Thursday, February 10, 2011

Flying Urinating Squirrels Love Lemon Yogurt

It is no secret to you, my dearest readers, that for the last five weeks I have been suffering from a miserable case of writer'sblock. Although I do apologize for abandoning your reading needs for so long and I do worry that my reglegence is a clear sign that I should never have children, I want to assure you that my absense is not a sign that my life has shriveled into a series of boring cookie cutter days. Although I have found myself in several awkwardly noteable situations, I simply have not had the creative energy or the time to write them in a way that would be entertaining for any of you to read. I am hoping to change that today and give you a little taste of what has been happening in my freakshow life for the last couple of weeks.

The most important event worth noting is that I moved into a new house a few weeks ago. Although I will not bore you with the details of the physical move, you may take pleasure in knowing that I was welcomed to the neighborhood in the most sanitary of ways. I was leaving the local grocery store and daydreaming about the lemon yogurt that I had just purchased when I saw a man standing awkwardly close to a silver car. I chuckled a mighty chuckle and thought to myself: " Self, it sure looks like that man is peeing on that poor person's automobile" I then realized that the car being washed with human urine was parked in the same spot that I had left my own silver car and quickly my chuckle came to a halt. Those of you who read about my daily episodes on a regular basis know that I am by no means a stranger to odd encounters but nothing quite like this has ever happened to me before. I was not sure of the proper etiiquette for disturbing a stranger's public urination. After a few quick seconds of deep thought, I was able to place myself in his metaphorical shoes. I have personally never had to pee so badly that I felt the need to release myself in a public parking lot in the middle of the day, but if I ever do see myself in such a situation, I would hope that people would allow me to do my business in peace. No one likes being walked in on while using the restroom at the mall with the broken stall handle. Also, I was not sure what I would say if I decided to approach the urinating gentleman. Would I be obligated to give him $5 for washing my back tire? Ultimately I decided that it was best if I allowed him to finish his duties in peace before I went home to enjoy that lemon yogurt.

You may also be interested in knowing that I have been walking like Forest Gump for almost a full week. Although it is undeniably true that I am willing and able to do almost anything to draw attention to myself for the sake of a good story, this specific act of ridiculousness is not a direct result of my self adoration and instead is the product of the twisting of my two left feet.

The trouble all began a few weeks ago when my beloved roommate joined a running group called the Hash Harriers. Although this post is not intended to act as a marketing campaign the Hash Harrier group and I have full intensions of pulling this writing exercise back to my flying squirrel fall; I feel like I do need to take the time to admire a group that cherishes some of the things that I love most; beer, socializing , being outside, running, and generally inappropriate- adultlike behavior. Founded in 1930, The Hash Harriers identify themselves as a drinking group with a running problem. Although I have only participated in the rowdy shenanigans of this organization once, I have a deep respect for any group that allows me to act unladylike in public. When Kate invited me to join her last Wednesday, I was thrilled but a little nervous. I was a kindergartener on the first day of school. What if there were bullies? What if the other kids didn't like me? What if they pulled my hair and/or stole my lunch (or in this case beer) money? What if the little boy that spit in my hair when I was sledding was there? What if he spit in my hair again? Although several horror situations played through my mind, I had not even considered the possibility that I would trip and fall on my face.

When I arrived in the meeting lot, I felt instantly at ease. Everyone was very friendly and there was no sign of anyone who may want to spit on me. We circled up and sang some songs, everyone introduced themselves with their inappropriate hash nicknames and I was able to identify myself as a virgin hasher. I had been brainstorming ways to reinstate my virginity, so I was thrilled. As we began the trail of the evening, I ran approximately 103 steps before I tripped on a curb, shoelace, or thin air and dropped quickly to the pavement. "Virgin down!" someone yelled.

Although I do not tend to embarrass easily, I am sure that I blushed before kissing my mighty muscles and lifting my body to continue my epic hashing journey. It was not until another hasher pointed to the blood gushing from my bare knees that I realized that I had been wounded. Still not feeling the pain and wanting my new friends to think that I am super badass, I continued to run.

Our trail lasted about three miles and ended at a local watering hole where the group enjoyed more songs and beer and I used an entire first aid kit of bandages. I was brought to the center of the drinking circle several times for being a hashing virgin, for eating pavement, and for general awkwardness. I am the master of first impressions and I am really excited to go back next week.

Tomorrow I will try to find the time to discuss an emo man with gagged ears who I may or may not have proposed marriage to last weekend. He may or may not have tripped over his own foot to get away. I may or may not think that because of the events of last week, that we may be a match made in clumsy heaven.

1 comment:

Organic Meatbag said...

Eh, what can you do? Pissers are going to be pissers! They follow the siren song of their bladders...