Bowling for Adults; a Whole New Ball Game

Last week I went to a bowling alley for the first time since I was a young kid. First, let me tell you about my childhood memories of bowling alleys. They were a kid’s wet dream (I probably shouldn’t say that); bright colours everywhere, fun music and the perfect location for birthday parties. In fact, there was a time when you were a total nobody unless you had a birthday party at a bowling alley.

The bowling alley I remember was in an Irish town called Carlow. The perfect bowling experience as a kid was a meal in Abra Kebabra, followed by sweets and fizzy drink while playing the game. The sides would be up, of course, and the bowling balls were light and kid friendly. You would be home by 9 p.m. and damn it, back then, that was late!

So, when I got a text from a mate suggesting a night of bowling, I thought to myself, how exciting! I’ll get to revisit my youth! The first thing I did when we got to the place was buy myself a strawberry milkshake. I wanted a chocolate one but was too afraid to ask for one, because I didn’t know if the brown one was chocolate or butterscotch. Now, I know I could have just asked if they had a chocolate one, but while revisiting my youth I apparently also revisited my very shy and awkward years. I also spent 50p on a handful of Minstrels from a vending machine. Ah, childhood memories!

Other than that, I was thrown into the unfamiliar world of “bowling as an adult.”

1)      Your mum no longer pays for you.

So, the adult bowling experience is expensive. We booked a lane for two games, which turned out to be under an hour of playing time, for £11 each. There were six of us, so that bowling alley got £66 out of us for less than an hour. There were approximately 20 lanes, all of which were in use the whole time we were there. Now that’s the business to be in!

Everything is a con, though. It turns out that when you’re an adult, the “bowling experience” is actually the “day-light robbery” experience. I mean a small hand full of sweets for 50p. In my day, you could get FIFTY SWEETS for 50p. Also...

Well Kitty, you can't go bowling with it.

Dear Claw Machines,

FUCK YOU!

Love Kelly.

Seriously, why do people fall for the claw machine trap? “It’s not grabbing, it’s not grabbing.” THEN STOP PUTTING MONEY IN IT!!!! But I guess if the prize in there is good enough, you just know you’re going to give in. Omer, becoming a regular feature in these articles apparently, was the one who explained to me how they are rigged to only grab every so often. Shockingly, he still spends his weekly wage down the amusements in Leysdown trying to win Angry Birds.

As for “win every time” claw machines? They can stay.

The bowling alley, to give them some credit where it’s due, must know how expensive it is, as the DJ spent the night running competitions to win free games of bowling.

Speaking of DJs...

2)      The DJ is most likely there just to make you feel good about your life.

DJs are a very strange breed of human, aren’t they? They spend their time trying to be loved and regarded as popular, but they use other people’s songs to achieve it. Saying “he is such a talented DJ,” is basically how you politely say “he presses that play button well good.” Well, as embarrassing DJs go, this guy took the metaphorical biscuit. I almost felt sorry for him.

So, we’ve arrived at the bowling alley, we’ve sat down at the bar (yes there’s a bar, money money money, remember?) and then we realise it’s very difficult to chat, because Don’t Stop Believing is coming out of the speakers so loud our ears were bleeding. Yes, this DJ was a fan of the “recently popularised old classics”, and he liked them to be heard. Looking around for the source of the annoying music, we set eyes on the poor man.

Now that's what I call an impressive DJ

A middle aged skinny bloke in the baggiest T-shirt you’ve ever seen, the glare of the spotlights bouncing off his tiny, perfectly bald bowling ball... I mean head. Well, I’m not being totally honest here. He did have some growth. As I got closer I counted 3 hairs behind his left ear. Probably just missed them shaving, because let’s get this straight, HE’S NOT BALDING. He chooses to be bald.

Well, he played some awful, awful tunes. He was also the worst kind; the talking DJ. Between lyrics the songs would fade out so that we could listen to “mumble mumble mumble!” Bless him though, he did keep saying to us not to use the claw machines, and two members of our group managed to score some free games out of his ridiculous competitions.

3)      The germs! Oh god, the germs!

Well, I know I’m a little bit OCD so probably not the best person to be writing this section, but well I guess if you’re reading my blog, you want to see the world according to Kelly Prior. Well, that world is fucking dirty. I know what you’re thinking, and yes you’re probably right, but I’m not talking about that kind of dirty. I mean, the world really is full of germs. And I am not okay with this.

