Update #3 of many
Jul. 8th, 2002 05:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mousmeBefore launching into the events of Saturday, I will take a moment to answer a question which may or may not be nagging some of my beloved readers:
Why haven't I backdated all my entries instead of writing them all on the same day? Well, dear friends and random other readers, it's because backdating means that the entries wouldn't appear on friends pages. There's your answer. :)
We were roused unceremoniously on Saturday morning by Marc's singularly obnoxious "paintball" music CD which he'd compiled to get himself all riled up.
In the light of day I got a better look at Fearsclave's shack, which is absolutely charming, if rustic to a fault. It lists in just about evey direction possible, and the floors have a will of their own, inclining every which way and creaking amicably as you try to tiptoe by sleeping people. The lighting is very cosy inside, and breathtaking in the morning outside, with the pale sun's rays drifting silently through the mist and dissolving among the evergreens.
The living room was humming with activity by the time I'd gotten dressed and was ready to face the world. We abluted cursorily and trooped out like a murder of snazzily-dressed crows, and stumbled around joking and taking pictures.
Mike, too excited to stand still as usual, wandered off by Anthony's car and began chucking rocks at the nearby trees. None of us realised what he was up to until we heard a sickening crack! and an "Oh, shit!" from behind us. Turns out rocks bounce really far off trees, and Mike had cracked Anthony's windshield in a neat pattern of concentric circles on the passenger side. Needless to say, Anthony was unthrilled.
We piled into our respective vehicles, Mike berating himself loudly the entire way and the rest of us either gently mocking or remaining silent as befitted the moment.
We arrived outside the McDonald's in Rawdon before it opened, and so took scads of photographs of us looking badass in black. We traumatised the poor girl opening up the restaurant, tried to coax her into one of the frames, rather unsuccessfully, then barged loudly into the deserted fast food joint and proceeded to take over. Two other paintballers arrived soon after us, but we looked so studly and uberl33t that they didn't even try to approach us. ;)
Nourishment (and I use the term very loosely) was procured, I lowered the blood levels in my caffeine stream considerably, and then we were off again to Bigfoot.
The place was nothing like I'd expected it to be. First off, it wasn't as open as I thought it would be, which I understood later as I got more into the mindspace necessary to play paintball.
Rule #1: Move a lot
Rule #2: Use a lot of cover
Rule #3: Use a lot of paint
We descended upon the paintball people like a swarm of black-clothed locusts, signed our release forms, donned miscellaneous gear, acquired more miscellaneous gear, and took more photos. I got two plastic chest protectors for myself and April, which were more of a nuisance than anything else, and were so stiff that I couldn't look down to see my feet because it blocked my mask.
We were on the "Russian" team, with a general who had the administrative skills of a steamed mollusc and the charisma of pond scum, and an IQ that might have been rivalled by a tent caterpillar with a learning disability.
We still had fun. I got shot repeatedly (four times in the morning), we ran around howling like maniacs, skulked through the underbrush, got soaked with sweat and mud and pink and purple paint. I got water in my boots, sand in my eyes, and I relinquished my glasses after about forty minutes of play as they were all grimy and making it even harde to see than if I didn't have them on at all, which is saying a lot.
I shot people, I got shot, threw myself behind cover, nearly fell in several streams, ran about and stormed hills and fortresses and strongholds, and basically had a blast.
Toward the end of the first "war" I borrowed Fearsclave's cadpat (I think that's how it's spelled, but don't quote me) camouflage netting and went to lurk in the bushes. People literally tripped over me, had no idea that I was there. I was the lurking sniper o' death. I think I also scored the Most Amusing Moment prize:
As I was lurking, a boy about my age ran up and hit the dirt beside me. After the usual start people would give when they realised I was there, he looked at me in a puzzled manner, as my armbands were hidden by the netting.
"Are you a green?"
"No. Freeze!" me, pointing my marker in the general direction of his midriff at point blank range.
At which point he developed an "Oh, fuck." expression which was most satisfying.
Lunch was nondescript but eminently edible, and we took more photos and did more plotting with our inept general. We nearly won the prize for best-dressed team, but got beaten out because the French guys couldn't pronounce "Project Mayhem" and people were puzzled.
