What's this? Some newly-developed glitch in my personality?

Great. Like I need another one...



Our friends, the Irreverent Reverend JoeBob and Jeff, cruised up on their wave-runners...ski-doo's...whatever they're called...yesterday. I was tickled to see 'em. And when Joe invited me to give his a try (his wave-runner, I mean), I didn't hesitate a bit. Just threw on my suit and a pair of shorts and I was ready.

I'd always thought they looked like so much fun, but had never had the opportunity to try one, so I was stoked.

I fucking hated every minute of it.

Ok, so hitting the waves sideways while I was riding on it with Joe was kinda fun. Gave the ole crotchal area a bit of a pounding, but in a nice way, ya know?

But what puzzles me, is that I was terrified most of the time. Though I've never had one before, I think it was an anxiety attack. I was shaking, sweaty (ok, it was hotter than hell out there), and felt like I couldn't get enough air.



For the life of me, I can't figure it out. I'm absolutely not afraid of the water. Even though I'm not a good swimmer, I can dog-paddle like a mofo. And lemme tell ya, honey...fat floats real good...my ass is the best personal flotation device ever invented.

I'm not afraid of boats, per se. Love 'em, in fact. Been on big ones, small ones...not a problem.

I wasn't afraid of dumpin it, like you'd do on a motorcycle. I mean, I know you can get swamped by the waves from boats and get flipped, but it wasn't like I was goin anywhere near the rest of the maniacs out there yesterday.

I was a little bit concerned with gettin out amongst the rest of the boaters. I wasn't sure I'd be able to take any kinda evasive action, should some bonehead with one of those small-penis syndrome boats inadvertently take aim on my fat ass. But there was plenty of space for me to putt-putt around where the big boats dare not go...out of the main channel...so that's all it was...a mild concern.

I was even terrified when I got on it with Joe drivin. And believe me...I'd trust him with my life. Well. Most of the time, anyway.



To be honest, it was something like what I imagine agoraphobia feels like. I was out there. Exposed. Even though I was driving...I was in control...I was at the complete mercy of whatever river-boogie could befall me.

And that just totally and completely pissed me off. I wanted to love it. Everything that I know about myself told me that I should...I would love it. But I didn't.



The Zigster however, took to it like a carp to water and loved it.

Will I try it again? You betcher ass. By gawd, I will, and I'll like it.

But I think I'll try to cadge an Ativan or maybe a Valium from someone, first.

Or maybe a couple-three stiff shots of tequila.

Ok. Maybe four or five.