Bowling

08.10.05
So I went bowling yesterday with some work people. The combination of people, bowling, and my social inhibitions should set the mood already. They served table food hot dogs and hamburgers that made me felt like toxic waste afterwards. They had free booze and wine but that was the last thing I needed, to be tipsy and surrounded by bunch of bowling co-workers. I just might say something nice. Drinking makes me feel less agitated around people and more tolerable towards them. As the famous saying goes, I drink to make other people around me interesting. They were playing music videos on big screens above the bowling pins. It went from late seventies to current day music, so I had a bad Elton John songs coming from his old days when he wore those big red framed glasses of his. They played Weezer’s Buddy Holly and some Simple Plan song, Peter Gabriel’s Shock the Monkey, and other various good and bad songs. I drank water and ice tea and ate non-stop to kill my boredom. I started to bowl with my left hand, which then I became interested in the game. I knew I’ll be frustrated if I tried to bowl and tried to get a good score and only ended up with something average no matter how hard I tried. I’m never going to bowl again unless some obscene, forced, networking event makes me feel obligated to attend another social event as glamorous as this one. So, I had no will to play as well as I could, and I definitely didn't want to leave the place as a frustrated bowler. That’s always the case with me. But, being lefty really made things fun for me. I actually didn’t expect to do well and that created an interesting challenge for me. I even got a strike as a lefty, but the catch was, was that I couldn’t do it again, well not with my right either, but at least my conscience wasn’t connected to my arm as I threw the ball down and out with my left hand. While throwing with my right hand, all I could think of was how it would be better to be undergoing reconstructed knee surgery at this point. Everyone there was really having a good time. There were cheers, high-fives, screams. Everyone played in paired teams two against two. My partner was such a lousy bowler. I can easily crush him with my right hand, eyes closed, feet tied together, and gagged. Together, we were sensational at being the lowest scoring team. My partner was really trying too, which was sad. He was sweating profusely like a pig, trying so hard to get nothing but gutter. Everyone else was doing swell and full of laughs and cheers. I was morose and wondered why I couldn’t connect with these people, ever, and just continued to gain weight by the minute eating toxic waste.

Watermelon

So, I worked out last week, Wednesday night, and finished sometime after 8 and was really thirsty. All I could think about was getting a watermelon to quench my thirst. So I started walking back to my apartment and knew I would pass by a used bookstore in which I had been meaning to go to since Monday. I joined a book club here at work, like your roommate did in HD, and I'm forced to buy and read a book by Hadden or Haddon, "Curious Incident of a Dog....." I know I got the title wrong. The book blows so don’t bother. Anyway, so I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and it was chilly outside and my clothes were still sweaty-wet from working out. I got the book, unfortunately new, and didn’t have a chance to browse too much around the store because I was starting to lose feeling on my right thumb. Then I walked on and up a couple of blocks to a grocery store. I'm already frozen by this point and looked at all the watermelons they had. It cost 4.99. I had my computer bag with me on my back, my extra gym bag with work clothes, shoes hanging from me, and a pretty sizable container of unfinished leftover lunch in my hands in a brown paper bag. There's no way I could carry a watermelon back with me nor even bring it up to the counter to pay for it. They were all big and sized like a 30lb dog, probably 2.2feet in length. So, I decided to buy grapes instead because they were on sale. I didn't really want something as sweet as grapes with so little water content comparably to the all watery watermelon, but I was there already. As I was checking out, which seemed to drag on forever, I had three people ahead of me and was irritated by the slow process. The third person was a little Chinese man holding a huge watermelon. He was all grins. So I finally checked out, still freezing, and walked towards my apartment like a battered block of ice. I got there and threw everything down and took a hot bath. Second round, I was still determined to get a watermelon. Went to a different grocery store hoping I would get a better bargain. Watermelons there were 5.99, bad luck, and not many to choose from. I thumped them like a professional melon picker not knowing what sounds I should be hearing that would say it was a winner. I picked one up and didn’t realize how heavy they really were. The little Chinese man didn’t seem to have any problems, with all grins too, but I had some trouble because it was on the upper self above the cantaloupes. I finally got one into my hands and brought my outstretched arms closer in to me. The thing slipped and I believe I was trying to save it by lifting up one of my legs to kick it or something. Sort of like how soccer players bounce the ball around their thighs and front top feet. Well the thing split on my right thigh and went everywhere on the floor and on my cargo pants. A worker there saw the whole thing. And I said, “Oh No!” really loudly……but the “Oh No” was for the pain of paying 5.99 for a watermelon I was never going to eat and the bloody stain created on my cargo pants. He said it was alright and picked up the pieces and took it back for, I assume, trash or for warmer feelings to feed the homeless. Now I had even less watermelons to choose from, about five. I started thumping again, this time more experienced. I picked up another watermelon and put it, this time, into a shopping cart. My original plan was to carry the watermelon out to the check out counter with my bear hands, but I didn’t want another crazy incident to occur. They might just force me to pay for all the smashed ones. That would be my bad luck, too embarrassing, and I’m cheap. So pushing the cart around which just provoked me to buy other things. So the next thing you know, I’m shopping for other heavy things like two carton quarts of orange juice and got myself some chocolate pudding, all liquid purchases. Never go grocery shopping when you’re thirsty. Carrying it all back to my apartment in my book bag was quite a strain on my shoulders and back. I’ve forgotten how weak I am compared to those muscular girls in the muscle magazines. I had to lean forward most of the time to counter the weight of the watermelon to balance myself, otherwise I would have flopped over on my back and most likely make another messy watermelon show on the sidewalks of Chicago or stupidly look like one of those turtles helplessly forever on their backs, legs flailing, hoping for a miracle to happen. The leaning was really apparent when I wasn’t moving, especially when I had to wait for a light to change in my favor. I made it back to my apartment and carefully unloaded everything, treating the watermelon like a sensitive dinosaur egg. I washed it and cut the thing into two and then the half into fourths and then the fourth into chewable slices. The other half I wrapped up in plastic bags and the fourth, I put it into a tupperware and with both, into the fridge. I finally sat down with my plate full of watermelon and reaped the rewards of its content. Disappointedly, I had better melon, but my wait was too long, so I wasn’t going to complain. Was there a point to all this, no, but I’ve got nothing to do at work but write stories.