I’m traumatised... I may never recover... because... oh, it’s so hard to say...

YOU HAVE TO WEAR SOMEONE ELSE’S SHOES.

Oh dear god. First, I panicked about what to say when she asked me my shoe size. I had a little speech prepared where I would explain to the lady that I was sometimes a five, sometimes a six, and sometimes a seven. I wanted to explain to her that the delicately curved feet that I was so proud of simply had to have the perfectly shaped shoe, just like a pair of divas (Jessica Sarah Parker joke, anyone? Don’t make me explain it... She looks like a foot, okay?)

Well, when she asked me, I had a mini heart attack and just blurted out “six please.” Well, turns out I am not a size six in bowling shoes. Should have just brought them back, you say? Well, what you must understand is that with me you are not dealing with a logical mind. I’d tied the laces and everything. There was no going back.

DIE YOU LITTLE C**TS

Bowling shoes are the sweatiest shoes in the world. I don’t care if they have a “special spray” they use to freshen them up after each use, I knew I was walking in other peoples’ foot-sweat and that made me uncomfortable. Add to that the fact that my feet were sliding around in the massive clown shoes, and you have the most uncomfortable shoe experience ever.

The only thing that was possibly more traumatising than the shoes was that every time it was my turn to bowl, I had to put my lovely clean fingers into three little pits of disease to pick up the bowling ball. Thoughts were screaming through my head. How many people had used this ball since it was last cleaned? Had someone gone to the toilet and not washed their hands before picking up the ball? Had someone picked their nose? Don’t get me started on my phobia of mucus.

I pretty much had to lump it, though, as I wanted to play. So, as a result, my fingers were a germ ridden nightmare by the end of the night. Scrubbing them with soap was like heaven.

Kelly’s Final Thoughts:

Well, apart from the fact I had to re-mortgage my boyfriend’s house to pay for it, I actually really enjoyed my night of bowling. Sure, the DJ was a man made out of CHEESE (terrible, terrible joke if I do say so myself) and I had to have several showers afterwards, but it was a really fun night with some awesome mates. I enjoyed bowling, and will definitely go again soon, even though I came second-last in both games. Turns out I’m not very good at it.

Sweets. Enjoy :)

Life as a W.A.G; Not as glamorous as you might think



Omer "The Iron Turk" Ibrahim



Yeah, so, I’m a W.A.G. I bet you’re jealous? Well, there really is no need. You see, my boyfriend is not a famous football player, or a millionaire golfer… he’s a professional wrestler, on the British wrestling scene. His name is Omer Ibrahim. He does a foreign gimmick, and has also wrestled under the guise of Warlord Yamada, but shhhh…

Now, don’t get me wrong, being a wrestler is WAY COOL… and I won’t lie, it’s one of the things that attracted me to my boyfriend in the first place. But, it’s not exactly glamorous, I don’t have paparazzi, and I’m definitely no Posh Spice.

So let me take you on a very disturbing journey as I tell you the truth about dating a wrestler. Here’s hoping that Omer finds this funny, or else tomorrow’s article may be something along the lines of “Why you should never piss off a wrestler” or “He didn’t punch me, I fell down the stairs.” Too far? Probably…

1)      You get a metaphorical All Access Pass that will have you sitting on a psychiatrist’s sofa within a year.

As a W.A.G. it’s generally accepted that I am allowed back stage at wrestling shows. Picture the scene: your courageous man has just won his match and disappeared behind the curtains. As the girls in the front row squeal in excitement and feverishly look at the photographs they have just taken, you saunter on up to the curtain, slip in with an air of snobbery, and leave the rest of the lowly crowd behind. Sounds really awesome, right?

Well…

Wrestlers really do not care who sees them naked. I mean, I have seen more wrestler penis than I have seen regular person penis. Some of the wrestlers (not naming names here guys) genuinely seem to see a girl in the changing rooms as a reason to start getting nude. Yes, I know, hot naked wrestlers, it sounds brilliant, but…

The smell, oh god the smell!

The thing is, these guys are athletes. When they take part in a match, they really go all in, which is really commendable, really… but it does result in some very sweaty, smelly adrenaline driven maniacs. Blokes are lewd, let’s face it. They like making pussy jokes and they like bragging about sex. And you know what, that’s totally cool. I just wish they wouldn’t do it when I’m standing right there.  I’ve also had many a wrestler flirt with me. I can’t help but think there should be some kind of unwritten rule that states that wrestlers’ wives and girlfriends are off limits.

