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Sunday, April 09, 2006 The Euchre Report by Susan Steinberg Last night, Chellis was like, Why don't you ever mention me in the Euchre Report? And I was like, When you do something dramatic, I'll mention you. I didn't even do a report for the last game because. Nothing. Fucking. Happened. So Chellis turned around, slowly, to face me, put her hands on her hips, and was like, I'm not here to be dramatic. I'm here to win. And turned back around. It got quiet. I was like, (...more) Okay. But, like, she didn't win. From what I recall. I mean, I could be wrong. But from what I recall she, like, lost. I was running late last night. Because I had fallen asleep. Tom called when I was driving over and was like, Where the hell are you. And I was like, I'm almost there. Which wasn't exactly true. So it was Steve and his friend Suze. And Andrew. All impatient. Pissed off at me. Waiting for a game. I walked in and was like, Come on. And Steve was like, Who's your partner. And I pointed at Andrew, because I was feeling nostalgic. And I was feeling like winning. When Steve's having a meltdown, like he was last night, usually he's either 1) needy or 2) aggressive. But last night he was both. How many times did he call me bitch? Like eleven? But he was also being all weird and affectionate. He kept trying to hug me. Even while we were playing. It was fucking with my concentration. He was like, Hold me, bitch. And I was like, Jesus Steve, Get Tom to hold you. Andrew and I need to relearn how to kick some ass. It's like we've lost all our skills from playing with other partners. I played with Adam last time, and now I've got all these bad habits. And I don't know where Andrew learned the insane shit he brought to the table last night. But he has got to be deprogrammed. We did win once, but it wasn't like we kicked any ass. I can't even remember who we beat. I don't understand why Jeff changed out of one powder blue sweater and into another. We listened to the Garden State soundtrack like eighteen times. At one point Andrew swore he had slipped into a coma. It rained. We smoked cigarettes. Tom McNeely wasn't there. Jeff told us a story about this girl he watched do a handstand at the 24 hour gym. He was like, Next thing you know, she's standing on her hands! I could see Jeff, in very short terrycloth shorts and a sweatband around his forehead, watching this girl from the Stairmaster. I think everyone could see this. He was like, to me, Can you do a handstand. And I was like, Yes I can. But I didn't do one. Jesus. Jeff offered me a dollar not to mention his powder blue sweaters. I have a bruise on my arm that I think came from Steve squeezing too hard. Tom and Jeff played well last night. I'm big enough to admit this. Andrew and I played like amateurs. But we're working on some strategies. For next time. Steve and Suze also played well, it seems. Except Suze thought it was okay to do, like, a do-over. Like to redo a hand. She was like, When you play on the computer, you can do this. Like you just click "redo." I'm familiar with this feature. But I was like, This isn't Yahoo euchre, Suze, and I'm not a fucking robot. I don't know if Chellis played well or not, but she talked like she did. She was like, Why don't you ever mention when I win? I was like, Because I've never seen you win. Several times, Andrew would stare at his cards, then slowly lean back in his chair, look me right in the eyes, wait a few seconds, and assertively call a suit. Diamonds, he'd say, and I'd be all like, That's my partner, thinking we were about to win big. But really he'd have a shitty hand, like all four suits in it, a lot of nines, and we'd lose. What is that. At one point Dave was sitting a few feet from the table, watching our game. Then he started telling us some pretty bleak stories about his junior high years. Something about a dark hallway. A locker. A switchblade. And it got really serious And then we got to talking about 9/11. And then we all put down our cards for a minute. We stared at the table. And Nick Drake was playing. And it was raining. And Jesus. Who didn't feel like total shit. But then someone, maybe Tom, put some cookies on the table. Jeff changed into a third powder blue sweater. Someone got out the malt liquor. And things were looking up. posted by Susan Steinberg 10:26 PM | link | |
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