I lost my poor meatball
When somebody sneezed
It rolled off the table
And onto the floor
And then my poor meatball
Rolled right out the door
Dateline's To Catch a Predator, Long Beach Edition! Or, as I like to call it, "Watch Pervs Go Soft" for short. Seeing dudes get burned by Chris Hansen just never gets old.
"Honey, let's take a shot where you appear to be jumping out of the bushes to sexually assault me and I appear to like it."
"Hey, koi, pull my finger."
I’ve only heard of a few bowling team names in my life, and some have stuck with me. They are as follows:
Two Balls (2 broads and 1 dude)
Two Shits and A Rat’s Ass (3 dudes)
Come from Behind (3 broads)
Oh, bowling. There seems to be a resurgence in it's popularity lately. In the fifties it was the thing, and in the 80's it was on it's death bed. Hello, video games, smell ya later, bowling. I used to work at my college's bowling alley located in the basement of the old student union which was considered a state-of-the-art facility in the 1960's. When my Dad drove me back to school after Christmas break one year, I was greeted with the shocking sight of the entire bowling alley plonked into the dumpster behind the building. The shoes, the lockers, the balls, the hand dryers, seats, the lanes themselves. All of it tossed--buh bye! Does this mean I'm out of a job, man? My father hauled several pieces of the lanes back home with him to Massachusetts and the back bumper of the Taurus station wagon sagged an inch from the highway's concrete. "These things are solid oak!" He's had a bunch of chopping blocks made for friends since. Literal pieces of bowling history.
The majority of the country’s bowling alleys are what I call “Big Ball Bowling” which most people simply recognize as bowling. But in New England, we don’t roll that way with those wicked big balls. We’ve got what is known as Candlepin Bowling, also known as Duck Pin Bowling. Why? I have no idea. But the pins are slim and the balls are softball-sized, you get three chances per turn not two, and you have to whip it down the lane for speed. You don’t get that occasional strike from the gravity of the ball alone, it’s gotta be a power hurl every time.
All of the area’s alleys (what’s left of them) are Candlepin, with only a few lanes dedicated to Big Ball Bowling for those out-of-towners. My great grandmother was seriously hooked on Bowling for Dollars’ local edition called “Candlepins for Cash,” hosted by Red Sox’s own Rico Petrocelli. So it’s pretty much a "Duh" why loved that show.
I suck at bowling. You may remember my 8th birthday party, which was held at the alley behind the McDonald’s in Salem. The party favors were from the "five and dime," also in Salem. Neither the bowling alley nor the five and dime store remains standing. I am also on my last breath. Good. Bye. Anyone who can name the former alley and former store gets a Hoodsie.
PS When are you going to refinish your kitchen cabinets? They look really ghetto in that last photo.
If NYC's mentally stable community finds reason to ask me directions and what time it is, I can't assume that crazies don't have anything to add. And they do. It's something about my face. My face says "Approach me." Why does my face say that?
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It takes a pretty special cat to wear an ass like that. Maurice is quite regal, dignified, and agile despite his 18 lbs, and I was lucky to make his--and his best friend, Bella's--acquaintance this weekend! Words which came to mind: Sheep, Sheep Dog, Woolly Mammoth, Abominable Snowman, Bumble, Polar Bear, etc...
So if you want to be bug on a windshield, your best bet--according to the study--is to be an 82-year-old woman on a motorcycle at 2 a.m. Being drunk is optional; you'll be picked off by a 22 year old dude who'll be drunk enough for the both of you. I recommend a few wine coolers. After all, it's your last ride.
Anyway, for anyone who thinks that Grey's Anatomy's Isaiah Washington can't live his bad PR down, I've got two words for you:
Guess I haven't seen him in the flesh in a long time. Apparently 4 year olds who jump off of the sofa grow into 14 year olds who jump off of the sofa.
Bleeeccchh. It's safe to say that I won't be hosting my own cooking show anytime soon.