Lez Bowling

Monday night was bowling night, and for the second week in a row we did okay. Despite my team of spastic bowlers we finished the first half of the season in third place. The second half is another story. As of Monday we were tied for second to last place. In my lifetime, I have never been on a team that finished first. Not in bowling, or little league, not even in fourth grade when I managed to finish third in the classroom spelling bee. I got a nifty little statue of Jesus for that one, which is still around the house here somewhere, unless Chandler ate it.

I was on a bowling team that finished in second place once. About twenty five years ago, my friends Dennis, Russell, and I formed a team and joined a league. The particular league we joined was an all lesbian league, and because we occasionally drank at the lesbian bar, they allowed a team of gay men into their secret lesbian world. Okay, maybe they were confused by our mullet haircuts and flannel shirts, but by the time they figured us out we were already bowling. It was on this league that I bowled my best game ever, a two seventy eight. At the end of the season, it turned out that my high score was the highest that season, and at our bowling banquet I got a trophy to commemorate that game. I really felt great. The trophy had my name on it, my two seventy eight score below that, and up on top was the likeness of a bowler with long hair and a skirt. This totally pissed me off, how dare they do that to me. I hadn't worn my hair in that style since I left the hippie commune in 1972.