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| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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The Demon Who Drunkenbowlingkaraokes
Rockabillybabe Mel is having an impromptu birthday party tonight at the bowling alley and of course I'm going. (But please don't tell The Boy, whose impromptu birthday party I didn't go to only two days ago. But I'm taking him for birthday sushi soon, so I'm not all bad, okay?) But I'm going to Mel's party because I haven't seen her since before the last semester ended even though we've played a half-hearted game of phone tag and also? There'll be bowling (which I suck at and dislike doing to boot), and probably drinking (which I excel at and like to do too much) and maybe karaoke (there's not enough drinking in the world to get me ever to stand up and sing in a public place. Again.) Because the last time I engaged in drunkenbowlingkaraoke (as it came to be known after a couple of outings that involved all three events) was just before the summer semester began and my marriage ended. Ah, those were some carefree days. But so that someone may perhaps benefit from my experience, let me say at least the following: One should begin drinking long before one begins bowling or karaoke. That is, drinking first--always--when bowling and karaoke are involved. Then bowling. Then karaoke. (That way, if you get lost and don't know what to do next, you just follow the name: drunkenbowlingkaraoke.) So, the last drunkenbowlingkaraoke night quickly became some kind of hazy, hazy evening as we discovered that night that the bowling alley bartender mistakenly believed that kamikazis were not shot-sized, but were rather to be served tall. So we drank tall kamikazis. Many, many tall kamikazis. Then we bowled. Bowling, of course, begins with the picking of the bowling name. I am very bad at nicknaming (see above, in re: "Sushi Max"). So after much thought, I picked Edna P. as my bowling name (after Edna Pontellier from Kate Chopin's The Awakening). Mel picked "Missy Vegas" (her bowling name, as opposed to her pirate name). Mel's x picked "Grip Webley" I think (which is his cowboy name). Dave picked "Superdave" (or maybe someone picked it for him, I don't recall--see above, in re: drinking), Matthew picked "Marcel Proust" (for obvious reasons, I suppose). I think--I think I bowled a 44, which was double my score from the first time I ever bowled: a whopping 22. And then I seem to recall standing up and singing a duet with Mel. Bad, Bad Leroy Brown? God, I don't even remember. It was bad. I tried to hold the microphone about a mile from my mouth and just sort of do like you do when you're supposed to sing in church, you just kind of mouth the words without actually making any noise. Thank god we were slumming in some dank bowling alley dive bar, because if I would've had to've faced any of those strangers again after I had sobered up? Right. I would have changed my name (and not to Edna P.) and left the state. So tonight? Here's my plan: I'm going to undergo most of the humiliation of the evening perfectly sober. Yes, that's right. I said sober. I'm going to have a diet coke. I'm going to bowl--yes, I said bowl--and then I'm coming home. Because karaoke? Best left to the sloshed.
More lies:
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