When I see you it makes me wanna take my clothes off… but tonight I have to lay my linoleum…

Uh huh.. That was my ‘date’. I embellished the first part - but the second part (hey, it’s Ok) is true. She moved into the basement apartment of a house - and she pretty much volunteered to fix it up - and I don’t know if there’s something deducted off the rent…. When I called (roughly three hours before date time) she was flustered - I could tell.. And said she had furniture allover.. And she was just getting ready to make the big cut on the linoleum in the kitchen. When I see you it makes me wanna take my clothes off… but tonight I have to lay my linoleum… Again, tis cool. I’d rather find out early than to waste either of our’s time.

So….. I drove straight to the party (for my two closest buds at work - the bastards are departing me.)… People from work who you didn’t think drink liquor, drank liquor. People, who you look at and say “no way can this person dance” - danced like hell. A good time was had by all. Somewhere along the way boobs were exposed. Makes sense to me. We’re losing two of our coworkers, so here, here’s my tits. Hehe.

Pool. They had three pool tables. Me and another old dude were challenged by two whippersnapping co-workers. They talked trash for thirty minutes straight and never won a game. During this thirty minute period - a steady stream of “Hi, I’m trying to look like I play professional pool on ESPN” walked in. Probably twenty of ‘em, each toting their pool cues in cases. They sat, ALL facing us, staring.

After we’d womped up on the young punks the third or fourth time, onea the ESPN pro pool players walked up to us and said “ya wanna get in an 8-ball tournament?”.. Hmmm.. They all stared at us - as if they were caged animals at the zoo awaiting the zookeep to tossa fish at ‘em.

Eh, what the hell… I hadn’t played great - but I hadn’t played bad.. I was completely sober and didn’t plan on drinking. (WHAT? VICTOR? IS THIS YOU? ARE YOU SICK?).. Actually, I woke up with a head cold.. Even laid in my car and slept at work after popping an assortment of sinus/aspirin/ibuprofen junk…

“It’s 5 bucks, double elimination.” Ok, my name is Vic, I’m in. So the bastard puts my name on the board as Vick. Ah what the hell..

The caged animals are now limbering up (honest) and they’ve screwed their 2-piece cues together - and awaited their first guppy to dominate. I waited and I waited and I waited for them to call my name. Games happened. No “Vic, you’re up.”

Now the nerves are frayed - I’ve seen some good players - and my hopes of winning a game or two had now come to “geez, I hope I at least get a couplea shots.”

Finally - “Vic, you’ve got the next game against LJ.” LJ emerges from the ESPN Pro Pool Player Zone - introduces himself as Larry.. He’s 50-ish, with arm tatoos, cig hangin’ outta his mouth, had the Brillcream combed kinda back kinda sideways thing goin’ on - and picture perfect of what you’d think of when you think of “A pool hall guy.’

He breaks - surprisingly doesn’t make anything. We alternate shots - again - and again - I look down, hell I’ve only got two balls left to his five. I made a tremendously lucky shot that I called (you haveta call which ball you’re trying to knock in, and you must designate which pocket it’s to go in.) I was setup easy for the 8-ball, made it, and by golly I’d won. I extended my arm to shake the hand of LJ Larry the ESPN Pro Pool Player Pool Hall Guy - and instead he grabbed the rack and said “now we play another.” Shit.

I probably couldn’t beat this guy again ever in my life - and now I find I gotta beat him two outta three to advance to the winner’s round… I held my own - but LJ got me in the 2nd game.. I scratched at an integral point in the final game - setting him up easily to knock in the final balls. Dammit, I lost - but just winning one game against the “I screw my pool cue together”s, felt good.

So I go to the loser’s bracket. Back to the party - which was adjacent to the pool tables. More boobies, cameras flashin’ allover. Hugs to the ones departing, toasts - and - we talked and talked about everyone that didn’t attend.

