Surrender, Dorothy

Let's Check in with the Ultra-Pool

One of my favorite parts of Wednesday is the weekly co-worker outing to a nearby lunch place. We cover an agenda including, but not limited to:

• Company gossip
• Speculation regarding mutual acquaintances
• Gosselin updates
• Advice requests
• Q&A

During the advice requests portion of today's lunch, my friend M. asked which movie he and his wife should go see over the weekend. (We voted for The Hangover, which we believe will change your life.) This led into a discussion of whether there were really only two Halloween movies. Beloved and I were discussing this last night, as I was certain there were at least 83 Halloweens made in the '80s and '90s. It turns out yes, there were many Halloween movies but apparently Rob Zombie has taken it upon himself to reinterpret Michael Myers in his own unique way. Boy, the world would be an empty place without THAT, wouldn't it?

The Halloween discussion led into a debate regarding whether slasher movies are worse now than they were when we were teenagers in the '80s. We recalled the sacred formula:

• Couple having sex
• Hot chick gets killed
• Kevin Bacon
• Screaming
• Telephone line gets cut
• Bad scary music
• More screaming
• Power tools followed by blood
• Perhaps a ghost
• Screaming
• Virginal girl survives and flags down help on the highway
• Bad guy reappears right before the end so you know the movie enterprise is safe

I'm not sure if they are gorier now or not, but then C. mentioned they have to be scarier now because they can't show as much graphic sex. Perhaps, I wondered, we have actually gone back to the Puritan days, when it was not okay to commit adultery but it was perfectly fine to kill an adulterer in public and hang her remains on a stick for a few days. And then I thought: Damn. I'd sure rather see a nipple then someone get their head lopped off with a machete. What is the world coming to?

The lunch had nearly ended when M. noted he'd seen a nice red truck around town advertising crime scene clean-up, as in: homicide/suicide/accidental death. We tried to picture a situation in which you'd actually want this vehicle parked outside any establishment, let alone one's home. Is there not a good referral business for this sort of thing? Do they really need to advertise on the side of a truck? Is the business expense write-off really that good?

Then I sort of became fascinated with this idea, so I broke down after work and researched it.

I have no idea if this company is the same one that owns the red truck, but man, what a line of work.

Crime scene cleanup involves the cleaning or removal and disposal of items that have been contaminated with body fluids / blood, or tissue matter. Proper disinfecting must be done to eliminate odors. C S R Bio Recovery Services Inc. technicians are professionally trained in crime scene cleanup and trauma scene cleaning. Trained  at tracking    down and decontaminating  areas that the untrained eye would not see.

I shudder to think of the areas the untrained eye would not see.

And all this cleaning discussion made me remember the photos I took this week of the Ultra-Pool. Is that a long lead or WHAT?

 

This is a pile of used towels located right behind the wall around the pool. Ew.

 

These boxes have been rained on at least ten times. What do they contain? Body paint? Glow sticks? Zima?

 

OMG IF THAT IS A MATTRESS I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW WHERE IT'S BEEN.

So, that wall? It doesn't block the view from above. Just sayin'.

Let's Check in with the Ultra-Pool

Ladies and Gentlemen:

I remembered my camera.

But before I treat you to some close-ups of the patrons of the Ultra-Pool, I feel the need to address my friend Anon, who commented a few Ultra-Pool posts ago. Rather rudely, I thought.

Anon said...

Wow. Get over it. Are you jealous?

In a word, Anon ... hell the fuck yes! Are you an idiot? You think it's fun to take in such frivolity when you're writing software? God.

All the Reasons I'm Jealous of Ultra-Pool Patrons:

• My boobs are 35.
• My ass is 35.
• When I could actually rock a bikini, I didn't have $1,000 for a three-foot pool membership.
• I also had my pool body when grunge was in, and we only wore flannels and overalls.
• I still don't have $1,000 for anything that's not called "childcare" or "repairs."
• My legs have never tanned a shade darker than khaki.
• These fools are in the pool at 3 p.m. on Tuesday while I'm editing specs.

Now that we've cleared THAT up, let's continue with our objective observation of Kansas City's Young and Beautiful population.

 

From top:  Are you sucking in? Because I am totally not sucking in.

 

Meatball sandwich, now with extra tattoos.

 

From high above in her glass-walled, climate-controlled sanctuary, Arens observes the mating rituals of the bald-headed playboy. The red-suited young watches and learns.

 

Three young vixens test the theory that tanned skin is actually a sign of sun damage. Damn it all to hell they didn't come of age in the innocent 1970s.

 

Is it strange to wear a hat in a swimming pool? Not when it's only three feet deep.

 

Despite repeated requests, Dwayne refused to keep his pants on.

 

Are those angel wings on his back? And why is he wearing a belt? I had to descend to the 5th floor to get a better look.

