Fifty bucks and a case of beer and nobody's sayin' goodbye

Yesterday was the annual horseshoe tournament. I took Togers and Mr M with me this year because that is what a good father does - takes his young impressionable kids to a kegger.

Like last year, there were a lot of teams. Like last year, my team was eliminated about halfway through. Like last year, there was a lot of alcohol consumed by the attendees (I believe it was four kegs and a gallon and a half of Jägermeister this time). And like last year, I was the beer bitch because nobody else was sober enough to drive.

All it took for Togers to become the biggest social butterfly of the entire party was for him to hit a ringer. Being the youngest participant, everybody cheered him on. It must've gone to his head because after the match was over he went around introducing himself to everyone for the rest of the night. He even started talking smack to some of his future opponents.

Togers (to probably the biggest guy at the party): What's your team name?
The Big Guy: [Team Name]
Togers: I think we take you on next. We'll probably win. [Walks away]
The Big Guy (to me): Wait! Did that little bastard just talk shit to me? I think he did.
Me: I think you're right.
The Big Guy: I'm going to push him down the hill the next time he walks by.
Me: You've got my blessing.

A few minutes later:
The Big Guy: Great! Now he's in my head. I'll probably throw a shoe and hit the house.


Mr M learned a few things while he was there. Some people taught him and a neighbor girl how to play ping pong. He told me that he can't wait until he's bigger so that he can be better at playing that. Later, he ended up shooting baskets with a couple of guys. I went over to shoot around with him too. We'd take turns, and after a few rounds he shot the ball, missed, then said, "Douchebag!"

I suppose I ought to stop using that word so much. Either that, or Mr M needs to learn how to use it in context.

I could go on and on, like telling about the girl who got too drunk too early, and the guy who tried to wrap her up in saran wrap to prevent her from vomiting on herself only to have someone else get protective of her and douse that guy with the hose. Or I could tell you about the guy who stumbled his way out of the house and fell into the middle of a very spiny desert plant. But I won't (mostly because I didn't get pictures).

All in all, it wasn't as fun as last year's tournament, but it still beat going to the office on a Saturday.

I wasn't really drunk I was just pretending

Saturday marked the second time I've participated in an annual horseshoe tournament put on by a friend of a friend. Like last year, I had a great time. Unlike last year, my team (Whore'z Shoooz) didn't make it as far. We finished somewhere in the middle of the pack (30 teams total), but outlasted the champs of the previous two years, so that was almost like winning the whole thing. Almost. Ok, not really.

A few highlights of the day:

- The host lit off fireworks during the singing of the National Anthem, surprising everybody, including my friend who was singing. The song ended with the sound of jets flying over being blared from the speakers as well. A little while later, police arrived on the scene to investigate reports of shots being fired.

- I met a girl from Chicago who knows, and hangs out with, a couple members of Wilco. She took down my contact information to give them in case they come to Vegas again. I'm sure nothing will come of it, but it would be pretty cool if it did.

- My partner was showing me a scar he got on his calf while he was mountain biking a few weeks ago:

Him: I should've gotten stitches on that, but that's ok. Chicks dig scars, right?
Me: That's what they say, but if you really want to know, ask some. There are a few right there.
Me (to a group of girls): Can you guys answer a question for my friend here? He wants to know if it's really true that chicks dig scars.
Girl: That depends. Not if it's some kind of horrible disfigurement across your face.

- Since I was the only one not drinking, a friend and his wife asked if I could drive a few of them to go get some food. We took his Jeep to the drive-through at Sonic:

Two 13 year old girls: We love your mohawk!
Friend: Thanks! I love you too!
Me (to his wife): Uh oh. Are you feeling threatened?
Friend's Wife: Not by two 13 year olds. That'd be illegal.
Friend: Not necessarily. If I do them both at the same time they'd be 26.

- One girl told me I look like Taylor Hicks.

Me: I don't know who Taylor Hicks is.
Her: He's from American Idol.
Me: That's why. I don't watch that show.
Her: Sing me a song.
Me: I can't. I don't know what he sings.
Her: Sing anything. It doesn't matter.
Me: My bologna has a first name, it's O-S-C-A-R . . .

- My friends, a married couple, were one of the last six teams standing. Despite being up on their opponent 15 to 5, they ended up losing the match. The husband was quite upset after that.

Someone: Cheer up. It's not that bad.
Him: In order to do that, I'll need to squeeze the head off a small child. Well, any small mammal will do.
Me: I don't think they have any pets, so you're out of luck.
Him: Not even a goldfish? I could cut the face off a goldfish with some scissors.
Me: I don't think so, but I'll tell you what, if that's what you need, I'll drive you down to Wal-Mart and we can buy you a few goldfish.
Him: I'm going to need at least a dozen.