We spent the first half of the second war holding a fortress. It was super boring because no one tried to take it for us. Of course, the one time we *were* infiltrated I couldn't do anything because a ref called me aside for a paint check. Grr.
Then we went and stormed the blue stronghold, I got shot all to hell, shot some other people before that, and basically had a blast.
We took more pictures, stripped off the msicellaneous gear, compared bruises and welts and cuts and scrapes. Took more photos. Mike kicked me in the shoulder trying to knock me over, which didn't work.
We all agreed that the highlights of the game involved the radios and the duct tape. ;)
Only bad point of the day was Poms, who hadn't slept at all the night before, and was so exhausted by then he could barely stand up, and finally he just fell apart. Sat down hear one of the cars and sobbed because he was so tired and overwrought. Makes me worry about this whole relationship thing. I mean, it bodes ill when my SO is more high-strung than I am. After all, I'm on significantly high doses of anti-anxiety pills (and antidepressants too) to keep me under control, and I don't see myself keeping Poms glued together when I'm coming apart at the seams. Oh well. It's a minor concern right now.
We stopped over at an IGA on the way back to buy further vittles, involving mostly barbecuable stuff and drinkage, and some booze, of which I didn't partake. Bonded a bit with April, whom I hadn't seen much all day due to excessive running about. We were all exhausted and grimy and sweaty and full of cammo paint and mud and other paint, and I think we traumatised the locals.
Went for a delicious swim in the lake back at El Shack. Enjoyed the catfish nibbling at my toes, mocked the others for being too wussy to jump in all at once. I love swimming in lakes. It's like disappearing into folds of velvet.
Eventually, though, it got too cold to stay in the water and I emerged, changed, and came out in time to wolf down two hamburgers and two hot dogs and some of that really good potato salad Poms brought.
Fearsclave taught a preliminary lesson in casting by standing on the edge of the lake and casting into it for a while, as the fish were feeling very frisky indeed. I gave it a couple of tries myself, sans hook and bait. Sadly for Fearsclave the fish apparently were feeding on the surface and weren't in the mood for worms, so we retired into the cabin.
I crashed soon afterwards (it was about 9:30). The others stayed up a bit later than I did —I could hear them talking long after I was in bed with the lights out— but by 11pm we were all out like lights.
Why haven't I backdated all my entries instead of writing them all on the same day? Well, dear friends and random other readers, it's because backdating means that the entries wouldn't appear on friends pages. There's your answer. :)
We were roused unceremoniously on Saturday morning by Marc's singularly obnoxious "paintball" music CD which he'd compiled to get himself all riled up.
In the light of day I got a better look at Fearsclave's shack, which is absolutely charming, if rustic to a fault. It lists in just about evey direction possible, and the floors have a will of their own, inclining every which way and creaking amicably as you try to tiptoe by sleeping people. The lighting is very cosy inside, and breathtaking in the morning outside, with the pale sun's rays drifting silently through the mist and dissolving among the evergreens.
The living room was humming with activity by the time I'd gotten dressed and was ready to face the world. We abluted cursorily and trooped out like a murder of snazzily-dressed crows, and stumbled around joking and taking pictures.
Mike, too excited to stand still as usual, wandered off by Anthony's car and began chucking rocks at the nearby trees. None of us realised what he was up to until we heard a sickening crack! and an "Oh, shit!" from behind us. Turns out rocks bounce really far off trees, and Mike had cracked Anthony's windshield in a neat pattern of concentric circles on the passenger side. Needless to say, Anthony was unthrilled.
We piled into our respective vehicles, Mike berating himself loudly the entire way and the rest of us either gently mocking or remaining silent as befitted the moment.
We arrived outside the McDonald's in Rawdon before it opened, and so took scads of photographs of us looking badass in black. We traumatised the poor girl opening up the restaurant, tried to coax her into one of the frames, rather unsuccessfully, then barged loudly into the deserted fast food joint and proceeded to take over. Two other paintballers arrived soon after us, but we looked so studly and uberl33t that they didn't even try to approach us. ;)
Nourishment (and I use the term very loosely) was procured, I lowered the blood levels in my caffeine stream considerably, and then we were off again to Bigfoot.
The place was nothing like I'd expected it to be. First off, it wasn't as open as I thought it would be, which I understood later as I got more into the mindspace necessary to play paintball.
