Whoo Whoo Girls

Aren’t They Delightful?

Aren’t They Lovely?

I first learned of the term from the manager of the Whalers on the Point Guesthouse in Tofino, BC Canada. A large group of young women from Vancouver had just arrived and took over the pool table with an ample supply of alcohol, most of which they had already ingested.They screamed “Whoo! Whoo!” each time someone pocketed a ball, or even if someone didn’t. At least they were getting a lot of attention. (Though I think they didn’t want my attention, as I was ready to make them swallow their cues.)

Well, Martine and I saw lots of them in Cabo. They were making as much noise as the young men playing Tequila Volleyball at the Playa Grande Hotel. I guess the theory is that, if you make a lot of noise, you will get the attention of the equally shitfaced young men and maybe hook up with them at the nearest vomitorium. They certainly seemed to deserve one another.

Fortunately, when they did re-unite with their screaming male counterparts, they tended to repair to the upper floors of the hotel, from which we no longer heard them. I think the proprietors of the hotel assign guests of a certain age to certain rooms which take the brunt of their partying and localize the disturbance level.

We were not greatly troubled by them. At one point, however, when I saw a bunch of loud partyers on a fifth floor balcony, I shouted out for them to jump. They chose not to take my advice.

 

 

The Life of the Party

No, I was not the life of the party

Last night, Martine and I attended the wedding of my best friend’s second son, Eric. The ceremony and reception were held at the Heritage Museum of Orange County in Santa Ana, about 45 miles south of where we live.

Since Eric is more than a generation removed from us, it was interesting to see the differences between a social event for the young compared to old poops such as myself. To begin with, once the DJ cranked up the music, my communication skills were all but shut down. Although we were seated at a table full of people we knew and liked, I was unable to hear anything.

And insofar as dancing went, I have never had the skill the move in time with music—ever since I was banned from the folk dancing class at the First Hungarian Reformed Church in Cleveland back in 1950 for accidentally stomping on the feet of my dance partners. And, dear readers, I have not improved since then.

So, far from being the life of the party, I felt as if I were immured in a carbon prison like Han Solo in Star Wars III: Return of the Jedi. What made it worthwhile was being with old friends, not to mention honoring the wedding of someone I have liked since he was an infant. I find, after the wedding, that he is even more of an upstanding person than I had thought.

I wish him well as he treads the dangerous paths of this life.Fortunately, he has a killer sense of humor that I think will carry him and his young wife through in style.

Photo Credit: No, this was not taken at the wedding. It is an ad from a website called People Skills Decoded which offers to teach you how to be the life of the party. I suppose they could do that if they replaced my hearing and subtracted a few decades from my age.