I have to preface these texts by telling you that Ryan and I have a running joke about Anthem, this very Stepford-esque suburban “planned community”, that lies just north of Phoenix. He claims he heard a rumor about an underground swinger’s scene that goes on up there, where reportedly, the swingers identify themselves to each other by placing purple rocks in their yards.
Ryan: Damn it! I was up in Anthem for that service, and I didn’t get a chance to look around.
Me: You mean that, while on your way to a FUNERAL, you didn’t try and track down some swinger-sign? What’s wrong with you!?
Ryan: We could always go back this weekend. That’s a fun date, isn’t it?
Me: Me, you, some flashlights…good times. What do we do if we find any?
Ryan: “I’m sorry, but we couldn’t help noticing your rocks. We were wondering how you get them off?”
Me: “No, we don’t want to join…nice cold sore, by the way, but we’d like to observe from a safe distance. Outside the ‘Splash Zone’, if you will…”
Ryan: “Do you provide tarps? Oh, no, nevermind, we have rain panchos…that’ll do.”
Me: Good thing I keep those in my car.
Ryan: Yeah, we don’t want anything to get stained.
Me: LIKE OUR SOULS! Bring that vial of holy water I saw in your kitchen.
Ryan: Pretty sure that turns to vinegar the moment it crosses a swinger threshold.
Me: So…Saturday?
Ryan: Sounds good. Bring galoshes.
Fisticuffs and Shenanigans 
Oh so much more makes sense! My last address before Yucatan, Mexico was 15th Ave. and Indian School. I did 5 years there, 20 years in Mesa (not even Mormon), and 20 years before that in Paradise Valley.. before you needed a membership card to get in.
There can’t be swingers in Anthem! the lube would gunk up the gears on the wives.
At the very least, it would have to be petroleum based and not water, so they wouldn’t rust. And terrifying, right!?
Once again a conundrum…. rust versus silicone breakdown from petroleum? Who knew misogynistic Utopia would be riddled with such dilemmas?
HA!
🙂
Thanks for the chuckle! Makes the Guido emails I’m exchanging with my work buddy pale in comparison… LOL
Ummmm, guido emails!? Are you going to sleep with the fishes?
Hahaha! Nah – my friend is presently “boy-crazy” on the verge of divorce and wasting no time jumping full in to the deep end of (cess?)pools like Match.com, etc. She sent me a pic that threw me into fits of “FUGGEDABOUTIT!” & “Yo! – Ant-NEE!!” (I used to live in the land of Guidos, aka Bensonhurst, Brooklyn where they filmed many scenes of Saturday Night Fever. I kid you not – I ate at the same pizzeria as Stallone & Travolta)
Oh….my….God. I so want to be a fly on that wall.
Okay, on first read I totally thought you said purple SOCKS in the yard. That created yet another weird picture in my mind… -Amy at http://www.momgoeson.wordpress.com
And I never wore purple socks again… Wouldn’t that be horrifying to find out that all this time, I had been inadvertently identifying myself with a sexual subtype?
Holy crap. I might have to head over there this weekend myself…
Look for us! We’ll be the ones wearing Niagara Falls rain ponchos with flashlights!
I’ll be the one depositing purple rocks in as many front yards as possible.
HA HA HA HA!!!! We are officially friends, you and I.
😀
The rumor around here, is that the swingers put gnomes in their yards. I can’t get anyone to tell me if my zombie gnomes qualify, and if so, do they mean special level of kink? No knocks on the door yet
Maybe a necrophiliac, bitey brand of swinging? 🙂
🙂
Having been a part of the Swinger and Bondage scenes in Atlanta a number of years ago, I can tell you–nothing makes for a great date night like pretending you and your “special friend” are Jane Goodall and Sir Richard Attenborough–true story. Though you really want to avoid the key parties. Clubs are much more exclusive. 😉
Also, Anthem communities are creepy. My brother and his Stepford Wife (yes, we actually call her that) live in one built in another Western state that shall remain nameless…
Awww….poor Richard. He will be missed. 😦 Wow, I just took it from swinger to mourning. WTF is wrong with me?
Eh…just look at it as a humorous manifestation of humankind’s obsessive link between sex and death. Makes sense to me. We’re all sick twists–just *look* at our DNA!
All Helix-y and swirlie…you’re onto something here.
As my friend Eric, the microbiologist, put it: Of course it’s twisted, it’s DNA.