Saturday was one of those nights where we got drunk, made Bad Decisions, and passed out with the sunrise. Those are the best kinds of nights. 'Round here we call that, "every night." We're incomparable at naming things, over here. We also enjoy referring to ourselves royally, apparently. Our blog must be a dictatorial monarchy. And if you believe that "dictatorial" is an imaginary lexical derivation of "dictator," you would be secretly correct, then thoroughly overruled by us, and hung by your feet in the gallows while we played "Flight of Icarus" and "My Brain is Hanging Upside Down" really, really loudly and threw rocks at you.
So the Smith Sisters had a party, and I went, after falling asleep early on Friday and spending all Saturday wrapped in a blanket, feeling sorry for myself and watching Pride and Prejudice by candlelight.
But eventually I get to the party after battling the wind and snow and emotional overload, and I can feel this surge of desperation inside of me as I sit down with my beer, so I pick up a deck of cards with one hand and thumb over card after card, keeping my beer in the other hand so it doesn't have to travel as far to my mouth.
"Are you playing Highlowredblack by yourself?" Slinger asks, seating himself across from me.
"That's wicked awesome." He strokes his spankin' new molester mustache.
I keep guessing cards and drinking as I flick over each card. "Dude, I am so getting in a fight tonight."
Slinger peers at me over his indoor sunglasses and barks, "Yeah buddy. Let's get all fired up."
"Why do you think you're going to fight?" asks Dude Who Obviously Doesn't Know Me Very Well Yet. That'll change.
"I can feel it." I don't even look up as I finish off the deck and my beer. "There's a full keg out there--"
Slinger tips his head and refills my cup with the pitcher. "Not for long."
"Yeah buddy," I say as we high five, "it's cold, I had to go shopping and I fucking hate shopping. I watched Pride and Prejudice today--shut up"--I glare at Slinger without missing a beat and point at him, and give him my Threatening Face as he starts shaking his head--"Shut. Up. And there were candles, and I didn't have any coffee...I'm either gonna cry or fight. My guts are all..gutty."
"I got dibs on the former," Slinger yells.
"But why?" asks A Smith Sister.
"It's a thing. It's very lame." I take a sip of beer, shaking my head.
"Because whenever Ross does anything girly she gets drunk and cries." He leans and aims a finger gun at me, sternly. "You go back to cowboy movies. When you watch cowboy movies you're fucking awesome. Or those other ones you made me watch with the swords. I don't like it when you feel things."
I nod. "Like Keanu Reeves in everything."
"Yes!" And we totally high five, because for some reason, whenever Slinger is around, so is an abundance of high fivery. "Be that guy."