Friday, December 17, 2004

eight ball, corner pocket...

Ever heard of a little game called pool? Yeah, let me know if you ever want lessons because I fucking rule. Last night, Bonnie and I met Joe, Robert, and Greg at the Elbo Room to partake in their marvelous, 4 hour Happy Hour. We had a couple of cocktails and headed over to the pool table.
I'm not normally one of those girls that saunters up to the pool table for 2 reasons. 1) Those girls are bitches, and 2) I suck at pool. However, peer pressure and the fact that the pool table was relatively hidden convinced me I should play.

Greg and Bonnie versus Beth and Joe: Game One...
Okay. We sucked. Bonnie said she likes playing against 2 gay men. Anytime anyone would scratch, Greg would scream, "You pulled a Spotswood!" Bonnie and Greg suck just as bad as we do, but somehow years of tailgating and sitting in filthy sports bars have given them the slight upper hand. Joe and I lost and had to buy a round.

Greg and Bonnie versus Joe and Robert: Game Two...
Joe spent much of his time ignoring the game and sitting at the bar. Thus, I joined Robert and under his excellent tutelage, I began to rapidly improve. Bon and Greg were getting nervous. I could tell by their inflections when they mocked us. Sadly, through no fault of his own, Robert did that thing where you hit the eight ball in before you're supposed to. It was painful and difficult, but a learning experience.

Greg and Bonnie versus Robert and Beth: Game Three...
Blues played in the background. Smoke filled the pool room. I stood in the corner, applying needless chalk to my stick and trying to look intimidating. Sometimes, you can go 26 years and never know you're the greatest pool player of all time. Folks, Game Three was my game. Call me The Black Widow, because I couldn't stop knocking those striped balls into the pockets. One after another, it was as if I'd brought in a ringer. Finally, it was almost over. And it was my turn. Eight ball, corner pocket...

I cannot fully describe the mayhem when that little black ball rolled perfectly into the pocket, but I went nuts. Joe and Robert leapt from their seats, screaming and yelling and hugging me. Greg and Bonnie hung their heads and were forced to begrudgingly shake hands with me. It was glorious and triumphant.

If you can't find me, try the pool halls. I'll be the one the regulars refer to as "The Hustler."

6 comments:

Bonita said...

Robert + Beth = love

Anonymous said...

That's some funny shit. But I've been calling you Hustler for months.
I invented pool. It's so on. I'll beat your ass down. I will own you. And then I'll make you write a blog about it.

Anonymous said...

Who were you with at 1am last night? I'm dying to know. Hustler.

love you, love the blog

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