The Dude Abides

Tonight we rolled. If I haven't already written about it, my bowling skills suck ass. And it isn't for a lack of trying. I started bowling young, maybe 7 or 8 years old. I bowled every other weekend on a league all winter long for years and years. I had my own ball and everything. Oh, yes, I was a bowler. A really shitty bowler. Even sadder still is that as an adult I roll about the same as I did as a child. My scores are almost identical.

So tonight we bowled. It is still god awful hot and humid outside which is no place to be when pregnant hence we have been looking for some indoor fun with the kids lately. Mike and I, the kids, and my friend Dave (a Canadian, but we still like him anyway) headed over and got ourselves a lane, some foul smelling rental shoes, and house balls covered in scratches, pits, and craters.

It wasn't until I was just about to throw my first ball that I realized I could actually fall off balance and roll my whole pregnant self down the shiny lane. I had to pause for a moment before actually winding up for the release. I was terrified of crashing face first or worse. If you could see how top heavy I am, you'd understand my concern. I had visions of me sliding half way down the lane, ass over tits, clinging desperately to the neon green ball I was using.

Fortunately, it didn't happen. I was able to put the thought out of my head by rationalizing that if Fred Flintstone with his big ass belly can bowl, well, then so can I. And I can proudly say that I beat both my four year old daughter and my two year old son. The night wasn't a total loss.

I am, however, waiting for an attack of Ajuma's (older, married woman in Korean) Revenge. You see, I did what any hungry pregnant woman would do at a bowling alley: I ordered up a giant plate of "Gourmet Nachos." Thinking I was getting some ooey gooey, cheesy yum loaded with salsa and hot peppers and the whole works, I was pretty disappointed when what arrived was chips with cold shredded cheese sprinkled atop some cold chicken and black beans, sour cream, salsa, and guacamole dollopped on the sides. The whole thing was ice cold. Forget ooey gooey. This wasn't even nachos in my book.

I took the plate up to the snack stand and expressed my... displeasure. Ajuma assured me that nachos were indeed supposed to be cold. I asked her if there was any way to say, heat it up, "melt the cheese." She, a Korean woman, then informed me, a Midwestern white girl, that cheddar cheese does not melt. Huh. Now, I'm from Chicago. It's a rather large city (by American standards anyway). We haven't had a fucking cow in that town since that crazy Mrs. O'Leary allowed her dumbass milking beast to kick over a lantern and burn the whole fucking place down in 1871. Yet, we're only a couple hours from Wisconsin which has more cows than people and cheese is held as almost as holy as the host. I personally know quite a few "cheese heads" and have it on their good authority that cheddar cheese does in fact melt.

After pulling a fellow bowling mama into the debate, Ajuma finally conceded that cheddar cheese does melts, but then added, "We eat nachos like this. Cold."

"Koreans?" I asked.

"Oh, no," she laughed. "This American food. Koreans don't eat."

"Well, ma'am, this-" I pointed to my plate of cold shredded cheese, chicken, and beans, "is NOT American food, either."

With utter contempt she took my plate back and redid the whole order. I am quite certain she spit on my food. No, I am absolutely certain. And this is why I am always having some kind of gastro-intestinal distress. People are spitting on my food.

Lastly, I have to tell you about Roman. He's only two and therefore he's good for about one game. After that, he's all about running amok in the bowling alley. Until. Today. When he discovered... the slot machines. For those that don't know, your hard earned American tax dollars put slot machines on overseas military bases so that underpaid, barely making ends meet, subsisting on food stamps and WIC military men and women can parlay their meager pittance into a fortune. You see? That Iraq war really is paying for itself. We just need more slot machines over there.

Anyway, Roman found them and instantly fell in love. There is sat for the better part of our second game. Just playing around with the buttons. No, we didn't give him any money to put in. But I was tempted. Oh, lord, I was tempted.

I was gonna post a picture of it, but blogger is just not going to allow that tonight and I'm too tired to fight it. The nacho war took all the fight right out of me. Instead I will close by giving you a great bowling tip. If you haven't seen The Big Lebowski go now and get it and watch it. If you don't get it or think it's quite possibly one of the funniest movies ever, suffice it to say that you will never get me and can quit reading this old blog now because I'm sure you don't find it that funny. And from henceforth you may just call me "Dude."