I’ve Always Enjoyed Bowling

Please don’t judge, but I’ve joined a bowling league. If you would have asked me eight (ackk!) years ago when I was in high school if I ever would join a bowling league, the answer probably would have been, “Over my dead body/never in a million years/insert your idiom here.”

Don’t get me wrong; I’ve always been a huge fan of bowling. My parents are divorced and my dad lives in an extremely small town that I’ll refer to as Butt-fuck, WA. Everyone in the town is either married, knocked-up at a young age, a drug or alcohol addict, or working at Wal-Mart. I’d like to blame it on the fact that there is literally no form of entertainment there besides a bowling alley on every block, which was great for me at age 7 through 13 because hell, I didn’t live there. I was just young and visiting. And it is definitely a town that is best viewed through your back window. Anyway, I used to beg my dad to go bowling and would take hours picking out my bowling ball. He taught me how to use the arrows on the hardwood floor to make the ball go in the direction you wanted it to, and would always give me quarters for those ridiculous claw machines. You know…the ones where you spend countless frustrating hours and five dollars in quarters to get a scratchy dog-cat stuffed animal with a missing eye and a plaid bow? Anyway, I welcomed the bowling alley over my dad’s suggestion to “go play in the yard,” or “let’s go fishing and you can bait the hook!”

As you can see, I’ve always enjoyed bowling, however, I associate bowling leagues with old men (mostly child molesters) and my very first boyfriend. This guy took me bowling once, did the dorky swing-your-leg-behind-you bowling technique that is definitely associated with old men, then told me he belonged to a bowling league—a tid bit he failed to mention to me before. Something tells me he knew it wouldn’t get him very far with chicks. At age 15, this guy suddenly was probably the dorkiest person I had ever laid eyes on or interacted with, let alone kissed. He was pretty much sayonara after that.

So, while I’ve always enjoyed bowling, it has never really crossed my mind to join a bowling league until Vanessa called me the other night and propositioned me. Apparently, the league is on Monday nights, which are always boring anyway, and our group included a bunch of friends. It sounded like fun, but then Vanessa mentioned that there is an opportunity to win drink specials and other prizes. Holy shit, count me in. I figured a trashy night of bowling, drinking and smoking was exactly what a Monday night called for, which brings me to our name. Vanessa and I were brainstorming last night, and after I turned down her suggestion of “Bowl-dozers,” I came up with “The Lucky Strikes.” Vanessa loved it, which I’m surprised about because it is obviously a cigarette reference and Vanessa loves to ridicule and devalue my smoking habit every chance she gets. Whatever Vanessa, smokin’s cool! So we are now officially going to be bowling on Monday nights by the name of The Lucky Strikes, which to me is completely hilarious since no one on the bowling league enjoys the occasional cigarette but me.

Now that I’ve succumbed to the idea and have officially signed myself up, I am actually looking quite forward to it. It’s been awhile since I’ve made a habit of frequently hanging out at a bowling alley. In high school, Kenmore Lanes was right around the corner and it opened its casino right as we all turned 18. My girlfriends and I used to skip class and go gamble, and Larisa and I actually used to smoke pot in her bedroom, then crawl out her window and walk to the bowling alley. I’ve got many a fond memory—young and old—that includes bowling alleys, and if this Monday night bowling league gives me the chance to revisit the days of my youth, well then it pretty much doesn’t get any sweeter than that.

Currently Feeling: Guilty for eating a Snickers bar
Currently Anticipating: The Season Premiere of America’s Next Top Model
Currently Dreading: Going to the gym after work

British Exercise

Yesterday was my dreaded monthly training session at the gym where a trainer measures me and compares my progress to last month’s. Normally, I am pumped for this because then I can actually get a little retribution for the hard work and determination I’ve invested in this “losing weight” thing. (Hard work and determination that does not extend to giving up alcohol or other unhealthy vices.), Anyway, I was dreading yesterday’s because I have slacked off for two weeks or so prior and after my trip to San Diego. To my surprise, however, after yesterday’s session I learned that I reached the measurement goals that were set up for me when I first started at the gym, and I lost five pounds! How does that work?

After running a few options through my head…no, I haven’t starved myself…no, I haven’t been drinking less…etc. etc, I’ve come to a conclusion. I’m utterly convinced it’s sex. I’ve been diligently trying to lose weight for two months now, and the two weeks I take off from the gym, I have sex four or so times a week and suddenly I lose five pounds. I love it. On the other hand, my love for British men and accents might run a little too deep. The trainer who worked with me yesterday was British, and I swear they’re a nation of sweet-talkers. He convinced me somehow, and I’m still trying to figure out how, to sign a commitment form to pay for personal training sessions in a couple weeks, and he is going to be contacting me. Personal training is something that I am extremely interested in, however, it is incredibly expensive and I’ve been trying to pay off debts, bills and rent in a timely manner. (I’m finally learning how to be responsible and somewhat self-sufficient at age 24). So, now I’ve committed to paying him $230 for three training sessions. Whoops. Oh well, I suppose it’s better than $230 on another pair of jeans or shoes. At least this way I’m doing something better for my health. AND from this point forth I will be able to compare the benefits of sex with a British man and work-outs with a British man. Updates to come…