There are of course a lot of positives when it comes to the All Access Pass. I get in free, like, all the time. However, getting in free often means waiting around in an empty venue half-asleep while watching the wrestling ring being built. Also, sometimes, shock horror, they even make you help with stuff. I may be a wrestler W.A.G but I’m only little, and that shit is heavy.

"Dude, I'm so fucked."

Omer wrestled at a festival a few years ago, Z008 Music Festival. Well, wouldn’t you know it, I got a free “Performers” pass to the whole Festival. Now, there’s no way I can make this negative, right?

Well…

At festivals people like to get drunk and do drugs. What started out as a friendly bit of entertainment turned into Omer and his opponent getting jumped in the ring by two Umpa Lumpas (not joking) who were clearly off their faces. The wrestling company almost got kicked out of the festival because the little orange twat-bags decided to tell the security guards that the wrestlers had attacked them. Well, clever clogs here had been videoing the whole thing. I saved the day.

"Get these fucking children off me, don't you know who I am?"

I’ve also met some pretty famous people, including Oblivion and Al Snow. This is cool too, right? Well, famous people are very often arses who really don’t want to talk to little girls who think they are equal to them because they date wrestlers. But, you know what, I consider myself equal because…

 

2)      Guess what, now you’re part of the show!

Wrestlers are for life, not just for Christmas. Or something… Like how footballer’s other halves are always in the paper, once you are labelled a wrestling W.A.G. there really is no getting away from it. And boy do I know it.

Once your wrestler boyfriend decides to introduce you to all the other wrestlers in a company he’s working for, you are well and truly screwed. Why? Because now they know you are one of them. You see, wrestlers thrive on crowd interaction. So when they know some one in the crowd is in on the act, they will target you for the whole show. I’ve had one of Omer’s mates grab me and kiss me to make his entrance seem more shocking. Now, he had cleared it with Omer first. It probably went something along the lines of “dude, I’m gunna snog your chic to get a crowd reaction.”

Why do I agree to these things..?

Now, Omer, being a professional, obviously agreed, and probably congratulated his friend on the good idea. But no one thought to tell me the plan. Can you imagine my shock when this bloke grabbed me in front of the whole crowd? The worst part was, as a W.A.G, you know how the shows work, so you know you have to play along.

When Warlord Yamada was on the scene, I got involved as his manager. I don’t mean a real life manager, but as any wrestling fan will know, I mean a fictional manager within the show. I was Princess Kamiyah (yes, I chose the name and I’m not even ashamed), an oriental dominatrix in control of a monster who never showed his face and never spoke. It was fun… But I messed up a lot of my cues and I got hit really hard on the head. But, you see, I’m used to that.

Another “perk” of dating a wrestler is that they just love practising their moves on you. Omer and I will be cuddled up on the sofa watching a movie and, out of nowhere, he’ll have me in a headlock.

“I’m just gunna try this new move I thought up,” he’ll tell me. I sigh and let him carry on.

He also likes to use me to demonstrate when he’s trying to explain moves to friends or fans. Because, you see, the fans are important…

3)      You have to share him.

Your average wrestling fan girl

One of the most difficult experiences I’ve had dating a wrestler is coping with the jealousy. I’m not going to lie, I’m a naturally jealous person anyway. Throw screaming girl fans into the mix, and I’m a nervous wreck. My heart tells me to head butt the bitches and scream “HE’S MINE, YOU WHORES!” while my head tells me to be professional, and stay calm for Omer’s sake.

It took me a while, but I eventually had to come to terms with the fact that the fans really didn’t pose a threat, and that no matter what I did, they were always going to be there. I’ve learned the difference between a fan girl and a whore now. These days I get my kicks from making sure the fan girls get a clear shot of me kissing my man after his match. Insecurity? Yeah, probably.

Being a W.A.G means you are involved in all aspects of his profession. It really is real, I promise! These guys suffer real injuries, and sometimes it’s scary to see the love of your life getting cheese grated in the forehead. No kidding, this actually happened. Omer has also had two broken ribs, millions of concussions and countless sprains and fractures.

