Darting Away

Happy birthday M.C.!

***

D.C., M.C., congrats on your imminent human-spawn!

***

I'm going to start wearing suits all the live long day. This will perhaps be the only way I can manage to look older than "twelve". Yeah, it happened again, another stranger accused me of looking like I'm just a little kid. And it's crazy, this is in a bar. I obviously have to be above the age of twelve if I'm in there, right?

If I didn't own a car, I'd love the rain. There's something soothing about the constant pitter-patter, walking through the precipitation, surrounded by what is essentially the essence of life. However, when you unify rain with the rush hour traffic, it all goes downhill. "Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream."

I agreed to meet J.L. at a bar for darts after work, then we'd go into D.C. to meet G.B. and S.B. Ah, the best-laid plans of mice and men. It took me a good-lovin' hour of fording through the urban rivers and causeways to make it there, and I was kind of burnt out by that time. Still, darts!

For those of you uninitiated into the ways of cricket, know that it is a hard game, but it is a fun game. J.L. and I have been playing on a semi-regular basis once every week or couple of weeks, kill some time and some brain cells (with beer, not by throwing the darts at each others' heads. That will come at a later date).

It was pretty packed, and at one point, two people came and took the dart board next to us. One was a large African-American, mid-forties, at least six-foot-three, thin, calm, composed, opening a box labeled "Python." He removed three darts, sleek, black, dangerous. The other was an average height Caucasian-American, late-twenties, smartly dressed, with a Blackberry.

I'd just like to note that more things need names that evoke images of violence. If ever Honda created the "Marauder" or the "Bonecrusher" or the "Eviscerator" I would buy it in a heartbeat. Same with body armor. If there's fury-style kevlar, I'd go all fury-style on it. Lord, I've problems.

J.L. and I shot for first (what we later learned was called "diddle for the middle"), and the woman just turned after we shot and said "Poor shot." I wasn't looking at her, so I wasn't sure if she was serious or sarcastic. I thought serious. Once again, first impression not entirely correct.

After a while, it was obvious they knew what they were doing, as he was hitting whatever he aimed for. He just didn't know the rules of the game. She was doing much the same, and instructing him on how to play and the finer strategic points. Meanwhile, J.L. is using his athletic ability and superior hand-eye coordination to destroy me.

At some point, the woman asks if we want to play versus them partner-style, and we agree. We should leave soon to go to D.C., so we figure there's enough time for one game. Really, we ended up playing about eight or nine.

The woman's name was J., man's name was L. For some reason, I'm meeting a lot of people with the same first name as the woman. At any rate, J. is a sarcastic smartass, though it was probably because she essentially lost her job with a lot of advance notice earlier that day. So, anger plus beer plus darts equals fun for the whole family!

Of course, the traditional mocking. They thought I was twelve, but knew I had to be twenty-one, or have a real good ID. When i told them I was twenty-seven, they just shook their heads. At least J.L. they gave credit, figured he was eighteen.

It was plenty obvious from pretty early on that the only reason we weren't being hustled was because there was no money on the line. It wasn't that they were good, but that they were great. Plus, it never helps whenever your somewhat attractive female opponent starts touching you and grinding against you. It's a miracle I hit the board.

For J., each dart throw slammed into the board. Was it a reaction to her suffering a fairly large loss in life, that she had to summon a win in a realm she could control? Was it fury at having been betrayed by her boss-slash-friend? Was it just nothing more than how she played darts? I don't know, and I'm no certified psychoanalyst.

We played game after game, and J.2, J.'s boyfriend, replaced L. after four or five games. Eventually, J. got to the point of "choice quotes."

J.: The board moves when I aim at it. Is it moving for you?

J.: Let me see your booty shake.
[K.T. shakes his booty]
J.: That was a pretty sad booty shake.
K.T.: I have white man's rhythm.
[J. shakes her booty]

J.: You shouldn't feel bad, I've played darts competitively off and on for over ten years.
J.L.: That makes me feel better.
J.: On the other hand, I was drunk, so you should've been able to beat me.

J.: Remember when I said there was a point I shouldn't have passed? I think that last beer made me pass it.

J.L.: You two should bump uglies.
J.: Oh, mine isn't ugly.
K.T.: Yeah, mine is.
J.: Then it should be singular. We should bump ugly.

J.: If you tickle me, I'll kick you in the crotch.
K.T.: Is that a punishment or a reward?
J. There's only one way to find out.
K.T.: Maybe we should wait until later.

It's fun to screw with drunk people. It's fun when drunk people screw with me. Targets, all of us, for the various darts and barbs flying our way.