing the official team uniform (and perhaps even more as I was the only swimmer sporting a 36C chest at the time). As a member of the swim team society, I had seen my fair share of Speedos, so seeing Eric in one wasn't going to freak either one of us out.

In college, I worked at Big 5 with a rowdy group of Chico State coeds. I remember putting the winter clothing onto clearance racks to make room for the spring clothing lines. I would unload box after box of Speedos. Being mature 20-something's, my coworkers and I would shoot the Speedo's as if they were rubber bands at one another. We roared in laughter when size 42 Speedo's came in a shipment. Seemed to me that if you're sporting a size 42 waist, maybe the whole "less is more" theory would be thrown out the window. And yet, they would always end up selling.

And then there is the infamous Banana Hammock incident in Vegas. A former coworker of mine sported a bright banana yellow Speedo at the Monte Carlo swimming pool, much to the horror of the rest of the company who was there with him. I was not there to witness this spectacle, but the story of the Banana Hammock has become something of legend around the office. Most who saw it attest to having PST flashbacks from seeing what some have referred to as the "one eyed banana snake." By far, this is the story that brings laughter and sunshine to the office on the most stressful and busiest of days.

Here I am in Vegas earlier this spring attempting to eat my brunch poolside. This is the view I am subjected to...kind of makes you lose your appetite.



South Beach, Miami. If you're like me, you've seen one too many episodes of Nip/Tuck. Amazingly (or perhaps reassuringly), I saw less supermodel types, and more soggy bottom types, like this guy here.



Then just last Friday, I'm trying to drive home from San Francisco after a long day of work. My office is located South of Market and traffic is hardly moving because of it being rush hour and there's a Giants game two blocks away. I'm headed down Townsend Street, when out of nowhere, my car is surrounded by people on bikes. At first I thought it was Critical Mass, but that is usually reserved for the last Friday of the month. It turned out to be a protest...something like bikers for peace. You can only imagine a sea of hundreds of hippy bike riders surrounding me in my little Lexus sports sedan. It is quite a combination, and I'm making friends left and right as I wait for the protest to pass me. Just as the crowd is starting to thin out, I look over and see a guy with flowing blond hair on his bike, wearing nothing but a hot pink Speedo. I must have had a good expression on my face, because he looked at me, smiled and winked.

Nice.

So Speedo-clad men of the universe - why, oh why, do you wear one? Do you enjoy showing off all your anatomy for the world to see? Why is it that there is almost always a higher occurrence of body hair when a Speedo is worn? And why on earth, if you don't look or swim like Greg Louganis, would you wear one?

A Perfect Santa Cruz Day

I fell asleep listening to waves crashing last night. Peaceful yet powerful, the smell of salt in the air. I was home again.

I grew up in Pacifica, just blocks from the Pacific Ocean. I never appreciated the ocean until I moved away at the age of 17. Of course, I thought it was pretty, but never understood how living on the coast infiltrates your soul. Coming home on breaks from Chico State, I'd eagerly anticipate reaching the northern tip of Pacifica, where Highway 1 rises and subsequently dips, offering a dramatic view of the Pacific. I'd immediately roll down all my windows and breathe the sea in as I drove to my parents house. Even if it was a cold night, my bedroom window would remain open to let the fresh, salty air in.

I live within 20 miles of the Pacific Ocean now, and very close to San Francisco Bay, but its just not the same. There is something about living on the ocean, especially the stretch that runs from Ocean Beach south to Santa Cruz County. This was my playground growing up.



My friend Katie and her daughter Claudia arrived last week from Washington State and invited me down to stay at her family beach house down in Santa Cruz. "It's nothing fancy," she warned me. "It suits me fine though."

The house Katie was referring to is an old carriage house that was converted into a residence. The place is just funky enough to be perhaps the perfect Santa Cruz home. Located three houses away from a bluff and gorgeous beach, the house is designed for maximum family usage and is able to take on the sandiest of children. It consists of one big room full of beds, a rustic kitchen, and a bathroom accessible from both outside and inside. Above the kitchen is a small master bedroom with a private deck. A large deck out front of the house just screams barbecue and board games.

It was in a word, perfect.



I arrived in Santa Cruz after attending my Aunt Dot's funeral mass. I needed some time to reflect of her passing and was in a bit of a sad mood as I started the drive south. As if Aunt Dot herself wanted to cheer me up, I was greeted with blue skies shining over Monterey Bay as I descended Hwy. 17 into Santa Cruz.

Katie and Kelly greeted me warmly when I walked up to the front door, still in my black funeral garb. K and K were my neighbors in college and we rarely get to see each other all at once anymore. Before we can hug, Claudia screams "MY KRISTEN!" and hugs my leg. I am so happy to be here, away from funerals and rosary masses.

We spent the afternoon at the beach. Katie's sister and her two daughters join us. Kelly brings her three-month-old son Jack with us and he sleeps peacefully in a little portable tent on the sand. I race incoming waves with Claudia and her cousin Riley until they start playing a new game where they jump repeatedly into a big hole in the sand. We return home hours later, sandy, sundrenched, and content.

After dinner, everyone but Katie, Claudia, and I leave to go home. While Katie readies Claudia for bed, I walk down to a bench at the edge of the bluff and watch the sunset. When Katie comes back out front, we drink red wine and talk about what is going on in our lives. For the first time in my thirties, I feel content with being in my thirties. This is very adult and it feels right. No wild parties, no craziness. Just a mellow day with good friends, good conversation, and followed by a blissful night of sleep...listening to waves crashing.