- After the games were over, a few of the people who came in from New York wanted to go out and gamble.

Guy 1: I want to go play cards. Who wants to go play cards?
Goldfish Hater: I don't. That's for homosexual tourists.
Me (to Guy 1): So by all means, go ahead.



A few lowlights of the day:

- Whore'z Shoooz got knocked out after four games. Both losses were close, we just couldn't pull it out at the end. Our elimination game was 10 to 9 and the opposing team hit a ringer to end it. I liked that girl before too, but hate her now. Her husband too.

- Since I was the only one sober enough to drive, I ended up driving people to the liquor store a couple of times. I think in all there were three kegs consumed, along with two gallons of Jagermeister. That's not a typo. My partner started referring to me as 'beer bitch'.

- Some of the ladies (including the hottest girl there) set up a Slip 'n Slide, and said they were going to go on it nude at 9:05, then never did.

- I got stuck talking to a drunk girl in the kitchen without a way to escape. She went on and on about her ex-husband and how he cheated on her, about how her daughter didn't respect her step-mom, and blah, blah, blah, for about 30 minutes. Apparently someone thought I was hitting on her and her boyfriend eventually came in and pulled her away (I never got a chance to thank him for that). After that, I told my friend that if she saw me talking to her again, to come and save me.

- I drove a group of people back to their hotel, and a guy stuck his head out the window and puked. Luckily, none of it got in the car, but I still had to stand in the street at my friend's house and hose it off at three o'clock in the morning.

- Finally crawling into bed at 3:46 a.m.

And so it is, just like you said it would be, life goes easy on me most of the time

Last night I played shuffleboard for the first time in my life. It wasn't the version where we stood on the deck of a cruise ship as there's an overall lack of cruise ships here in town, but a smaller version that can fit along the edge of a wall in a pub. I don't know if I can say I've truly lived until last night. Ok, that might be taking it a bit far, but it was fun.

This is the first time I've hung out with the people I was playing with since the big horseshoe tournament a few weeks ago. I told one of them that we should get together and play horseshoes again too. She said that she knew of a park that had horseshoe pits, so we could have a picnic and play soon. I told her that it sounded like a good idea and to make it happen. I know, I know. Horseshoes? Shuffleboard? You're probably wondering when the incontinence is going to set in.

It just did.

Alzheimer's too.

Now what was I talking about again? Oh yes, Bocce Ball. I was introduced to the game by a friend of mine while I was working on my master's degree. He was working on his Ph D then, and like all good graduate students, we spent an inordinate amount of time doing things completely unrelated to our work, like seeing who could play Sherlock and hold the record for solving a puzzle in the least amount of time (that would be me). But I digress. When a nice spring day would roll around it was pretty much mandatory that we go outside and strike up a game of Bocce Ball. It's been years since I've played that game too, but someone was talking about it the other day.

Him: You know another fun game you should try is Bocce.

Me: I love that game! I need to get a set of balls so I can play again.

Him: I don't think you can buy them, you pretty much have to be born with them.

Me: Well, I used to have some, but my ex-wife kept them when we split up.

Him: Wait. Did you just say that your ex-wife took your balls?

Me: Indeed I did.

I think he and I were talking about two completely different things.

I drove a tank, held a general's rank when the blitzkrieg raged and the bodies stank

I had a pretty eventful weekend. For one thing, I became German on Saturday. It was a lot easier to do than you'd think it would be. Here's how it all transpired:

A friend of a friend hosted a horseshoe tournament. Registration was required, and 22 teams signed up, with mine being the last of the bunch. I had tentative plans to go to San Diego for the weekend instead, but that fell through a few days beforehand, so I asked a friend if she'd play horseshoes with me. Despite it being such a big commitment, she said yes, and asked me if I could take care of registration, which included coming up with a team name.

Since I was given sole name choosing authority, I wanted something that she wouldn't normally agree to (I end sentences with prepositions. So what?). Also, since she's German, I wanted to go with a German name. I originally wanted to call ourselves Team Sauerkraut , but I didn't know how to spell it, so I opted for one of the only other German words I know: Affentittengeil (literal translation = ape tit groovy).

My dastardly plan worked splendidly because all day long people kept coming up to us and asking what our team name meant. Every time they did I'd turn to her and say, "Hey, tell them what our team name means." Then she'd have to explain what the word meant, but also that nobody in Germany ever uses it.

For the tournament, every time a new game was beginning the host would get on a microphone and call out the two teams that would be competing. Since he didn't know how to pronounce our team name, he simply called us "the Germans." By the end of the day, people would come up to me and ask what part of Germany I was from. I never thought gaining citizenship would be so easy.

Now that I'm German, I'm considering running for public office. Don't worry though, no matter how popular I become, or how powerful I get, I'll refuse to gas any major ethnic groups.