Someone I know only through FB is in town and would like to get together, you know, to actually become more than just an abstract idea (or he wants to really see if I am as crazy as I sound online). To some this may seem crazy weird and like a bad idea, but he is friends with people I completely trust (or trust enough to take naked pictures of me with band-aids on my nipples--no, you will not be seeing these pics any time soon). If he turns out to be a crazed psychopath complete with mossy teeth and bloody hangnails, he'll have to get through The Boy and Wikus first. Wikus could certainly kill anyone with his long lecture giving step-by-step details on how to make a ribbon controller from scratch. He'll tell you even if you've fallen asleep with your face in a plate of greasy onion rings. Wikus is that awesome. He has such Pedantic Superpowers! Hello, I'm Pedantic Man--ask me anything, and I will become a walking Wikipedia page complete with detailed instructions where no instructions are needed!
While lazing at work (doing my best to stretch lots of nothing across a whole eight hours is exhausting) I received a text message from him asking if I played darts or pool. If only I could snort through the medium of text messaging. I have some really thick snot today to really make a good snort.
Have I mentioned my serious depth-perception problem? When I get out of my car, I am always surprised about how many feet are between me and the car parked in front of my car. When I was parking I could have sworn that I was an inch away from eating that bumper, but no, I could fit like 10 motorcycles in that space between us. Darts and pool. Ha!
I lived in Alaska at one point during my wee years, and the house came with a pool table. My sister and I really didn't know how to play pool, but damn did she get good at sinking the balls. (Seriously, sinking the balls!) I was really good at putting chalk marks on the felt, and worrying that my dad would beat me if he saw them. Luckily, I never tore the felt. This may be where I learned to be an awesomely bad sore loser. Being bested by my little sister was way too much for me to handle. That pool table moved with us to Texas, and I tried making out on it a few times, but really, the couch next to it was way more comfortable. It was also harder to look innocent sitting all dizzy and puffy with kisses on the pool table when my dad broke in to the room to try and catch me making out with someone. That is really my last interaction with pool tables.
Darts were never really part of my life in anyway. There were plenty of dartboards glimpsed in dark smokey bars across the years, but I didn't know anyone who actually played them. That is until a close friend of mine revealed his love of darts (and motorcycles, that bastard). He showed me a very fancy, shiny set of them. They looked really cool and pointy! Then came the worst moment of his life (at that time, because before that the worst I could find was that time he wore that hot-pink shirt in middle school and tried to hit on girls). He instructed me on what to do, he had me toe the line on the floor, he directed my arm and had me aim and let go. He was so certain that this was something I could accomplish. I thought he was going to puke and pass out when his precious dart came nowhere near the board and instead landed with a sickening thunk against the concrete wall. I tried to validate my poor showing by explaining I was too short and he was too tall, and how that dart board must be hung for him, not me. Not only did I manage to go to the side of the dart board, I was also under it. I tried again with the same ending. He silently took those darts away from me with tears in his eyes. I really let him down. I'm so sorry NN. I hope you have forgiven me. Or, I've opened something you had repressed, and now your wound is bleeding and you're clutching your darts while riding around JP on your motorcycle. I can see you in MY MIND, you know.
So, no, I don't think pool or darts are a good idea.
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