Yeah, when I told the beasties at Favourite Bar I was leaving them to play poker, I heard that old line about forty times. Apparently, it never gets old.
Here are my boys, my Elks, they who have kept me going, lo these many years. By the end of this post, you'll no longer wonder why your ol' AntiM is the maladjusted fuzz brain she is.
On the other hand, I'd just left a sort of tense vibe (for me. Remember -- I'm the whacked, obsessive one) with The Boy at Favourite Bar and was in a kinda fuckyouworld mood, and I pulled up to Matt's and my cell phone rang and it was my best boys (that would be the Elks -- no relation, by the way**) calling to say, "Marin, there's a whole room full of guys here wondering where you are."
Tell me that won't warm even the grinchiest of hearts.
[SUMMARY: I can't even have a quick beer before poker without making a soap opera shitstorm out of it, yet there are real Elk boys who love me and want to play poker with me.]
This is the black table, which is actually blue because Braden's sheets (Braden is Matt's son) made it so. It took about three minutes for someone to put a cigar burn in the poor kid's sheets.
Justice, Robinson, Mick-behind-Eric and Eric
I took a lot of action shots because I try to avoid the flash (flash tends to piss people off). Some of them are kind of fun. Note how Matt's beer fairly flies to his face in this one and Jack's middle finger trembles with misplaced outrage.
Jesse, Matt, Jack
All flash, no action, at the red table.
I do believe Jesse may be scolding me (note the action!) and Matt may be drinking beer. Mostly I'm playing the odds here.
Jesse, Matt (with pants, by the way. Don't worry, that'll make slightly more sense after the footnotes)
Robinson, as you see, is not drinking beer. Robinson's action shot is all about him singing and chairdancing along with Madonna (Dress You Up, if you were wondering).
Robinson, tough on crime
I think cameras were banned over an incident involving Mad Dog 20/20, some skank ho and a wife who got her 50%. We don't do those things anymore (well, at least not so much the skank ho part), so I figure the camera thing is safe.
I doubt Robinson's wife is going to get all divorcey on his ass because he danced to Madonna. It's disturbing, sure, but not legally actionable.
I spent most of the night reminding them that I had SEX the night before (yep. Let my inner child loose and it seems all she wants to do is play doctor). Lots. And had the handprints on my boobs to back it up. I just like to see the looks on their faces when I say ever-so-slightly over-the-top stuff like that.
Line of the night (caveat and disclaimer: this is for the sake of the guys, who will come to see this blog thinking there will be details of my sexcapades even more graphic than what I presented around the poker table [and to that I have to say, "What? The part where I had to bleach my sheets wasn't enough?"] and will be sorely disappointed to find there's a lot of actual knitting and won't get the whole Boy thing and will probably appreciate this brief moment to look back fondly on a moment that made us all snork beer into our sinuses):
[Sorry, knittas. Avert your eyes if you must.]
"If he blew me better, I wouldn't have to beat him so hard."
[SUMMARY: My goodness I'm depraved.]
Until then, though, this weekend's motto: "I drink. I fuck. I knit."
That's it, that's the list.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): It all starts with "My name is Matt Cook and, as usual, I am wearing no pants," but it's a story for a different day.