Date: January 8, 2006
Start: 180th Street and Broadway
Hares: Pussy Repellent and Lauren
The Do’s and Don’ts when your Boyfriend
sets trail with Another Woman
Do: Pretend you’re cool with it.
Don’t: Have a nuclear melt down the week before while drunk at the on-in and make a scene.
Do: Believe him when he says they’re “just friends.”
Don’t: Have recurring dreams that they are hooking up while setting trail.
Do: Convince yourself she’s hooking up with another hasher (preferably, a JM).
Don’t: Follow him to the start and shadow them while they’re setting trail.
Do: Refer him to Write-up #1065 (the Hash Dating Agreement, which you drafted) and remind
him who the Resident Hasher is and who the Newbie is.
Don’t: Dump him the night before he sets trail so that on Sunday, “technically”, he is single.
Do: Tell him you trust him.
Don’t: Insult the size of his genitalia by using the international sign for Gherkin in a public place.
Do: Let him have fun, set trail, get drunk, take him home, screw his brains out and tell him
he’s the best lay EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It didn’t look good.
1:00PM text message from Pussy Repellant read: TRAINS R RUNNING V. SLOW. LEAVE PLNTY OF TIME. CHANGE TRAINS @ 168. This resulted in my calling Mean Jean to send out an APB to the hash through yahoogroups telling them to leave plenty of time to get up to 181st.
A “P” trail was required from the subway stop to the pre-lube at Reynolds on 180th and B’way. How can you get lost from a subway exit on 181st on your way to 180th? Pretty easily, judging by the way Carla started heading north and west as we exited the train.
Hares bragging at the start that they had run/set the trail twice, just to make sure. This lead Peter to roll his eyes towards the heavens and declare that that r*n was going to suck. “That’s not good,” he said.
Promises of a beer check and plenty of back checks. Uh-oh. Too complicated. Don’t they know the old adage K.I.S.S.? (Keep It Simple Stupid!).
I’m not going to lie to you. I have no idea where we went, but it was a good trail. And, as much as I hate to admit it, Lauren (as a virgin hare) was obviously in “good hands”. The trail was well marked, there were enough checks to keep the FRB’s at bay and there was an in-door beer check at Patrick’s (in Booty Call’s honor). My favorite bit was running through Fort Tryon Park. Great views! Of course, I thought it was Fort Tyrone Park, which lead HUA to make fun of me.
The beer at the on-in was a bit skunky. The locals were very amused at our r*nning to a bar and the music was crap! But, the home made tortilla’s and the chicken fajitas were yummy and plentiful.
What can I say about the down-downs? Not much. The hares. A virgin and a visitor (Three Penises from Boston). Peter told an embarrassingly stupid story about how cold his nuts were (it was 45 degrees BTW). How cold were they? Well, they were SO COLD, that he couldn’t find his “thing” when he went to pee after the run. He said something else about gloves. So, when called up, he pulled pair of gloves out of his pants. (Hmmmmm: Think he know the down-down was cumming????}. Another woman got a down-down for being so anal as to wear an emergency contact information tag off of her r*nning shoe. We think it read: “If found drunk and passed out, please return to Peter." Geoff almost killed himself on trail. Looks like he’s been spending too much time in the UK because he looked right while dashing across a wide street and almost got flattened by an SUV. Jumpin’ Jack Gash was heard exclaiming: “It’s OK, Geoff’s lived a long life.” Tim got a down-down for premature pack-markulation (a call of “on one!” and he’s down on his knees scribbling an arrow in the wrong direction). Denise took a blind lady out and knocked over her grocery bag, so she missed the start and carried her bag all over Washington Heights. AOW went to Lesley. She and Peter ran the NYRR race in the morning “together”, but a la Yello Smello spirit, at the last second, she burst ahead of Peter and “beat” him. What a racist.
More beer. More food – even Lunch couldn’t finish it. And then the bar tenders moved the pool table aside so we could dance. BIG mistake. Speaking of big, there were a lot of BIG ladies at that bar. Chad couldn’t even squeeze between them to the juke box, so we were left with the likes of ABBA and Diana Ross. Of course, that didn’t stop myself, Mean Jean, Wet Connection and Lesley from humiliating ourselves. And the beat goes on, the beat goes on, the beat goes on . . . .
Oh, and by the way, there’s one more Don’t:
Ever let him do it again!