My Mr. Testosterone
Apparently, Boyfriend and I's truce was not shattered as I so dramatically thought it to be.
The weekend came. I spent it mostly with a friend causing trouble in various arenas (a bar, a restaurant, a faire, my house, a clubhouse) and then swung by Boyfriend's very late Saturday night.
He'd invited over some man friends of his and none of them felt like drinking (I told you they were gay. What guy doesn't want a beer at a pokerparty on a Saturday night while watching college baseball. GAY!)...so Boyfriend decided someone had to drink atleast one of the 24-packs sitting in his fridge.
So by the time we reached the penis-fest, he had just finished his 17th beer. He was drunk. Really drunk.
In all my years of dating Boyfriend, I have never actually seen him drunk.
Pretty quickly the rest of the guys cleared out when the chicks were drinking more than them (for shame). My friend's ex was among the guys (ofcourse) so they strayed out onto the patio for a "talk." That left me sitting on the couch polishing off some of Lesbian's leftover Boonsfarm and listening to Boyfriend babble about his face hurting.
"You can still feel it?"
"No."
"Then how does it hurt?"
"Cause I got punched in the face."
"That would do it. Who punched you?"
"That guy!"
"That guy...which guy?"
"The guy in my class!"
After a few minutes of deciphering his babbles I came to the conclusion that his Sergeant had him and another guy box each other during training on Friday.
"Did he break your nose?"
"No. Fucker. I broke his though! And his eye! I broke his eye!"
"You punched him in the eye?"
"Damn right! Fucker."
"But why's the rest of your face hurt?"
"Cause that other guy hit me with his stick!"
"Say again."
"His big stick!"
"What?"
He sighed one of those DMV sighs. The one's that clearly are meant to say, 'God you're such an idiot.'
"The. Guy. Hit. Me. With. His. Big. Stick."
"His baton?"
"No. His STICK!"
"What stick?"
"The hockey stick."
"What hockey stick?"
"The one he was playing with. Duh."
Boyfriend plays hockey in a full-contact league. "Oh. You had a game today."
He nods like a bobble head.
"Did you do good?"
"That fucker hit me with his stick."
"What fucker?"
"That one," he said menacingly with his eyes all squinty and his fists shaking at the heavens.
"Oh...Did you hit him back?"
"Hells yeah, baby. Your man's a man's man."
"Wait. Don't ever say that again. So you got your face pummeled yesterday and got in a fight today."
"Yup."
"With some guy's stick."
"No. The stick started it."
"Did you hit him?"
"The stick?"
"The guy."
"Oh. Umhm. Alot."
"Did you hurt him?"
"Yup."
"How bad?"
"His fucker friends had to carry him off."
"The ice?"
He nods again while I gape at his drunkenness.
"In a stretcher?"
"Nah."
"Was he bleeding?"
Boyfriend grins. "Yup. A. Lot."
"Well aren't you a badass."
"Yup." He visibly preens forgetting about his swollen nose and cut lip for the moment.
While I have to admit guys who can take care of themselves are a huge turn on, I'm slightly worried that Boyfriend is suddenly starting fights.
As long as I've known him he's only been in one fight, with his old roommate who had it coming. (Shit, Boyfriend peeled me off the guy a few times.)
Boyfriend is one of those people that doesn't take things seriously enough to care if someone is trash talking him (I do) or someone screws you royally (I care). In fact most of the time I'm the one bitching out his friends and threatening to sever their manhood if they don't walk away.
I'm the tomcat. Not him. I'm the crazy one.
Boyfriend is supposed to be sane! What is the world coming to?!
The weekend came. I spent it mostly with a friend causing trouble in various arenas (a bar, a restaurant, a faire, my house, a clubhouse) and then swung by Boyfriend's very late Saturday night.
He'd invited over some man friends of his and none of them felt like drinking (I told you they were gay. What guy doesn't want a beer at a pokerparty on a Saturday night while watching college baseball. GAY!)...so Boyfriend decided someone had to drink atleast one of the 24-packs sitting in his fridge.
So by the time we reached the penis-fest, he had just finished his 17th beer. He was drunk. Really drunk.
In all my years of dating Boyfriend, I have never actually seen him drunk.
Pretty quickly the rest of the guys cleared out when the chicks were drinking more than them (for shame). My friend's ex was among the guys (ofcourse) so they strayed out onto the patio for a "talk." That left me sitting on the couch polishing off some of Lesbian's leftover Boonsfarm and listening to Boyfriend babble about his face hurting.
"You can still feel it?"
"No."
"Then how does it hurt?"
"Cause I got punched in the face."
"That would do it. Who punched you?"
"That guy!"
"That guy...which guy?"
"The guy in my class!"
After a few minutes of deciphering his babbles I came to the conclusion that his Sergeant had him and another guy box each other during training on Friday.
"Did he break your nose?"
"No. Fucker. I broke his though! And his eye! I broke his eye!"
"You punched him in the eye?"
"Damn right! Fucker."
"But why's the rest of your face hurt?"
"Cause that other guy hit me with his stick!"
"Say again."
"His big stick!"
"What?"
He sighed one of those DMV sighs. The one's that clearly are meant to say, 'God you're such an idiot.'
"The. Guy. Hit. Me. With. His. Big. Stick."
"His baton?"
"No. His STICK!"
"What stick?"
"The hockey stick."
"What hockey stick?"
"The one he was playing with. Duh."
Boyfriend plays hockey in a full-contact league. "Oh. You had a game today."
He nods like a bobble head.
"Did you do good?"
"That fucker hit me with his stick."
"What fucker?"
"That one," he said menacingly with his eyes all squinty and his fists shaking at the heavens.
"Oh...Did you hit him back?"
"Hells yeah, baby. Your man's a man's man."
"Wait. Don't ever say that again. So you got your face pummeled yesterday and got in a fight today."
"Yup."
"With some guy's stick."
"No. The stick started it."
"Did you hit him?"
"The stick?"
"The guy."
"Oh. Umhm. Alot."
"Did you hurt him?"
"Yup."
"How bad?"
"His fucker friends had to carry him off."
"The ice?"
He nods again while I gape at his drunkenness.
"In a stretcher?"
"Nah."
"Was he bleeding?"
Boyfriend grins. "Yup. A. Lot."
"Well aren't you a badass."
"Yup." He visibly preens forgetting about his swollen nose and cut lip for the moment.
While I have to admit guys who can take care of themselves are a huge turn on, I'm slightly worried that Boyfriend is suddenly starting fights.
As long as I've known him he's only been in one fight, with his old roommate who had it coming. (Shit, Boyfriend peeled me off the guy a few times.)
Boyfriend is one of those people that doesn't take things seriously enough to care if someone is trash talking him (I do) or someone screws you royally (I care). In fact most of the time I'm the one bitching out his friends and threatening to sever their manhood if they don't walk away.
I'm the tomcat. Not him. I'm the crazy one.
Boyfriend is supposed to be sane! What is the world coming to?!
Labels: Completely Unrelated Rantings, Drunken Adventures, The Boyfriend (duh Duh DUH)
This entry was posted
on 19.6.06 at 6:18 PM.
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