Happy (belated) Thanksgiving, kittens! I hope your family get-togethers went well and you didn’t overdo it on the calories. For those of you who remember this time last year I weighed a petite 252 pounds, but through a strict regimen of exercise and purging, I am now down to the manageable 232-235 range. I would love to lose a little more, but, petals, I simply can’t afford the calories because I am now officially an athlete! Surprised? Me too! Here’s the skinny.
Last week my friends took me bowling for the first time in my life. And let me just say that Bonwood Bowl on Main Street was everything I had ever imagined, and more! This veritable Xanadu, this hallowed temple of blue-collar unpretentiousness, comes complete with a café with meaty, greasy, cheesy comfort food, cool multi-tone shoes and an endless buffet of husky, white trash, hetero butt crack. Why have I never done this before I asked myself? Because it was awesome!
My friends did their best to coach me, but sadly most of my wayward balls ended up in the gutter, which in retrospect is a sadly appropriate metaphor for my love life. But I digress.
It was a Friday night, so the place was packed, and apart from little ole me, everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing. I, on the other hand, was like a deer in the headlights. I kept looking for the little Canadian guys with the brooms that sweep the floor really fast so your ball ends up in the circle, but apparently that’s called Curling and it’s completely different. Who knew? I just don’t understand if bowling uses 10 pins and Canadians use the metric system, then why the hell can’t I use a sweeper? At one point I thought I had a broken ball because it only had two holes, then I realized it was upside down and I just couldn’t see the third one – not one of my proudest cognitive moments I will admit. Despite some temporary setbacks, pumpkins, I soldiered on.
Apart from getting trounced by my friends, who, God bless ’em, started bowling with their less dominant arm just to make me feel better, I was totally intimidated by a group of bowlers two lanes over from us, or as I call it now that I am a jock, “The Outfield.” One of the guys I recognized as a member of the Utah Bears and damn could that big girl bowl! He did that whole line up-aim-follow through-plant your back foot behind you like a bowling trophy-thing. It was really impressive to watch and he was just racking up strikes like crazy.
Oh speaking of strikes, did you know that the scoreboard heckles you? You get animated fireworks if you get a strike, but it also flashes bitchy little comments if you score low. How rude is that? I was about ready to slap a bitch after the scoreboard kept reading me and flashing a graphic of a dead fish! Listen, if I wanted negative reinforcement I would go bowling with my mother.
Now some people might be ashamed of a personal bowling best score of 48 but not me, muffins, I am owning it! I am the bowling equivalent of a honey badger and I just don’t give a shit (Thanks for the shoes stupid!). The way I see it, I can only get better. So with that affirmation in mind I’m going to do a little bowling research on Google, read a few how-to bowling websites, and maybe ask Santa for Wii bowling for Christmas.
I mentioned to my friends that I might go practice during the day but they grabbed my hands, looked me directly in the eyes with raw panic and implored, “don’t do it!” Apparently that’s when the predators from the ladies league come to the watering hole lying in wait for the weak, the elderly and any animal stupid enough to leave the safety of the herd. I may be a bowling honey badger, muffins, but I’m not suicidal. Ciao, babies!
You can see Ruby Ridge and the Matrons of Mayhem in all of their polyester glory, every third Friday of the month at Third Friday Bingo, 7 p.m. (First Baptist Church, 777 S. 1300 East).