Rule #1: Move a lot
Rule #2: Use a lot of cover
Rule #3: Use a lot of paint
We descended upon the paintball people like a swarm of black-clothed locusts, signed our release forms, donned miscellaneous gear, acquired more miscellaneous gear, and took more photos. I got two plastic chest protectors for myself and April, which were more of a nuisance than anything else, and were so stiff that I couldn't look down to see my feet because it blocked my mask.
We were on the "Russian" team, with a general who had the administrative skills of a steamed mollusc and the charisma of pond scum, and an IQ that might have been rivalled by a tent caterpillar with a learning disability.
We still had fun. I got shot repeatedly (four times in the morning), we ran around howling like maniacs, skulked through the underbrush, got soaked with sweat and mud and pink and purple paint. I got water in my boots, sand in my eyes, and I relinquished my glasses after about forty minutes of play as they were all grimy and making it even harde to see than if I didn't have them on at all, which is saying a lot.
I shot people, I got shot, threw myself behind cover, nearly fell in several streams, ran about and stormed hills and fortresses and strongholds, and basically had a blast.
Toward the end of the first "war" I borrowed Fearsclave's cadpat (I think that's how it's spelled, but don't quote me) camouflage netting and went to lurk in the bushes. People literally tripped over me, had no idea that I was there. I was the lurking sniper o' death. I think I also scored the Most Amusing Moment prize:
As I was lurking, a boy about my age ran up and hit the dirt beside me. After the usual start people would give when they realised I was there, he looked at me in a puzzled manner, as my armbands were hidden by the netting.
"Are you a green?"
"No. Freeze!" me, pointing my marker in the general direction of his midriff at point blank range.
At which point he developed an "Oh, fuck." expression which was most satisfying.
Lunch was nondescript but eminently edible, and we took more photos and did more plotting with our inept general. We nearly won the prize for best-dressed team, but got beaten out because the French guys couldn't pronounce "Project Mayhem" and people were puzzled.
We spent the first half of the second war holding a fortress. It was super boring because no one tried to take it for us. Of course, the one time we *were* infiltrated I couldn't do anything because a ref called me aside for a paint check. Grr.
Then we went and stormed the blue stronghold, I got shot all to hell, shot some other people before that, and basically had a blast.
We took more pictures, stripped off the msicellaneous gear, compared bruises and welts and cuts and scrapes. Took more photos. Mike kicked me in the shoulder trying to knock me over, which didn't work.
We all agreed that the highlights of the game involved the radios and the duct tape. ;)
Only bad point of the day was Poms, who hadn't slept at all the night before, and was so exhausted by then he could barely stand up, and finally he just fell apart. Sat down hear one of the cars and sobbed because he was so tired and overwrought. Makes me worry about this whole relationship thing. I mean, it bodes ill when my SO is more high-strung than I am. After all, I'm on significantly high doses of anti-anxiety pills (and antidepressants too) to keep me under control, and I don't see myself keeping Poms glued together when I'm coming apart at the seams. Oh well. It's a minor concern right now.
We stopped over at an IGA on the way back to buy further vittles, involving mostly barbecuable stuff and drinkage, and some booze, of which I didn't partake. Bonded a bit with April, whom I hadn't seen much all day due to excessive running about. We were all exhausted and grimy and sweaty and full of cammo paint and mud and other paint, and I think we traumatised the locals.
Went for a delicious swim in the lake back at El Shack. Enjoyed the catfish nibbling at my toes, mocked the others for being too wussy to jump in all at once. I love swimming in lakes. It's like disappearing into folds of velvet.
Eventually, though, it got too cold to stay in the water and I emerged, changed, and came out in time to wolf down two hamburgers and two hot dogs and some of that really good potato salad Poms brought.
Fearsclave taught a preliminary lesson in casting by standing on the edge of the lake and casting into it for a while, as the fish were feeling very frisky indeed. I gave it a couple of tries myself, sans hook and bait. Sadly for Fearsclave the fish apparently were feeding on the surface and weren't in the mood for worms, so we retired into the cabin.
I crashed soon afterwards (it was about 9:30). The others stayed up a bit later than I did —I could hear them talking long after I was in bed with the lights out— but by 11pm we were all out like lights.