Kelly’s Final Thoughts:

Sometimes it is really hard to be a W.A.G. For every positive, there seems to be a negative. But I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’ve been lucky to experience a lot of things that people can only imagine, and I’ve met some really inspirational people along the way. And, well, I know I’m biased, but my man is damn good at what he does.

Limited edition playing card. I'm not even joking. This is a real thing.

I'm Bisexual, Not Greedy.

I’m Bisexual, Not Greedy.

There always seems to be a pre-defined stigma associated with being bisexual. How dare you have the audacity to like boys AND girls? Don’t ask me where this mass judgement of bisexuality has come from, because I haven’t got a clue. You’d like me if I was straight, and you’d like me if I was gay. Heck, you’d like me if I was completely asexual. But, for some reason, you’re going to judge me if I’m bi.

You’re probably already thinking, right this moment, “fuck, this girl has a chip on her shoulder.” The problem is, like most metaphorical chopped potatoes, there is a reason I have been moulded into this cynical beast. People, and believe me I’m generalising here, just can’t seem to understand bisexuals. The general populous have a few opinions on this “condition”, which I promise you are all bull. Let’s have a look:

1)      I’m obviously totally gay and just too scared to take that leap.

Well, I never knew I was gay. Thank god I’ve been shown the way… or not. See, I love girls. Girls are fucking sexy. Don’t argue here, because you won’t win. The curves, the feminine contours, the soft and gentle nature, the “cute” factor... Girls are made of awesome.

However, to me, dudes are just as awesome as girls. Guys can be rugged and manly. Let’s face it, guys are hotter with facial hair than girls are. Infact, if you’re a girl with facial hair, GTFO my blog. Unless you own surprised kitty. In that case, you can stay. Guys also have one major contributor that girls really can’t mimic unless it’s strapped to their crotch…

So, even though I think girls are hot, I would never entertain the idea that maybe I’m just gay and haven’t realised it yet.

No, I honestly want both.

Speaking of which…

2)      Well, if you want both, you’re just greedy.

This sentiment is actually more often expressed by people who are gay, rather than people who are straight. I guess a lot of straight people say “I don’t understand it, so I’m just gunna leave you to it…” while gay/lesbian people think they know everything. They’ve been there, they’ve got the skin tight T-shirt with the rainbows on it.

I have actually had people tell me to my face that I am greedy, or confused. Because gay people have made the choice to completely abandon the opposite sex, they cannot understand why I would want to live with a toe dipped in both worlds.

Omer and I... don't we look cute?

Well, because I’m “greedy”, I’m apparently a bigger threat in general. Not only do girls have to watch me around their guys, but guys have to hope I don’t steal their girls too…

Did I miss the memo where bisexual people were supposed to be home-wrecking sluts?

I honestly don’t walk around constantly aroused because I’m surrounded by men and women wherever I look. I don’t consider myself “a kid in a candy store” when I use a unisex changing room. Being bisexual does not automatically make me a whore. I'm actually in a long-term, committed relationship.

3)      Well, in that case, you’re just pretending to be bisexual for attention.

What is it with people thinking it’s okay to come out as gay or lesbian, but if you tell your peers you are bisexual, their first thought will inevitably be “attention seeker.” It really grates on me. Let me tell you why. Because I came out when I was 12… and I got bullied for it. That’s not the kind of attention anyone wants. It would have been so much easier, actually, not to come out, but I could never live a lie.

I didn’t come out because I wanted to look cool, or become popular. I came out because I just couldn’t keep it a secret. Something within me told me to be proud of who I am and tell the world, even if it meant many years of having the piss taken out of me. Now I’m in my twenties and it’s suddenly really cool to be gay. Yet, being bisexual still stands as a taboo for a lot of people.

The Beast with Two Backs

Let me ask you a question: imagine you are a strictly straight guy. If I told you that you could become popular by fucking dudes as well as girls, would you do it? Didn’t think so.

So why do people jump to the conclusion that bisexual people make “the beast with two backs” with both genders just to be popular? Sex is fun (duh), so it should be clear that people have sex with whichever genders they choose because they enjoy it, not because they crave the attention.

Kelly’s Final Thoughts:

Next time a friend of yours comes to you and mutters those three very difficult words: I AM BISEXUAL… tell them you are proud, encourage them to be themselves, and most of all, reassure them that you really do understand.

Join me at Brighton and Hove Pride on the 13th August 2011. I'll be there, representing bisexual people and, well, getting wasted... http://www.brightonpride.org/