Monday, June 12, 2006

Ah, Target. I should have something pithy to say about you, but really? I don't.

On Friday, CoWorker R & I, who get along well but do not see one another every day (possibly a conspiracy by the Powers That Be because we get along so well) realized that we were both wearing the same green t-shirt from Target. (Yes, the ones that are $8.99 & ridiculously comfy & you decided to just buy one every week when you got paid and eventually you have all the colors except the pink & the baby blue because you don't wear those colors? Those. Yuppers.) We laughed at one another, and went on our way.

Today, we are wearing the dark red v-neck shirts. hee. I warned her that tomorrow, I'm wearing green, and since I said it first, I had dibs.

Some might say that the two of us are simply two incredibly cheap people who happen to work in the same place & know enough not to give a shit about their appearances in this office. I choose to think of it as being two visionaries who have, by a quaint twist of fate, found one another in the expensive maelstrom that is Los Angeles.

Or, you know, it could just be that Target & Mossimo are making a mint off those damn tshirts. Toss up, really.
----------------

Meanwhile, back at the boathouse...

SpecialK & I got sent out in a double by ourselves on Sat am. Now, while SpecialK was the one that recruited me for the sport, she had to go & get tendonitis in both wrists right after I made it past Learn To Row, so we've only actually rowed together...once, and we'd never sculled together.

We did pretty good for about, oh... a lap & a half. Then we paused at the bottom of the marina near the breakwater so that SpecialK could take a hit off her inhaler (She's a Medical!) and after that, we just...we were so fucked. And not in the happy-fun way that Golden would have requested video of. This has brought us to the conclusion that we've got about a lap & a half quota of being left to our own devices before we should be separated for cracking own up shit up so much that we can't row. Because yeah. That turned out to be a problem.

Then came docking.

So there we were, just the two of us in this double, and just because of our timing in launching, we were just totally out of the traffic pattern - nobody around us the entire row. (Which, considering that towards the end we were making utter idiots of ourselves, was probably a good thing.)

But we get to the top of the marina, and all of a sudden it is effin' Grand Central Station. We see the Master's 8, the coach is talking, they're not moving... Okay, we'll just flip a bitch & cut in front of them to go across to our dock. So I turn the boat, we're horizontal to the traffic in the marina... I look over my shoulder just as we're about to row & go, "Shit, they're going to sprint!" which means us=BRAKES!
Turns out no, they weren't doing a proper sprint, they were just doing a sprint start...and they floated to a stop right in our course. fuck. so we wait for them to get moving again, all the while sitting horizontal in the marina. They leave, we book it across to be able to back in to dock, and suddenly there's a 4 & another 8 coming up, and hey! Look, it's one of our club's quads next to us! Have I mentioned that SpecialK isn't a skilled sculler & I've only bowed a boat where the only person I could potentially kill was me? Yeah, needless to say, this was going great.

So after what was possibly the most spastic steering job I have ever performed (and if you can't tell by the comments Megdalen & I made in the last post, for a New England driver to make that assertion means it was kinda nerve-wracking) SpecialK & I are parallel to the dock, and two of the Weekend Rowers are standing on the dock. The two of us are trying to reach for the dock, but we're like, three inches away from being able to reach it & pull ourselves in. These two are watching us try to grab the dock going, "Oh, you've totally got it!" Uh, no - if I "had it" my ass would already be out of the boat! ;)

We were standing in the boathouse afterwards talking about it & PK comes up & asks us how our row was - which I think may have been because he was in a launch while SpecialK & I were performing our combat landing & wanted to make sure we weren't, you know... high. I explain that once we get past my port lean, SpecialK's separating her hands, & our general tendency to act like idiots, we should be fine... oh, and we'll have to learn to dock. Very important, that last one.

SpecialK suspects that they were trying us out to see if they could race us together. I fear for the results. ;)

6 Comments:

At 9:15 PM, Blogger Galactichero said...

... ahem. What the FUCK are you talking about...!!!

:-)

 
At 8:53 AM, Blogger claris said...

Crew. It's not just a sport, it's an existence!

 
At 5:30 PM, Blogger Galactichero said...

There is only one sport... everything else is just shades of hockey.

You need a glossary, so I can make sense of living vicariously through you... Or make fun of you, depending on what I've had for breakfast that day...

 
At 11:37 PM, Blogger R.S. Monkey said...

Don't bother with the glossary - either you row and get it or you should resolve yourself to the fact that you will never understand the world that is ours!

 
At 11:39 PM, Blogger R.S. Monkey said...

BTW - You guys could've fooled me. I thought you and SpecialK looked very "pro" out there. But what do I know...

 
At 11:59 AM, Blogger claris said...

either you row and get it or you should resolve yourself to the fact that you will never understand the world that is ours!

jeezum, & I thought I was a snotty rower. *snerk*

and SpecialK & I were totally professional, we're a matched set - as of this morning, we're now complete with wrist issues. ::sigh::

 

Post a Comment

<< Home