If I had a nice, quiet, relaxing, drama-free weekend I’m not sure what the fuck I would do. So lucky for me, I have Six, Duck and Goose in my life. Oh my, where oh fucking where to begin…
Friday night I was out with Duck and Goose, enjoying time at the bar. Beer and food and so-so music. It all started out so damn promisingly, if you discount the pointless pseudo-argument these two had right before leaving the house. Something to do with wanna go, kinda wanna go, no one admits they don’t wanna go… Like I said, pointless.
By the time we were at the bar, it all seemed like that was nicely in the past. Once the beers came out, things much improved. We sat around, enjoying ourselves, chatting with patrons (and the MILF of a bartender) while ignoring the big old elephant in the room. I’d go into that some more, but it doesn’t actually have any bearing in the rest of the night. Sorry, but no, not really.
While this was being enjoyed, Six was considering giving a very special hello to a less-than-special pseudo-ex. Yea, him and Nine are still not-quite-right in the touchy, feel-y department. Again, no one’s fault (technically). But Six being Six wants what Six wants.
It all started innocently enough. Six was having some non-sexy-time fun when he got a text message from Booty II. Booty II was horny. And what do you fucking know? So was Six. A half dozen naughty text messages later, Six was on his way.
And so was Duck and Goose, though in a much less harmonious direction.
Yup. Another fight. But I’ll get there, I promise.
We moved from one bar to another, on account that the first spot was suddenly overcome with shitty-ass live music. Why don’t people tell their friends when the suck donkey cock whenever they stumble through playing an instrument? Seriously, people. Friends shouldn’t let friends make fools of themselves in public. Private, fine. On YouTube? Why the hell not. But as a paid band in my bar? Fuck off on that.
So yea, to save our ears we headed over to the next bar down the block. No crappy band. No elephant, at least, not when we walked in. Of course, in less time than it takes a shot to fall, there was the threat of full-on stampede. I’ll admit, I couldn’t wait to see the shit fling all over.
Drama. Drama never changes.
See, there was this twink (we’ll call Twink, though he claims straight) out drinking with his older-girlfriend’s best friend. Seems innocuous enough, right? Well, he was good and shit-housed, as usual, when his girlfriend (“Cougar” naturally) stomped in. To say Cougar was pissed the fuck off would be kind of an understatement, like saying Dubya is a retard. Turns out, Twink is living with, and off of, Cougar. And that means she is paying for his drinks. That he is drinking with her best friend.
Trouble in paradise, no?
Duck, Goose and I were eagerly awaiting the fireworks (or maybe that was just me) to begin. Cougar danced and drank and had a hell of a time with anyone but Twink. He tried once to apologize, but she was so not in the mood. Even with them on opposite sides of the bar, the tensions was nice and thick. Suffocatingly so. I loved it.
This little after dinner show made the ridiculous argument-type deal between Duck and Goose earlier in the evening seem even more ridiculous. I kept that thought to myself, of course. Things were peaceful, at least for those not involved with Twink and Cougar.
Soon, though, it was obvious that there would be no explosions and I decided to head out. I mean, with me not being a big drinker anymore and Duck and Goose inching toward alcohol-blood levels of euphoria, why stick around? Plus, I was beyond tired by this point and was looking forward to yet another early-ass day.
Six, on the other hand, was a bit further away from sleepy-time. He arrived at Booty II’s place and the clothes flew off. Again, Six refused to do the American version of sex (in, out, in, out, faster, harder, deeper, fuck mother of pearl!). Remember, according to his rules, nothing else counts. And as only SEX with someone other than Nine counts as cheating, he was still being one hundred percent faithful. Two cum-shots and a finger fuck later, Six was dressed and gone.
On his drive home he had, quite possibly for the first time ever, a tinge of guilt. Maybe. Truth be told, he’s not all that familiar with guilt. All he knew for sure was that he doubted something. What that something is, he can’t say. Be it his actions recently, his relationship with Nine or something he has yet to consider, there is a thing needling him. But in his usual fuck-it state of mind, he said fuck it. The mind of a border-line sociopath.
For me, of course, the night was not quite over. At two in the morning I got call from a very drunk and uber-hysterical Goose. She and Duck had had a nasty, knock out, drag down argument which ended with Goose demanding Duck get out. I’d gladly tell you what the fight was about, but for the life of me I could not tell what the hell the girl said beyond I don’t know where he is.
I just told her he’d be back and things would be fine. A few more muffled words were followed by fuck, I hate it when you’re right. We hung up. Have yet to hear how that one’s turned out. I tried calling the next day, but there was no answer. I’m thinking they had a shitload to talk about. And thing’s must have turned out at least semi-okay; there’s been no he’s gone calls. So no news must be good news, right?
I think sometimes I’d like a vacation from life. But with people like Duck, Goose, Six, Twink and Cougar keeping it so fucking interesting, I don’t wanna miss a god damned thing.