I miss her so much right now! I just wanna have a Harry Potter marathon while eating popcorn and pickles.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
The only time I have ever been good at bowling was when I was seventeen and trying to win a bet. It was the week after EFY. My COW had invited me and a friend to go Midnight Bowling at nine o'clock on a Thursday evening. For those who don't know COW is a clever acronym Mormon teens made up to disguise their "Crush of the Week" at the Especially For Youth Camp. It's a Mormon stare-athon. Anyway, this guy was blonde, super tall and played football on the South Weber High School team. A knee melter, if there ever was one. Is that a thing? Knee melter?
So, over we go to meet them at this ghetto bowling alley. I say ghetto but I feel like every bowling that has ever been built is extremely ghetto. Even new ones. I'm not sure if that's in the Bowling Alley Union contract or something. "Make sure your brand new bowling alley has musty carpet, food that'll give anybody over thirty heartburn, and smells like stinky feet. We wouldn't want to make our customers feel like they don't need to take a shower after visiting our business now would we!" The most ghetto bowling alley I've ever been to was in Juneau, Alaska. That one was king of the Bowlers Union contract clause. However Juneau being Juneau, we actually had to make reservations and wait an hour before we could get our own lane. But, back to my story, getting a lane was not a problem at the Weber Bowling Alley. On this dry August evening, you guessed it, we were the only ones there. At first the Midnight lights weren't on. But after a quick request to the desk, our wildest dreams of neon came true. The eighties truly came alive again, says this nineties baby.
We start bowling. As per usual, I'm terrible. If I'm lucky, I'll get an eighty. No joke. I know in small towns it's either go bowling or get pregnant for entertainment. But luckily, KTown isn't that small. My Mom however, champion bowler. So I'm going along, doing some not so smooth teenage-dream bantering with knee melter. Alas, the banter isn't getting me very far as soon he's ten...twenty..thirty points ahead. At this point he's feeling like he owns this hepatitis infused bowling alley and he's unabashedly rubbing it in my face. "Well, you can have your STD Haven! I'll go find my own!" I wanted to shout. The COW facade was slipping away to reveal a COD, Child of Darkness. Instead, keeping my cool, I suggested a wager.
"Alright sir," I said, "An Oreo blaster to the winner."
Heheh. Bringing out the big guns. Since he was about 40 points ahead that that point. He gawfed like a typical jock would (never heard a jock gawf before? I invite you to hang out at the RB with me) and agreed. The battle begins. I go first. I get all the pins but one. A surprise to all! Including myself. Though I never would have admitted it at the time, as the fire of competition raged inside me. He bowls and does well I presume. Now, I don't remember him actually bowling as the before mentioned fire of competition was devouring metaphorical forests in my mind. So I was a little distracted. But basically he bowls and something happens! Then I bowl and get a strike. He bowls and something happens! Then it's the last bowl. For those novice bowlers, on the last frame (I had to google what the official name for turns were) if you get a strike or a spare you get three chances to bowl. And what do you know..I got a strike. Three times. Final score:
Him: something
Me: something, +1
Yes. I won. By one point. One point for hate-fire. The sweet, crystalline, heart attack that is the Oreo blaster never will be as sweet, as crystalline as that one bought by my ravaged, ex-knee melter COW. High five seventeen year old self.
So, over we go to meet them at this ghetto bowling alley. I say ghetto but I feel like every bowling that has ever been built is extremely ghetto. Even new ones. I'm not sure if that's in the Bowling Alley Union contract or something. "Make sure your brand new bowling alley has musty carpet, food that'll give anybody over thirty heartburn, and smells like stinky feet. We wouldn't want to make our customers feel like they don't need to take a shower after visiting our business now would we!" The most ghetto bowling alley I've ever been to was in Juneau, Alaska. That one was king of the Bowlers Union contract clause. However Juneau being Juneau, we actually had to make reservations and wait an hour before we could get our own lane. But, back to my story, getting a lane was not a problem at the Weber Bowling Alley. On this dry August evening, you guessed it, we were the only ones there. At first the Midnight lights weren't on. But after a quick request to the desk, our wildest dreams of neon came true. The eighties truly came alive again, says this nineties baby.
We start bowling. As per usual, I'm terrible. If I'm lucky, I'll get an eighty. No joke. I know in small towns it's either go bowling or get pregnant for entertainment. But luckily, KTown isn't that small. My Mom however, champion bowler. So I'm going along, doing some not so smooth teenage-dream bantering with knee melter. Alas, the banter isn't getting me very far as soon he's ten...twenty..thirty points ahead. At this point he's feeling like he owns this hepatitis infused bowling alley and he's unabashedly rubbing it in my face. "Well, you can have your STD Haven! I'll go find my own!" I wanted to shout. The COW facade was slipping away to reveal a COD, Child of Darkness. Instead, keeping my cool, I suggested a wager.
"Alright sir," I said, "An Oreo blaster to the winner."
Heheh. Bringing out the big guns. Since he was about 40 points ahead that that point. He gawfed like a typical jock would (never heard a jock gawf before? I invite you to hang out at the RB with me) and agreed. The battle begins. I go first. I get all the pins but one. A surprise to all! Including myself. Though I never would have admitted it at the time, as the fire of competition raged inside me. He bowls and does well I presume. Now, I don't remember him actually bowling as the before mentioned fire of competition was devouring metaphorical forests in my mind. So I was a little distracted. But basically he bowls and something happens! Then I bowl and get a strike. He bowls and something happens! Then it's the last bowl. For those novice bowlers, on the last frame (I had to google what the official name for turns were) if you get a strike or a spare you get three chances to bowl. And what do you know..I got a strike. Three times. Final score:
Him: something
Me: something, +1
Yes. I won. By one point. One point for hate-fire. The sweet, crystalline, heart attack that is the Oreo blaster never will be as sweet, as crystalline as that one bought by my ravaged, ex-knee melter COW. High five seventeen year old self.
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