I met Brenda on a stay–and-ski weekend at Bear Valley (circa 1981), staying and skiing with my buddy Sam and our Girlfriends. We’d skied hard all day Saturday, and after dinner, I was the only one who wanted to go out. So we parted ways, they to bed, and I out to make mischief.
It all began with dancing at the Avalanche. Brenda was a ‘scoundrel’s delight’, or in layman’s terms ‘recently divorced’. She was perfect – smart and pretty, with soft blue eyes and a compromised sense of morality.
We danced, we drank, we talked, we kissed, we made out, and when the music stopped, we needed a room. But what room? She was with her family and I was with my umm … Girlfriend?
That’s when it hit me – the showers at Red Dog Lodge! They were his and hers hostel showers, and certainly vacant at this hour. So we swallowed each other’s tongues one more time, then stumbled and slipped our way down the snowy road to the Dog.
As expected, no one was stirring at the Dog, as we quietly made our way to the men’s showers. With thoughts of raucous shower sex dancing in our heads, I opened the stall door, .. and was AGHAST!
There – wallowing on the damp cement floor, flirting clumsily with the drain, was the biggest turd you’ve ever seen! What the hell?! Was Smokey staying in 2D?!
If you’ve ever come across a large-compacted bear turd in the woods, you know what I’m talkin’ about. For an instant, I flashed back to Geology 101 at M.J.C. – ‘I could see the strata of individual meals, and he was obviously a fan of Burger King and Pizza Hut’.
Hey, I ain’t no stranger to shit. I’ve unflinchingly read Taro Gomi’s ‘Everyone Poops’(I know how it comes out), and I live in the Delta with a host of great shitters. The best shitter of all is Darrell (my resident Great Blue Heron). I’ve seen that guy eat frogs, perch, bass, newts, crawdad, a four pound channel-cat I thought he’d never choke down, and most shocking of all – a muskrat! Darrell’s got bionic stomach acid, because it all comes out as a milky white crepe, and cleans up easily – wet or dry. The otters are the worst shitters – picture an erratically digested gruel of perch and crawdad, that morphs into an epoxy when left in the sun, ewwwww!
Bless her heart, Brenda was a trooper. ‘Undeturd’, we regrouped and re-groped, went to the next stall, and took care of business *wink*.
In the end, I was the one impacted – that turd shall never leave me.
Previous Mota Bota offerings:
1975 (a story of drinking, smoking, and causing hell on the way to the hill)