It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt

I just thought I'd tell everyone how cool it is to have friends. I'm just saying.

Pants and I went for a while with a few, handpicked friends for the first year or so that we were here. It was nice, and there were times of fun to be had, but for the most part we were newlyweds and any spare time that we had together was rare and precious and spent ... well that's really none of your business.

But for some reason (Actually I blame this phenomenon squarely on Pants and his affable personality) we've been branching out over the past year or so and getting invites to do all kinds of fun stuff with people we really like.

An example? This weekend we went bowling and then drinking with six friends, two from Tulsa, two from South Korea and two from OKC. This U.N. meeting went to Route 66 Bowl, which was super fun. After drinking some really bad, beer-flavored water we went to the Hi Lo bar. I'd never been, but I know I had fun.

A margarita after getting there (I was driving, so not so much with the drinking for me) I was watching our friends tell jokes, laugh, and run around the room with their pretend stinky fingers extended. (That really seemed to upset this suicidal-looking guy sitting by himself in the corner) and I realized that I was having a fantastic time.

We'd all gotten past that awkward first-meeting stage. Pants had already offended most of them and they came back anyways. We'd found out who believed in what and what video games we were most likely to suck at and were having that euphoric, relieved good time that comes when you've found people that you feel comfortable with and can do fun things with. It was odd, because much in the way a drunk girl wants to tell you how drunk she is, I wanted to tell everyone how much fun I was having and how cool it was that we were all friends. Of course, not wanting to freak out said people (you can never know exactly how much a drunk person will remember the next day) I just smiled and told a dirty joke.

Continuing our mini-vacation, we met up with four friends Monday for an 8-year-old's dream. That's right. We drove go-karts. Except these people were serious about it. It's a huge track and they make you sign a waiver saying your heirs won't sue them if you go up in a ball of fire. Also, that you will pay for anything that breaks on the $6,000 karts. Yeah. So we had a great time until they let these jerks in. It was like six pissed-off guys all got dumped at the same time and decided to prove to each other who was really the MAN ... at the go-kart races.

So they let them race with our peace-loving group. They proceeded to push, bump and cajole in a way that's frowned upon by people outside of a boxing match. When those guys were leaving us alone, however, it ROCKED. I laughed for the entire first lap, it was so much fun. Also, don't want to brag, but I totally got second place out of six people.

Afterwards it was on to margaritas and Mexican food. I was surprised, and delighted, when the possibility of more bowling was brought up. So back to Route 66 bowl we went!

This time I sucked it up bad. I'd been playing pretty good for someone who never goes bowling and had broken 100 each of the last three time's I've played, but Monday I stunk. My arm hurt from using a too-heavy ball and I resigned myself to just knocking down a pin each time it was my turn. It didn't hurt that I'm not a pro bowler and have little skill, but I'm blaming the ball on this one -- that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

My dissatisfaction with my ball and the lack of decent balls for women (man is that going to be misconstrued) led me to decide that I should try to buy a second-hand bowling ball that would fit. I don't know if you have noticed, but if you're a woman and you go to a public bowling place, it's almost impossible to find a ball that's light enough, but also has finger holes that are big enough. I'm not saying I have sausage fingers, but gimme a break. By the time I got done bowling it was like I had been working at my office computer for 12 hours. Carpel tunnel here I come. Also, I chipped my nail polish, which did not help matters.

On the up side, I did have a good time and it was nice to hang out with people who are "marathoners" like myself. My mom calls me a marathoner, because I don't want to do just one thing. I always try to get as much bang for my buck as possible. You don't meet just a ton of people who are willing to go for several events in the same day, so that was really nice. The margaritas, however, needed a lot more umph and less ice.