Seconds before I got my eye poked out.
I realized this week my friendship with Ex is defined by abuse. Yes, Clover is one battered woman. (And judging by my reaction to the Christian Bale rant, I seriously want MORE. Much much more.)
This week Ex and I resurrected the sport we invented three years ago while vacationing in Palm Springs: BIKE JOUSTING. And while we have devised a set of rules and codes, the sport is basically this: kick each other literally in the ass while riding your bike. (We'd like to start a league if anyone is interested. And also make YouTube videos of Bike Jousting in action.)
It's a sophisticated sport, people. You get a point for each ass-kick (must be on the ass and NOT the back or thigh, though I always wind up getting all three), and you also get a point if the person falls off his or her bike. Because Ex is like 6'5'' and has never-ending, gangly, spidey legs, he is much better at kicking me squarely in the ass than I am at kicking him. This means my "strategy" is usually to ram my bike into his and get him to fall off. Yet inexplicably I am almost ALWAYS THE ONE TO FALL OFF. How he has become such an excellent bike jouster while I totally suck is beyond me. (I should admit I also have a handicap and still am almost always on the losing end.)
Anyway, after Bike Joust Resurrection 2009 this week, we went and got Mexican food from our favorite burrito stand on Lincoln Blvd, and this immediately turned into a slapping match right on the sidewalk. Once again he had a distinct advantage with his long, spidey arms plus a handful of cash, so essentially it turned into me getting repeatedly Cash-Slapped, (yes, Cash-Slapped. Which for the record TOTALLY STINGS) while he laughed hysterically about "cash-slapping bitches". Okay, I was laughing too. Cash-slapping is the new pistol-whipping, fools.
And then after that, as usual, we watched TV, which consistently (every time) involves dutch ovens (the first definition is by far our favorite and we often recite it to one another gleefully), and on this particular evening we discovered that our conversations sound a lot like Jack Donaghy and Liz Lemon on 30 Rock when Jack is talking to Liz like a very small (possibly retarded) child. Yes, people. I am physically and psychologically abused on a weekly basis.
But the one place I wear the pants (possibly the only place I feel some authority in this cold, cruel world) is in my car. Let me just tell you that should you ever be in my car I will make you play the tambourine and have a sing-a-long with me. IT WILL BE GLORIOUS FUN.
So here is Ex yesterday. Singing and dancing and playing the tambourine. It's my first VLOG and I realize I'm not in it other than vocally, but you'll just have to wait. Because nothing makes me more joyful than Ex dancing and attempting to play the tambourine for me in my vehicle. (And check out that hot pink tambourine all shaped like a magical HOT PINK BIRD. The sound quality does nothing for its majesty.)
But for the record: Brett Simon, my life would suck without you. I'd rather not go into the ways in which he is also totally awesome to me, because that defeats the purpose of this intertronic forum. We just make fun of people round here.
(Please contact me directly if you would like to join our Bike Jousting League or Cash-Slapping Battles.)
delo roatrip from gina clover on Vimeo.
10 comments:
Three things:
1) I could listen to Christian Bale berate someone and assail them with F-bombs, like ALL DAY LONG.
2) That wee tambourine was adorables, so adorables.
3) Sign me up for the bike jousting. That sounds like good times.
Dude. Even your backside is cute.
My friends and I invented a game of similar spirit to bike jousting, called BUTT TAG. It too is very sophisticated. It's like regular tag, except you have to tag the other person WITH YOUR BUTT.
I will join your league only if athletic knee-highs and jerseys are involved.
P.S. What on earth were you doing in Garden Grove?
You say his name like he's famous or something.
Will the bike jousting involve uniforms? If so I'm in.
tibs-you are officially signed. i can't wait to throw f-bombs at one another while we bike joust in really cute outfits and someone plays the wee (twee) tambourine on the side.
bex-butt tag sounds UH-mazing. butt tag and bike jousting will be the two cornerstones of this retard LA blogger olympics we must start STAT.
SURVIVING MYSELF-whatever. if you are on my blog you instantly BECOME famous. you just want me to start announcing your name like that too. SURVIVING MYSELF. SURVIVING MYSELF. i will try and work it into every post.
meghan-the uniforms are possibly more important than the actual sport. of course i have worked the details in in my head. knee high socks will be a critical element of this look. please let me know if you approve. kthx.
Did no one not see the greatest part of that?
You drive a Honda. I drive a honda.
The first rule of honda club is...we're awesome.
I will bike joust your ass so fast it won't be funny.
That did not come out right.
So it sounds like you like this one. So make it official already and send me an invite. He doesn't look like a ex-con - I presume you have already run the usual criminal and medical checks (considering he is an Ex). All he now needs do is provide up to date certificates.
I shall also partake in this bike jousting of which you speak. Can I wear gold lame? A joust just isn't a joust without some lame.
I second the motion for gold lame. And mayhap large ho-knocker earrings with our names in them. And streamers in the handle bars.
Sweet dance moves for real real
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