I Got Beat Up

This weekend review is coming to you with great pain. You see, I got beat up this weekend. No, not really beat up, but I certainly feel like it. After a weekend of hardcore drinking and ballet dancing in my bedroom, my body is stiff and sore. Here’s a list of things that hurt: chest, stomach, right thigh, right forearm, upper back, lower back, and right thigh (because it hurts that much).

Friday I ended up sticking around the parent’s house till 8:00 watching CSI. I wanted to leave at 6:30 or 7:00 so I could go home and finish the now five-week long process that’s also known as painting my bedroom. So, getting home on Friday at 8:20 meant I wasn’t going to get any work done. Instead I played on the computer on the deck sipping some really cheap vodka which almost made me puke. Good shit.

After eight or so ounces of vodka I made my way up to the bar. It was a pretty dead night but some of my new pool friends were in attendance. The one guy is the nephew of another acquaintance and the other guy is, well, just a little weird. One time when I went to a certain Sunday night hangout I found him playing pool without a shirt on. Every other time I’ve seen him he’s been really touchy feely. Punches to your back, arm around your shoulder, kisses on the cheek, just things that aren’t associated with playing pool (ok, there weren’t any kisses). But I hung out with them till 2:30 when the bar closed and managed to make it home by 2:35 (five minutes to walk 72 steps – I don’t get it either).

Saturday I was woken up by pops at 11:00. I guess I was a little rude on the phone (I don’t remember, still loaded). He called back around 1:30 and said he was on the way over with one of my weight benches. It wasn’t “Do you want me to drop this stuff off” or anything like that, just that he was on his way over. Well, by 1:30 I was eating lunch and halfway through a pitcher of beer. I had to run home, brush my teeth and spray on cologne before pops showed up (because my parents aren’t in the know). He pulled up, we got the bench down the stairs into the basement, and we put some of his mom’s stuff back into his car. Within 30 minutes I was back up at the bar drinking my by then warm pitcher of beer.

What happened next is a little blurry. I know I only had two pitchers at the restaurant. I know I had some vodka on the deck. I know I took a four hour nap. Yes, four hours. The Renter woke me up at 10:00. “Wake up, its 10:00.” “It’s not 10:00, it’s still dark outside.” I thought the Renter was waking me up at 10:00 in the morning. I must have had a lot of vodka on the deck.

So I got up. The Renter hopped in the shower and since I only have one bathroom and I was either too lazy/drunk/tired/just didn’t care, I walked up to the gas station without showering. I bought two packs of cigarettes and crossed the street to the bar. Upon walking in the bar I found that there were absolutely no seats available. I guess there was a wedding or something and all the wedding people hit the bar for karaoke at 9:00. (Ok, wedding reception ending at 9:00 and having karaoke on the agenda on the day of your wedding – odd?) I said hi to the day bartender who I had seen earlier, waved at Mr. Baseball and walked right back out the door.

I went back home and poured myself a vodka lemonade. In an embarrassing moment of boredom/stupidity/drunkenness, I pulled out the ten year old bottle rockets I had sitting in the basement. I still have burn marks on my thumb from lighting them off on the fourth. Anyway, I lit off a couple and the Renter had to come out to see the fun. There we are, both sitting on the deck lighting off bottle rockets when one of my neighbors lights off a big one. “Heeeeyyyy!” Yeah, after yelling “hey” as a way of recognition, two cops come walking across the street with flashlights a blazing. Oh goodness. It’s not that I don’t like cops, I just hate having to change my underwear after every encounter I have with them. Before they even got to the deck I was putting on my pretty (drunk) boy face with a kind “Hello, sir.” “Where are they?” I handed over the twenty or so remaining bottle rockets while he tried to permanently blind me with his flashlight. “You know, there’s a $300 ticket for lighting these things off.” Bottle rockets? $300? “No, sir.” Again with the sir bit. “I’m not going to ticket you today but if we hear of any more going off we’ll certainly be back.” “I won’t be lighting any more off, you have the whole stash.” As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted it. Never say “stash” in front of an officer. Anyway, they left, swept the neighborhood one more time, yelled at me again because I had G Love on the radio just a bit too loud, and they left for good. I went inside and changed my shorts.

Sitting once again on the deck I spotted my billiards mentor leaving work. He said he was going to pick up a friend and then they were going to play pool at a bar out in Waukesha. I asked the Renter if she wanted to go and she agreed. 11:00 we were at the bar.

After sitting by the pool table for half an hour these two girls came in over by the dart board. If you know me, I like to check out women. I check out women with that out-of-the-corner-of-your-eye kind of way. But no, not these girls. These two girls were HOT in the “Holy fuck, check out that ass!” and you actually twist your neck around 180 degrees to see it. I remember actually stopping the pool game in order to admire their actions. And when I say “actions” I mean they knew what they were doing. They were jumping, bending over, doing pretty much whatever they could to attract attention. The one had these tight ass white shorts on that were just, well, perfect. Not the shorts, but the ass they covered. Simply perfect. Good thing I was totally loaded and was seeing two cue balls with one eye closed otherwise I would have been all over that.

Sunday was one of the traditional “watch TV all day” days. Last Sunday I never even set foot outside the house. This Sunday I had people stop by around 6:00 for the weekly Sunday steak dinner. So I ended up watching CSI for six hours and then grilling some meat (still have to learn to take them off sooner). After we ate the steaks we all went over to an establishment that has free pool after 6:00 on Sundays. For some reason I had to pretty much drag my one friend in there about a month ago because he wanted to go someplace else. Someplace else left him counting his quarters at the end of the night making sure he had enough to do laundry the next day. Now he’s all for the free pool. As soon as I walked in the door I saw her – the new bartender. Well, I should say new as I have never seen her before but then again I only go to this place on Sundays. But damn… she was fucking cute. I’m going to guess that she was 22 or 23, Hispanic of some nature, and so fucking cute it made you want to pull out $500 and ask her for some tender loving sex. Actually, I wouldn’t advise you to do that as you might either get slapped, fucked and $500 poorer, or arrested, so keep the money (and your penis) in your pants. But seriously, damn cute. Upon further inspection I found that her ass was a little wide and that she may or may not have had a kid or two (you know how those horny Hispanics are), and just like with the one in the white shorts, I admired in a not so subtle manner. I was sitting right in front of where she did dishes and got the whole cleavage/boob jiggling show when she cleaned glasses. Even though the seat was kind of close to the grill and it wasn’t exactly cool in the building, I was in heaven. Dangle some 22 yr-old boobs in front of me and I’m as happy as, well, just pretty damn happy.