Damn, I guess I'm getting too old for this shit, was the first thought on my mind...my contract manager had a cook-out at her house yesterday. Her family loves cook-outs, I love grilled foods and bring beer- things just align like that sometimes in the universe.
So me and Significant Other pack up the stuff, head across the bridge to Portland and the swelter. It was time for the annual Portland Festival, a street fair thrown by the neighborhood. Whatever. More fun and fewer drunks right on the fringes, even if the air conditioning in their garage decided to chuck its freon. There may have been triple-digit heat indexes forecast, but it didn't feel that bad to me. May have been the beer talking, but I felt comfortable in allowing it to be my spokesperson for the time being.
So after a few beers (who's counting at a cook-out, especially if you have a designated driver?), that concoction where you soak fruit in booze for a couple of days before dumping it into a giant vat of punch, and some food (including a killer grilled brat), I was ready for pretty much whatever, as long as there was a packed bowl somewhere on there on down the line.
That's when the slip n' slide came into play. Not very many small children there, but the water toy was not being ignored. After my contract manager made a couple of half-hearted passes through, I decided to take a couple full speed headfirst home plate slides. Naturally, as I had not dressed for any aquatics, Significant Other held my cell phone and my wallet.
Oh yeah, and I did get to hear a snippet of the worst cover of Runaway by Bon Jovi of all the times on the way home, so there was that, too. A fairly decent Saturday afternoon, all things considered.
Then I got home, changed into dry clothes, took advantage of the aforementioned bowl, and that's when it struck me. More like the afternoon wore off and I had apparently taken a body shot in a heavyweight fight at some point in the proceedings. Hadn't felt like this since the morning after a match, or at least without really having done anything...except hurtle my 6'3" 200 lbs ass full throttle down a child's toy like I was stealing home in the World Series.
Significant Other said the second thing that was on my mind (funny how that happens): third time was the charm. Funny, somehow I think the charm has lost its charm. Or bruised a couple of ribs...I'm open to suggestions at this point.
Fuck. Well, if I'm gonna feel beat up, I might as well have been the one to beat myself up. Gonna make for a real enjoyable Monday morning, I tell you that much. Time to keep myself in dryer pursuits. Once you have been injured at the hands of an inflatable, it's only a matter of time before you do it and wind up a viral sensation.
Winner, The Blogitzer
(Best Overall Writing), 2011 Blogger's Choice Awards