"He's not my boyfriend."

Friday night I rekindled something. Something I hadn't done in years. Something I used to really enjoy. I even had someone teach me how to properly execute it. I remember that time in my life fondly.

I played pool.

I have my buddy over at My exciting hell I call life to thank for it. Thank you!!

I really suck at pool. I still have fun, though. I like to think of it as practice.

But that wasn't all the evening's entertainment had in store for us. Enter Drunk Steve.

This older guy approaches. He has the look of an old hippie. Most of my friends look like that. However, this guy was a professional drunk. You could just tell there have been long-term effects from drinking. Like memory loss.
Anyway, he walks up to me to ask if my 'boyfriend' went to go get more quarters. There were many ways I could have answered this. But, out of habit, I answered the most direct question. The one about the quarters. I told him that was exactly what he was doing.
Space of about 3 heartbeats...
"But he's not my boyfriend."
I had to actually remember to correct that part of his question. I mean, he was really just asking about the quarters, and I had already answered that.
Enter said 'boyfriend'. :D
He slides up to me, puts his arm around me, trying to effectively do a cock block. I just laughed. As if I needed his help against an old drunk guy. Ah, it was all in fun. (He kept his cock block to himself when I was talking with a pretty boy. *sigh* So nice to look at... )
Drunk Steve has an idea. He really just needs to hold a pool cue (his words). He was hoping we would be willing to play a 3-man game of Cut-throat. I had never played. 'Boyfriend' was really hoping I would say no. I did not oblige. Sorry! I thought it would be fun to learn a new game. Since neither of us knew the rules, Steve had to explain them. You each get 5 balls. You have to protect your balls, and knock the other ones in. The person left with balls on the table wins.

I don't think I could ever ever ever forget these rules. Steve was SO diligent in explaining them. As in, he would wait about 5 seconds, and tell us again how to play. It didn't matter whose turn it was. Steve was there to save the day by continuing to tell us how to play the game we were currently playing. He also had a repeated suggestion that we could team up on him. I repeatedly told him that wouldn't do any good, since I couldn't sink any balls.
He sprinkled his 'conversation' with a few priceless gems.
"My dad forced this game on me."
My dad didn't teach me how to play."
My favorite needs a little background. When he was first explaining the game, before we agreed to play, we had a little exchange.
"You need to protect your balls."
I quipped, "It's good to protect your balls."
"Yes, it is."
And then the gem:
"You have balls too. They're just up inside you." (He was dead serious.)
I considered being speechless, but I really don't enjoy being in that position.
I raised an eyebrow, looked at him with a deadpan expression, "Oh, I know I have balls."
My buddy was enjoying this. Of course, he's used to me, so he wasn't surprised in the least.
Anyway, we finish up the game. Drunk Steve won. I'll bet he would seriously kick ass at pool if he was sober.
After all that, we decided to go back to V's place and watch a B movie. A Kung Fu B movie. I suggested we practice the moves in his living room. We each had a Satan's Snack Bar in the car. Oh, sweet unholy bliss!!

Kung Fu movie was great, but it was a good thing I was the only one doing moves. I would have gotten my ass kicked! I was standing on the couch, making fun of the movie, filling in lines, 'finding the balance', and, of course, I leaped off the couch.
It was a good time, even if he warned me about disturbing his neighbors. Pshaw! The neighbors can take it.

~Do not expand~