Sisters are doin’ it for themselves — The day of the surfing competition has finally arrived. After all their hard work and hours of practice, it all comes down to this one afternoon. In addition to surfing against each other, the girls are coordinating the entire event and working with the Surfrider Foundation, Women on a Roll and the entertainment lineup.
There’s going to be entertainment? I thought watching lesbian surfers was entertaining enough. But God knows I love a good show. Which does nothing to explain why I’m watching this one.
By “everything” she must mean Jessica, whose insane troll logic and ability to twist the simplest syntax into balloon animal-like hilarity brings new meaning to “sports doping.”
Michele gets some family support from her mom and stepdad, who arrive with a handmade “Go Michele” sign. Gingi too, has a fan base behind her — her mom, sister and friends show up with “Gingi Rocks” and “Go Gingi” signs of their own. Gingi on the rocks — a dee-lish summer drink if I ever heard one.
Those signs are making me feel gypped. My mom never came to see me in marching band with handmade signs — not that I blame her. For some parents there’s nothing terribly thrilling about sitting on cold metal bleachers, scouring a muddy field full of dorktastic bandies, looking for the one kid who belongs to you.
Years later, though, she did attempt to take a picture of my name in a darkened movie theater (with a flash, no less) as it scrolled up the screen in the end credits. That’s my mom — a Ph.D. and all the common sense of a bag of hair.
Anywho. Gingi says she’s all the things you’re not supposed to be before a competition: nervous, sweating, agitated, grumpy and doubtful. Competing sounds an awful lot like a tax audit. Or online dating. Or being in a reality show.
Team Michele is now the Red Team. Someone sprung for team shirts: red for Michele, Melissa and Gingi; blue for Erin, Vanessa and Jessica. Melissa is looking all-American in her blue jeans, red team jersey and white hair. She rubs wax on her board as her stomach churns with the idea of having to be within 10 feet of Jessica.
Oh honey, save the drama for your mama. I’ll tell you what’s hard. Experimental string theory is hard. Being a Mississippi roadkill collector in August is hard. Watching Painkiller Jane is hard. Beating Jessica at surfing? Quit yer bitchin’, ya crybaby.
By the by, how cute is it that Melissa thinks anyone’s really going to Hawaii and that the losing team is paying for it? Adorable.