Yes, We Are Crazy.

The Tomato Battle in Seattle, 2011. If it weren't for bad influences (my cousin Julie and GROUPON), we never would have done it. But heck, it was going to be on the day before Sean's birthday, and Julie had fun, so why not? I sent out an email to our friends and got a resounding, "ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDIN' ME???" So Sean and I did it alone. With about 500 strangers.

Before the festivities, we took part in the Beer Garden. The event was held at the Pyramid Brewery (actually in a parking lot in back of the brewery), right by Safeco Field in Seattle. The people watching was great, and the spelling was bad. Really bad. Tomatoe, tomatos. Who really cares, anyway?


There was some eye-candy. The gladiator was generous enough to wear just enough clothing to please the women-folk, but not so little clothing to turn them off (no pictures of the several Speedo-Men, you're welcome).

There was also lots of eye-candy for the men, specifically two "silver clad women" whose bikini bottoms were about as big as a hair band. No pictures of those ladies, but judging from the flurry of phones that were taking pictures, and strained neck muscles of many, many people, I'm SURE you could find some pictures or video online. Just look for "Tall Blond Silver Tomato Battle Seattle." You're bound to get a few hits (make sure the kids are out of the room).

Sean and I ran into his old college roommate, Dan, and his wife Leslie. Haven't seen them since their wedding 13 years ago, and lost touch with Christmas cards even. But heck, in a situation like this, when we saw them, it was like running into our best friends.

Soon it was time to go to the tomatoes. There were two dump trucks worth of "not for consumption" roma tomatoes. Some green, some discolored, all somewhat smelly, but not much mold. The two piles didn't look like much. But the website said 30,ooo pounds of tomatoes, and Sean guesses there were about 500-600 people there. So that'd be about 50 pounds of tomatoes per person, and I estimate about three tomatoes per pound. One hundred fifty tomatoes can keep a person busy for a while.

Melinda, Tomato Warrior.

I thought I was ready to go.

I thought I was ready to fling tomatoes with wild abandon (I was wrong). We got into position, and watched the staff organizers try, pathetically, to keep the crowd under control for the twenty more minutes that needed to pass before we were supposed to start. We saw people picking up a tomato, juggling it, planning their first few "hits." Maybe we did a little of that ourselves. But the staff was saying, no, no, no, not yet.

We put on our goggles (swim goggles gave just as much clarity and visibility as a phone camera in a Ziploc bag), we got into postion right up next to the tomatoes.

At a certain point, the crowd said "screw the staff," and let 'em fly.

There was a minute or so at the start that I had thoughts of how stupid it would be if I got trampled to death in a pile of tomatoes. Seriously. I was knocked down to my knees, it was slimy, and people were EXCITED. I fought my way back up to my feet and stood tall--this meant getting quite a few hits on my chest, neck, face. But I was gonna live! Sh*t. ....strong...quads...must...stand...up...must...move...out...of...crowd...

I got out of the middle after a minute or so, and found my happiness along the outskirts. Picking up the ramdom tomatoes that made it to the edges, and flinging tomatoes from there, with really bad aim. Much more fun than possible trampling in rotting tomatoes.

And all that slime felt kinda good. Sean got a few comments on his jersey--but he was making a statement; the Seahawks are rotten tomatoes this year...and thankfully, all the clothes washed up fine after two loads.

Who needs a spa day? All those anti-oxidants...

Fun time had by all...or at least us. Would I do it again? Maybe...with changes. It'd be more fun with friends, and I'd never get anywhere close to the front line. Maybe next time I'd do snow angels in the sauce.