Safe haven

Last night, I went out with the friends. (For a Saturday night, this was big for me. I was voluntarily giving up Trading Spaces with no possibility of booty in return.) We headed to Davis Square for the always amazing Mexican at Picante and then we trooped over to the mysterious and wondrous island that is the Sacco Bowl-Haven. I don't know if it's that this place hasn't changed since 1952, but we always have the best and weirdest time there.

I don't like candlepin bowling myself -- I was raised in Ohio, where not only have we never heard of candlepin bowling, but we take gym classes in regular bowling. Said gym class is what gives me my amazing form, because I must admit this to you, gentle readers: I suck at bowling. But I love to go anyway. It's just so ridiculous, it's fun. Amazingly enough, I suck at candlepin even more than I do regular bowling. Which is why when the horde of locusts (aka Tufts' freshmen) arrived at the Bowl Haven, I no longer felt like Sacco had my back. They were everywhere and suddenly I was overly conscious not only of how bad a bowler I am, but also of how incredibly old I am. We quickly finished our game (during which one of the aforementioned freshmen managed to pitch his ball across his lane and into mine. He didn't even have the decency to hit a pin while doing so) and then made for the hills. I think we old people will have to hit the haven a little earlier in the evening from now on.