scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

14.10.04

scuba class, Day 2.

in which we do more notebooky things, and i am again the only person there. in which i learn the NAUI dive tables. they look intimidating. they're not really. the instructor is impressed. i don't tell him how much math i've had or how that rabbitty little calculus professor wanted me to be a geek major or that i was anyway. SEABAG sounds like ... sounds like ... well ... if john waters had made finding nemo, there would have been a SEABAG in it ... but in which i carefully avoid saying anything to such a point. Maybe it's the shrimp still talking. In which i get to learn to put on a wetsuit, only it's a shortie wetsuit, and is thus not as complicated. In which i get "booties" and flippers and a mask and a vest thingy and a tank and a b ... oh. my. god. they're. remaking. hairspray. were they not happy with remaking dirty dancing? godzilla? What? Idiots. Philistines. black flag sticker on a cadillac my ass. and i don't care what En Vogue says, you do not have the right to remake My Prerogative. Moving on. In which i get all scubaed out and getting in a pool in a wetsuit is a little odd. In which i really, really, really want to see what i look like in a wetsuit. am i hot? am i funny looking? what does it do to my tits? i get some lead weights on my hips. i am remarkably floaty. i need even more lead weights. In which i learn that they name the various arm sweeps by which one can locate a lost mouth-bit-thing - it's not Try grabbing up over your head, it's Reach and Sweep. In which my ears pop a whole lot, for a while, and then don't, and i have to go more slowly, and go back up, and hover a bit. In which i have completely deflated my BC to get to the bottom of the pool - it's only ten feet deep - because i'm so damn floaty. I told the instructor i was floaty. I need more lead weights. In which we practice each of the various specific named arm sweeps to locate a lost mouth-bit-thing. Several times. In which, on the bottom of the pool, the instructor's hair is all over the place and i wonder if he realizes the extent to which he's going a little bare in spots, and i wonder if he realizes how much more visible it is underwater where he can't comb it or have it all mussy or whatever, and i wonder if he's self-conscious about it, and i wonder again how i look in a wetsuit. There aren't any mirrors. In which it's oddly personal because there's only the two of us in this big well-heated pool but it's oddly like talking to a robot, or an alien, because it's impossible to see anybody's face. In which i wonder how on earth people take pictures of themselves under water: "Hey, that's me!" "Hey, how can you tell?" In which i have no air left in my BC to vent as i'm coming up from the bottom of the pool. In which i think to myself, weren't my ears not supposed to pop on the way back up, but there they are doing it anyway? In which we're done an hour early again. Hey, i'm a quick study.

Labels: camping

scrawled @ 14:41