Arg, I’m sitting at home staring at my Microsoft Word page, trying to write my story for the weekend, and it’s not working.
I keep getting distracted by everything. Is my computer clock correct to the minute? How does Julian Hough on “Dancing with the Stars” get her hips to do that? How am I going to kidnap my friend this weekend? How cool it is that Tiger Balm helps my back and clears my sinuses at the same time?! And, how I totally messed up this coffee even though I used Italian Sweet Cream creamer.
I also was thinking about how cool it is that Lodi has a skydive center. I mean, how many people can say they live near a place where people skydive? It’s cool, OK. Just take my word for it.
The owner, Bill, is this totally crazy old hippie and I think he holds some skydiving world record. Once, I wrote about the place, and the jumpers told me about how they’ve jumped thousands of times each. Isn’t that crazy?!
The building itself is so unofficial. There are a bunch of little “living rooms” set up with funky thrift store couches. Old high school gym lockers line the walls and it’s just funky. They transport’ divers to the plane two ways: In this old “Skydive or Bust” bus, and with this other funky trailer with old plane seats bolted on (and they tow it with a golf cart). So fun.
I tell myself that once I accomplish a few goals I will go ahead and do it. I think it must be the best feeling ever. I mean, I love, love, love the feeling when you’re far under water and you can just hear the mumble-jumbled sound of life outside. I wonder if it’s something kind of like that. Kind of. Probably not.
Anyway, I like going to the Skydive Center because my grandma and I used to always watch them coming down over the freeway. Sometimes we’d just watch from her backyard, other times we’d stop on the frontage road along the freeway.
OMG — they’re dancing ’80s hip-hop on “Dancing with Stars.” Hahahahah.