of a tennis player, hiker, writer
|I went bowling during my Cali trip this past February. On Super Bowl Sunday: the day Pittsburgh beat Seattle 21-10, the Rolling Stones performed the halftime show, my fingers gripped on a martini glass, and some fifty-five year old guy from New York begged me to walk across the street with him, so he could buy me a lingerie outfit from Victoria Secret.
Nonetheless, he kept trying. I kept saying no. For him, knowing I was sipping on my third Cosmopolitan, gave him confidence to ignore my refusals. I stood firm, despite my inebriated state, and he finally left me alone.
So, anyway…Lucky Strike bowling alley was within walking distance from the hotel and we got carded at the door. What? Since when did bowling require ID? Turns out, the place is a 4-in-1 establishment; resturant,bar, bowling alley, dance club. Yessss! More drinking. No dancing for me. It’s been an eternity since I’ve been clubbing. Maybe a drink or two ago I might have, but not now.
Yeah. I’ll take another cosmo.
I suck at bowling. No really, having only bowled twice in my life ever, I wasn’t ashamed to admit my lack of skills here.
“Don’t worry” Steve, the parks and recreation guy, in our party, told me. “Drunk girls usually bowl good.”
Isn’t that well? I almost splashed him with my fifth drink.
Smiling, I said, “Yeah. Right.” I knew better. Knew I shouldn’t be out there, with my T.O. S. arms, trying to hold a twenty-pound ball, (okay I’m exaggerating) –tossing it in the air like a Pike Place fish market employee. But the vodka clouded my judgment. WTF. Who cares if I didn’t even know how to pick out the right ball? I can do this thing. Right?
Getting some quick advice from Mr. Parks and Rec, I walked up with my ball, did the arm swing and released. Not too bad. I knocked a few pins down. Yay for me.
Next frame; Gutter ball. Moving on, my fingers dove into a different ball. A smaller one. Would it help? Hell no. Same result. Double gutter. There goes my fleeting hope of beginner’s luck glory, down the um, you know…gutter.
A few frames in, and you could see me do the happy dance cuz I managed to knock a few pins – like three or four – down. Even still, I kept returning to the gutter ball. Wow. The drunken girl was on a roll. Can I hit more than seven pins down? Strikes were out of the question. In fact, if I wanted strikes, I needed to head to a baseball field, where racking ‘em up would be a synch. And besides...Why break my GB streak?
All in all, with the help of five martinis, I enjoyed myself. From a novice player’s point of view, bowling seems to be about skill, mixed with rhythm. If I ever go again, I’ll cut back on the alcohol - one, maybe two drinks max since there is that GB –to- drinks consumed correlation thing to consider.