In order to suck as much as I can out of my Christchurch experience before I return to the town of cows on Thursday, I dragged my flatmate around the place this weekend, playing minigolf (I won) Timezone basketball (I won) and bowling.
You'll notice I didn't menton winning bowling.
I forgot the *real* reason I never go bowling in Hamilton, and that is, not because Donny is a duty manager there, but because I might just be the WORST bowler in the world. This was evident when on my second turn, I managed two consecutive gutter balls. I don't even know what my combined score for two games was, but I'm going to go right ahead and take a shot. Probably around 30. I am that bad at bowling.
To be fair, bowling is not an enjoyable thing to do. Unlike minigolf, at which I am relatively good (this may be in part due to the two years I spent on my high school golf team, but let's keep that under wraps), bowling hurts. It not only chipped half the nail polish off of most of the fingers on my right hand, it's left me with a slightly swollen, red thumb and forefinger, and a sore toe. I dare say that the bowling action also exacerbated my already flaming right rotator cuff tendinitis, too. Can't wait for my swim in the morning!
What a waste of time. I hate bowling.
Twelve days of Christmas? Hmmm, it's day two, and I'm already stumped. After watching Love Actually (should it be Love, Actually? I mean, just based on Hugh Grant's soliloquy at the end: "Love, actually is all around" or is that just a pause, not a comma? Ah, who cares really?) for about the fourteen thousandth time tonight, I'm going to put it out there. Donny: All I want for Christmas is you.
Moving on, I'm going to say two pots of Chanel Hydramax + Active Moisture Cream.
Two pots of Chanel Hydramax + Active Moisture Cream
And a Donny in a pear tree.
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