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muckefuckLast night was the first Game Night I've made it to in a while, and it was enjoyable if a bit odd. The serious gamers seem to have all drifted away at this point, which is fine--I understand that I'm now going more for the chance to socialise that anything else. But there are hazards to being the one teetotaler at a gathering (not by choice--I was taking naproxen for a bad back), one of them being that parts of the evening seemed to have been script by a gay disciple of Eugene O'Neill.
At one point we were talking politics near the bar and a small intense man tried to convince me that our next war would be with...Facebook. No, really. When I tried to gently communicate the absurdity of this notion, he shrugged and said, "Look back in twenty years, you'll see." Later, I happened to be in the room when he was conducting a rather strained interview with a rather young and very drunk potential trick who spilled vodka on an armchair while swigging it from a bottle.
Our host took this opportunity to mention the virtues of cheap vodka as a stain-remover. "Does it have to be cheap?" asked an awkward bearded man of about my age hovering nearby. This prompted me to strike up a conversation with him about carpets which within ten minutes had become a sob session about the heartbreak of his life. He was fixated on a glass left under the stained armchair, so I asked if he wanted me to pick it up, but he said, no, he wanted to stick this conversation in it so we could "pretend it never happened" and rejoin the others.
We did, and they were still getting high in one of the bedrooms, but the fug wasn't as stifling as it had been earlier (though I still managed to acquire a sore throat after about five minutes in the room). I picked up where I'd left off with one of the more interesting gents at the event, but what he wanted to talk about was one of the other guest's unhealthy obsession with his sister, who he was showing around photos of and talking about how much liked breasts. But we soon were distracted from that by talk of the sad situation of a man from Joliet still living with his ex because "someone needs to take care of him and he doesn't have any family or friends".
See what I mean?
But it was all okay, really. The Jolieteer gave me a ride home because it was late and "everything's out of the way for me anyway" and I really enjoyed chatting with the white-haired gent, who has wit and a son in college. The cookies I brought from Mughal Bakery went over well and I ended up on the winning team for both Catchphrase and Taboo. Most shambolic game of Catchphrase ever, by the way, though it did have a moment of sidesplitting humour when Joliet Bear misread the phrase "I am not a crook" as "I am not a cook".
At one point we were talking politics near the bar and a small intense man tried to convince me that our next war would be with...Facebook. No, really. When I tried to gently communicate the absurdity of this notion, he shrugged and said, "Look back in twenty years, you'll see." Later, I happened to be in the room when he was conducting a rather strained interview with a rather young and very drunk potential trick who spilled vodka on an armchair while swigging it from a bottle.
Our host took this opportunity to mention the virtues of cheap vodka as a stain-remover. "Does it have to be cheap?" asked an awkward bearded man of about my age hovering nearby. This prompted me to strike up a conversation with him about carpets which within ten minutes had become a sob session about the heartbreak of his life. He was fixated on a glass left under the stained armchair, so I asked if he wanted me to pick it up, but he said, no, he wanted to stick this conversation in it so we could "pretend it never happened" and rejoin the others.
We did, and they were still getting high in one of the bedrooms, but the fug wasn't as stifling as it had been earlier (though I still managed to acquire a sore throat after about five minutes in the room). I picked up where I'd left off with one of the more interesting gents at the event, but what he wanted to talk about was one of the other guest's unhealthy obsession with his sister, who he was showing around photos of and talking about how much liked breasts. But we soon were distracted from that by talk of the sad situation of a man from Joliet still living with his ex because "someone needs to take care of him and he doesn't have any family or friends".
See what I mean?
But it was all okay, really. The Jolieteer gave me a ride home because it was late and "everything's out of the way for me anyway" and I really enjoyed chatting with the white-haired gent, who has wit and a son in college. The cookies I brought from Mughal Bakery went over well and I ended up on the winning team for both Catchphrase and Taboo. Most shambolic game of Catchphrase ever, by the way, though it did have a moment of sidesplitting humour when Joliet Bear misread the phrase "I am not a crook" as "I am not a cook".