Zombie Pride

Life is Southern California is not quite real. The sun always shines, everyone smiles for no reason, and the surfers resemble the undead. I now remember why I moved to the Northwest 20 years ago. However, things are going well. Dad is thrilled that I’m keeping him company and I had a good turnout for my first Michael Jackson Thriller dance lesson. Eight ladies and one brave man learned the Zombie March and Booty Bounce. People in the dining room make swinging claw hands when I walk past them. We didn’t make much progress beyond these basic moves since my “students” tend to get tired and wander off. There’s one lady, Helen, who is really into marketing my services. She advised me to hit up the girls at the onsite beauty salon who “would look better with some zombie makeup.” If I can get through teaching all of the dance moves over the next two weeks, this will make an awesome YouTube video.

Meanwhile, I’ll be busy with my kayak, bike and snorkel gear, making sure I take time for myself. So far I sprung a leak in the middle of a lagoon and got sand in my gears; it’s all fun. I live in a cottage owned by Jehovah’s Witnesses who don’t take themselves too seriously. They view prayer as the answer to home repair, which isn’t helpful as many items in my place keep breaking. We had cocktails the other evening while their 3 dogs and 2 cats climbed onto my lap. I’m getting a little lonely since my friends here are all over the age of 90. I re-subscribed to Match.com using my new location to see if the dating prospects are any better than the ones in Seattle. The guys here are better looking but can’t make complete sentences. Much as I like pretend zombies, I’m not going to socialize with the real ones.