 

This is the view from the 5th floor without zoom. I needn't have worried about the criticism of my 5th-floor colleagues, who welcomed me and my camera into their lair with nary a question. I still can't tell. Is it weird for a guy to have angel wings tattooed on his back? Maybe it's a bird.

 

Be careful, lads! These birds are very flighty. Ye mustn't disturb them. See? They prick their ears up at the slightest provocation.

 

This photo encompasses all that is wrong with America, starting with the return of trucker hats.

 

And this photo? This is my gift to The Editor Across the Aisle. MWAH. Speedo Man luvs you.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Selling Steph's closet. Size 6 Ann Taylor sheath, tags on.

Let's Check in with the Ultra-Pool

When we last checked in with the Ultra-Pool, some of you said you couldn't read my text boxes. This makes me very sad, and it also makes me wonder which browser you are using, because it totally looked fine in Firefox. May I suggest Firefox? But today, alas, it was 72 degrees and raining in Kansas City (which sometimes doesn't stop the young and beautiful), but also? I forgot my camera.

I went to lunch with The Editor Across the Aisle and another editor at my workplace whom I am swiftly growing to love but for whom I do not have a handle. Perhaps I will have to find out her porn name. Anyway, we were sitting at a Thai restaurant slurping good food when I mentioned my need for an Ultra-Pool post. No sooner were the words, "What else could you do with your $1,000 Ultra-Pool membership fee?" out of my mouth, The Editor Across the Aisle began. "Collagen," she said.

Somehow, we got off on other topics, which I really can't understand. So let's make a list, shall we?

Things Young and Beautiful Kansas Citians Could Do with Their $1,000 Ultra-Pool Membership Fee: Part the First

• Ikea furniture and a hex wrench
• Three sessions of Botox
• Laser hair removal
• Two seasons' worth of make-up at MAC
• 10 autographed photos of Pete Wentz
• A summer's worth of nail tips
• Two trips to see the Chiefs this fall, even though they suck
• Many, many useless Missouri or Kansas lottery tickets
• Four hogs
• 100 copies of Sleep Is for the Weak to give their knocked-up friends
• 9 months of Slim For Life
• 10 sessions of teeth whitening
• Enough hooker shoes to go to the Power & Light district three times
• Cash for Clunkers

Contributions? Anyone? You don't have to live here. You know what these people look like.

Let's Check In With the Ultra-Pool

On Tuesday, my co-workers and I ambled over to the windows to fill our gaze with Missouro-trash twentysomethings.  This is what we saw.

It made me happy. Next time I'll bring an actual camera with zoom.

New Feature: Let's Check in With the Ultra-Pool

Yesterday after a crazy-frustrating conference call, I put my head on my desk and let out a sob.  The Editor Across the Aisle came over immediately.  "You know, it's time to go look at the Ultra-Pool," she said. "It'll make you feel better."

So we headed over. I didn't have my camera with me at the time, but it DID make me feel better to see all those beautiful people running for shelter as it began to rain. Their little dog ran, too.

The Ultra-Pool is a combination nightclub/pool located on top of a grocery store next door to my office building. We've been eagerly watching it get built.

Who could wait?

One of my co-workers who sits conveniently near the window has even started a feeder business.

Next thing you know, he'll be buying California IOUs.

Yesterday, there was one guy who refused to get out of the Ultra-Pool, even though it was raining pretty hard. Which led Beloved and I to spend some time thinking about why anyone would join the Ultra-Pool to the tune of:

Membership Info:

• Platinum: $1,000 ($400/3 months)
• Executive: $750 ($300/3 months)
• Premium: $400 ($150/3 months)

I mean, it's okay, but some dude left a shopping cart there last night.

Must've been really hungry for Fourth Meal.

But, really, I do understand. There just aren't enough places for beautiful people to go here in Cowtown.

It's difficult to be young and hot so far from LAX.

So, Beloved, me, my co-workers -- we all put our heads together and came up with our collective Top  Reasons to Join the Ultra-Pool:

I dropped my kids off with my baby-daddy for the summer.

I love to show off my barbed-wire-armband tattoo.

I just spent $100 on this faux hawk.

We’re out of Zima, how about a Smirnoff Ice?

The warranty on my breasts goes for another ten years.

My spray tan wasn't working for me anymore.

This Speedo is much too vibrant.

The kids are at Montessori.

I'm just not meeting quality men at America's Pub.

“Whose visor is this?”  “Mine!”  “Mine!”  “Mine!”  “Mine!”  “Mine!”  “Mine!”  “Mine!”  “Mine!”  “Mine!”  “Mine!”  “Mine!” 

My life coach told me to.

Getting an STD was one of my New Year's resolutions.

I haven’t done a body shot this time of day since Spring Break in Padre ’92.

Stay tuned. Next time I'll photograph one of the beautiful people for you.

---------------------

In other news, miracles really happen. Read reader Exile on Mom Street's unbelievable Adoption Day miracle here.