“Vic you got the next game.” I was playing “The lawyer guy.” The Lawyer Guy was from our party - attending on the arm of onea my coworkers. It’s like Sienfeld where I work. Ya name people. There’s “The Church Lady”, “Steven Segal” and “Chia Pet” to name a few. Oh, and I'm "Old guy" I found out. A frienda Kendra's was introduced to me - and she said, "Oh, you're 'old guy'" I hate Kendra's guts. If you ain’t asleep by now and you’re wondering, huh? Chia Pet? Yeah.. Onea the owners, very bald on top, had onea those thingies where they take hair/follicle from a lower point on his head and transplant it on top of his head, thus Chia. I’m sure it will look good one day, but right now there’s a very obvious straight line all around the basea his head where the transplants were taken from.

Lawyer Guy and I play it close… I get two easy shots when I’m down to one ball and the 8-ball - and advance in the Loser’s bracket.

More boobs, watching the dancers, catching an inning of the Royals… an old boss is by now slobbering drunk telling me how much he thinks of me.. And whilst it’s appreciated… When you’re slobbering drunk, you love everyone. The appreciation of your fellow coworkers all get prettier at closin’ time.

“Vic, you’ll be playing Marcie next.” Now, last I remember, Marcie is a chick name. There were a couplea chicks in the ESPN Pro Pool Player Group that walked in - and Marcie happened to be among them.

She smiled - what seemed genuine, but I could tell somehow just how she extended her arm too GD straight “beware of this woman.”

Now I’m really nervous. I’m playing on the table right next to my co-workers, and I could actually lose to A GIRL.

Trying to make lighta the matter… Marcie had on a pretty lowcut top. I walked to Lawyer Guy’s date (my friend) and said “Ya know, if you play against a gal that’s wearing a lowcut top and you lose, you really win.” Somehow that relaxed me - and I actually made a few balls.

After I’d made like the 4th one Marcie asks “did you call that shot?” It was the most obvious shot on the table. The ball was right infronta the hole. The cue ball was setup perfectly some 18 inches back..There were no other balls within two feet of the view of that. Which, to me, in pool etiquette translates to “why you fucking bitch.” It happened twice - she asked me that twice. Each and every time I shot I pointed the cue at the very obvious ball I was trying to hit, and then the hole I was trying to put it in. Enough. Apparently not for her though. She got my gourd. I don’t know if it was a ploy - but it worked cause I was thinking to myself “no way in hell I wanna lose to this bitch.” My heart was pumping very rapidly, it affected my play (not to the good) - but, I somehow managed to get down to the 8-ball.. And I smiled at Marcie, pointed (and verbalized) “8-ball in the corner pocket.” Lo and behold the 8-ball went in the corner pocket.

I wish that were the end of the story - and that somehow I’d met the love of my life at the party and we went home happily ever after, doinking daily until the day we peed our pants and forgot our names - but…………………..

The cue ball happily followed the 8-ball in the same pocket. Winner Marcie. I wanted to again call my next shot “Victor’s right fist to Marcie’s right jaw” but I don’t believe in hitting women - so, I shook the too-GD-straight-fakey-fakey-friendliness of her right arm, and said “congratulations.”

Pride is hard to swallow, but it will go down. Tired, I said my goodbyes - I hate goodbyes - and rolled 37 miles back home. It was an ordinary evening. I played in a pool tournament. I watched a 65 yr old man dance likea sonofabitch (with the best looking gal there). I danced a slow dance with one of the departing co-worker’s moms - I probably had a temp - I was sweating profusely.. Yuck, I’m sure she enjoyed that.. I saw boobs. I got beat by a bitch. I beat Lawyer Guy. I beat LJ Larry the ESPN Pro Pool Player Pool Hall guy (once.. I know, I know - he beat me twice.)…Still, a good night.

Calling next shot: 54 yr old body in that bed right there, no alarm set. That clear enough Marcie? Life, it’s good - even when you knock in the all white ball. Love, Victurd.