Follow Up

After a a few sparkly days of WOOHOO! with Bindy and Quinn and our lively hookups, I'm flattened on the couch. I dropped the kids at their dad's before coming home to make trip after trip between my car and apartment. A mountain range of belongings extends throughout my living space. Better not move; don't look.



Why not turn away from reality to ponder the countless mysteries generated over the last few days? As always, the answers will come later, when I least expect. For now, let's pinpoint the important questions.

• How is it possible that Bindy and I so easily embarrass our children, especially when we are so rad? Bindy and I don't make other people embarrassed; they embarrass us.

• Did Bindy's 79-year-old father learn the word "rager" from us, or did we learn it from him? And, why did he say, "I knew we were going to have a party, but I didn't know it was going to be a rager" while looking at me . . . shortly after I arrived to his party an hour late?

• Why do white people in Morro Bay throw up so many gang signs?

• Why don't more motels use real keys these days like they do at the Breakers Motel in Morro Bay? I thought reduce/reuse/recycle was new norm.

• Why did I put on my reading glasses to read articles on my phone while my friends played pool and talked to new people the only time I went out this trip without children? It's just like when we were younger, except I'm wearing glasses, reading my phone, and content with my clam side.

• How is it that I never talk to Quinn, but whenever we see each other, she gets it? I wouldn't say she's completely hands off. However, she's more than understanding.

• Where were the rest of our homegirls? Next time, meet me at the Breakers, biyatches. Bin's dad is primed for his next rager. You're welcome.