Monday, April 5, 2010

The Virgin goes looking for trouble

#35 Never Have I Ever: Hunted for Easter eggs

Foreplay: I am neither of the following: religious, overly competitive, under the age of 10. So there would really be no reason for me to celebrate Easter.

To be honest, I hate competing. I'm either belligerently cutthroat or apathetically uncombative, neither of which has ever helped me win anything athletic. Basically, I shouldn't participate in a competition that involves anything physical cause it can get ugly.

The Down and Dirty: Hermosa invited me to an Easter egg hunt on Sunday -- "Survivor style," he added.

In the Survivor style hunt, a few less number of eggs than hunters are hidden. Those who don't find one are out. The losers, bitter and vindictive now, then hide a lesser number of eggs in the next round for the survivors. This continues until there is only one winner.

We gathered at a nearby park and 14 of us lined up, taking our marks. The hiders stashed away 12 eggs and at the shout of "Go!" we were all sprinting up the hill in a desperate search. I'm sure it was a sight to see: over a dozen people -- who are clearly adults -- making a mad dash to find Easter eggs.

In the first round, I can't say I was very motivated. I mean, I looked for eggs but I wasn't hunting them. But alas, just as I resigned myself to being out, I stumbled across one. Huzzah!

The sheer glee of not losing completely took over. And this is what I mean when I say I shouldn't compete. Because, dude, it was on now.

During the next few rounds, I was described by Hermosa as being one of the first sprinters out of the group -- this is while wearing my highly inappropriate pointy-toed kitten heels. I hurdled over a couple dogs; I threw myself into arachnid-adorned bushes; at one point I raced with another girl to clamber up a chain-linked fence to grab the last egg teetering at the top.

It was finally down to 7 of us in search of 4 eggs. Suddenly, there was only one egg left out there. I had been burying myself in a mysteriously sticky (ew) bush for 10 minutes, positive that the egg was in there somewhere when another player on the other side of the foliage screamed in victory -- blast! And so ended my mid-game winning streak.

However, the fun was just beginning -- I started hiding the eggs back at the house. A normal person would hide it somewhere like a bush or in the tomato planters. But when you get 3 vindictive girls together who just lost the last round to 4 guys, we get a little creative... like, oh say... in the gated gutter 2 feet below the ground or in a large bag of oysters and ice.

The Afterglow: I think I had more fun hiding the eggs and watching people scrambling to find them like crack-addicted dogs sniffing out their next fix than being a druggie dog myself.

I guess I can compete without throwing elbows or rolling my eyes. But hey, when it involves zombie Jesus eggs, it comes down to the good, the bad, and the ugly.

No comments:

Post a Comment