Okay, shut up, I know I haven’t done this in about a month.
You can blame Taylor for me doing this again. It’s pretty much her fault.
Ah well. :D
Hello, everyone. This is my blog. My name is Nathan, and it’s called “Motorways and Tramlines.”
Sometimes, although not recently, I blog.
I’m going to do so again, starting now!
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First of all, on Sunday afternoons, there’s nothing more pleasant than sitting in a Jack in the Box (the restaurant, silly) discussing debilitating late-onset diseases with a friend and your mother. Unless there actually is, in which case I wouldn’t be surprised.
Second, I went bowling on Sunday! There are a variety of bowling alleys in San Antonio that are quite excellent. Convienently, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM is about thirty minutes away from my house. So much for ever having a pleasant bowling experience! Instead, whenever I bowl, I usually end up going to Bandera Bowl.
Bandera Bowl smells like smoke, is full of old people, tends to have annoyingly incompetent DJs, and closed the huge play area years ago. On the plus side, it’s only ten minutes from my house. I will cover all of these points in the paragraphs to follow.
On this particular Sunday evening, I went bowling with Jack and Colleen, two friends, and the rest of the people in my youth group, none of whom are important to this story, with only one exception: a fellow named Corey. Corey is…questionable. As far as I can tell, his habits consist of coming to church two hours early to play Need for Speed, a game which he owns for his own Playstation 2, in the youth room alone. That, and telling a lot of unoriginal racist jokes. All you need to know here is that he is wearing two polo shirts on top of each other, and both of the collars were popped.
Corey, you see, is a “straight up balla”. Or something like that.
Anyway. We get to a lane, sit down, and begin to bowl. I quickly discover I’ve forgotten how to not suck at bowling. This is unfortunate. My final score for game 1: 15. And 10 of those are from Jack playing while I was gone and getting a strike. That’s right, kids: I scored FIVE POINTS in ten frames. If this were golf, I’d be winning by loads.
The first notable event of the evening occurred here. Jack, walking along to get a soda, makes motions to someone that “Corey is annoying.” This is misinterpreted as “Corey’s so cool”, and someone gets Corey’s attention for him. Jack, at this point, is thinking, “Oh crap,” so he improvises. “Nathan looks up to you” he says. “Oh, Nathan? Nathan’s annoying.” says Corey back, only with more colorful language.
This is important knowledge. Now that I know this, I can take advantage of it. Jack and I scheme, and we decide on the best course of action. I walk up to Corey, casually pop my collar in the fashion he has his, and walk away.
Corey: “.___.”.
Victory for Nathan’s team.
Notable event number two came about as I was waiting in line for food. As I mentioned before, the DJs are incompetent, and they decided to play Soulja Boy with the bass cranked up way too loud so it was all cracky and disgusty, which is in fact a word.
The sixth graders begin to dance in unison with the song. (I must note that I find the Soulja Boy dance to be incredibly creepy.) About thirty seconds later, another of their friends runs up and taps one on the shoulder. They pause for about twenty seconds, and without any words said…join in again, in unison.
I couldn’t take it. I went and used the overpriced vending machine instead.
That’s about enough for today. More later?
