I love bowling. I have no idea why I do, as I’m absolutely rubbish at it. I’m pretty sure I can count the number of strikes I’ve bowled on one hand, and the number of injuries from lobbing around a heavy hunk of resin on… well, more than one hand, and maybe even more than two. And to add insult to injury, I always seem to have adventures of sorts when it comes to bowling. Maybe they’re not the most interesting, but hey, it’s filler for a Friday! 😉
Firstly, there was a Christmas many a year ago when, in my addled teenaged mind, I decided that a pair of bowling shoes would be mega retro chic, and asked my parents for a pair. I figured it would be something easy to find at a thrift store, and that it would be the epitome of awesome. Instead…. they went and bought me proper professional bowling shoes. Like, pretty white thingies that make me feel like I should bowl a 280 (instead of my standard 69, hur hur). They’ve taunted me through the years by being so white and pristine, and it was only in the past year that I remembered to christen them.
And, was only proper, we got horribly and hilariously lost on the way to the bowling alley.
That wasn’t the first time I got lost trying to go bowling, and it was definitely not the most amusing incident. No, that goes to one of our many treks to Jupiter Lanes in Garland. I’m not sure how we managed to get lost going there, but we did half the time. On this particular trip, we had turned around upon realizing we were going the wrong way, preparing to backtrack… when we were suddenly pulled over by the police. Apparently, we appeared to be coming from the direction of a major drug bust, and they wanted to make sure we had nothing to do with it. Even if we might’ve been high (I can’t remember, but I chronically was in those days), we generally looked non-scruffy and were in a not-so-cheap vehicle, so they gave us directions to the alley, and shooed us on our way.
Another time, once I had my car, I was taking my then paramour and best friend (two people, ha ha!) for a night at the lanes. We’d stopped at Jack in the Box or something of the like for delicious junk, when my car started acting funny. It did that often, considering it was older than me. So being all awesome and non-girly, I pop the hood… to find out that somehow the oil cap hadn’t been replaced, or had flown off, or something that indicated that I wasn’t the brightest bulb. Oh, the oily mess it was… not anyones’ ideal of fun, that! Still, at least the cap was there, so I topped up the oil (I had to – ye ancient crapmobile went through it like whoa), made sure the cap was well secured, and off we continued on our fun-filled evening.
Oh, and just hitting the memory boards – all those bowling parties of childhood. Eeesh. There was one time my cousin was having one of those, and the kid who was after me in the rotation insisted on taking my turn too; little pedantic me was not impressed at having my horrible horrible score further ruined by a tiny tot.
I’m sure that there were many a time that I didn’t have a weird experience (like the time I stole someone’s chilli), but as we’ve said before – it’s the extraordinary that tends to stick out. So while the most normal trip I can remember entailed a lot of glorious air hockey (and also me learning a bit about being a better bowler!), that doesn’t mean that there weren’t horribly mundane experiences that are just beneath notice, or even more interesting tales that have escaped. The brain, she is like a sieve…
Anyhoose, good weekend and all of that.