Hares: Condom Mints & The Fat Boys Athletic Club
Start: Dresden Park – 2279 Dresden Drive, Atlanta GA 30341
Well that was the laziest hash ever. Fantastic!
Driving up Buford Highway on my way to the Hash I drove past Dresden Drive not once, not twice, but three times. Each pass I managed to not see the road until it was too late to turn. With time ticking I ended up trying to cut back up to Dresden from what I hoped was a parallel road but ending up going in completely the opposite direction. My nose did tell me this though and I followed it back around and finally made it to Dresden Park with minutes to spare.
Pulling into the car park I was dismayed to find that it was hopping and there was narry a space to be seen. Hashers were out in force alongside throngs of other park users. I cruised the lot in desperation and rejoiced when I spotted a lone empty space. Glancing around I was the nearest vehicle, oh it was mine, all mine. I pulled up closer and was about to slide on in when I remembered I wasn’t driving Perdie but was in the truck. Oh crap! A reassessment of the space indicated that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. Both cars on either side were parked askew and on the lines. The car park was rather tight and short on room. This, however, appeared to be the only eligible space and so what was a girl to do? I gritted my teeth and decided I was going to scrape into that damn space even if I had to inch my way in.
A little later and a multitude of yawing back and forth and the truck was parked. The several cars who had pulled up behind me excitedly waiting for me to admit defeat were left abject, and bag in hand, I turned myself into liquid and oozed out of the door. Success!
On checking in and eavesdropping on others, I picked up that this was to be a special Hash. The very unathletic dogs and babies in attendance should have been a bit of a clue. This was a joint Hash between Pine Lake and Atlanta and is traditionally the shortest Hash of the year, the hares taking pity on Thanksgiving meal fueled roly poly hashers.
Two trails were laid, one a live trail for the keenies. The other being the Fat Boy Athletic Club trail for the rest of us. Amid the milling hashers I was rather confused by the proceedings and unsure which trail to follow. Looking around I spotted the most handsome hasher and decided to just follow him like a groupie.
I was very pleased to be introduced to Martha’s lovely slobbery Basset who goes by the name of Reuben and was happy to come out to the one and only hash of the year where he had a hound’s chance in hell of making it to the end.
A leisurely stroll followed with flour in full attendance and beer stops aplenty. What’s more, delicious sugary doughnuts (and not so nice pork rinds) were also proffered along the way.
As it was my sixth hash I was overdue a naming and so en route I was pumped for incriminating evidence to be used against me. Some people were lovely to chat to and subtly got their information, while others, *cough* Snot Rag, were absolutely nefarious and just loved to make me squirm and put me on the spot by getting filthy. Whoever I spoke to it did seem that I was unable to open my mouth without it being turned into some sort of innuendo.
Cutting back away from the streets and houses we tore through the undergrowth to get to a swathe of no man’s land guarded by pylons. That was rather pleasant. The sun was shining and it felt like a British summer’s day. Martha didn’t fare so well at this point and ended up having to carry poor Reuben as his little legs are not suited to traversing shiggy.
Actually, other than Martha wanting to rip little innocent Maggie out of her baby stroller so that Reuben could take her spot there really isn’t much to report on today’s Hash. It was all very civilised with no checks, confusion, or lost trail. I’m not even aware of any embarrassing trail moments to report.
Upon reaching the On-Down there was Thanksgiving leftovers aplenty laid out on the table and everyone tucked in, but me. Too much meat and nuts. Martha pointed out a pumpkin pie that she’d made and being assured it was nut free I was able to happily tuck in. Delicious.
Finally it was time and circle was called. Under the watchful eyes of the Grand Mistresses, virgins, first timers, hares, too longs, and general accuseds were called to perform the down downs. Last of all, it was my turn to be called forward to drown my nerd name in the dregs of a 12 oz and to be bestowed with my Hash name.
Many suggestions were bandied around, some lewd, some completely incomprehensible, some topical and involving Plymouth, pilgrims and Thanksgiving, until consensus was finally reached and to the raucous medley Just Kay was renamed Tasty Pie. (Yeah, that lost me too, but hey, at least it’s possible for me to say without turning into a beetroot. I think it was having my first taste of Martha’s delicious Pumpkin Pie that did it.)
Oh, I should also mention that on return to the car park I was confronted by two young Hispanics making out on the bonnet of the car next door. When I came near, got into my driver’s seat and turned the lights on, they were still undeterred. Quite the opposite in fact. Instead they grinned, stared me down and put on quite a show for me. Classy!