7pm

I cracked open a Coors Light and started the coals. 30 minutes later I slapped some chicken titties (credit goes to Super Brannon for the term) on the grill and chilled the fuck out to some skillet radio.

What’s that? That… that sounds like The Silver Fox’s truck. Nah, can’t be. I sat on my balcony in my camping chair, drank my beer, and relaxed.

The Silver Fox’s truck ROARS into the parking lot. What the fuck? The Silver Fox stormed up the stairs, not saying a word to me. He went to the fridge, cracked open a beer, and slammed it. He slammed another. He opened his third, and finally joined me on the balcony. We still haven’t spoken.

The Silver Fox takes a seat in the lawn chair next to mine.

“WHAT’S UP DUDE? SORRY I DIDN’T CALL AND WARN YOU. I COULDN’T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE DUDE.”

Shit, I don’t care. The Silver Fox, hell, any of my friends are welcome at my pad at any time. My mind was racing. The Silver Fox’s here, I’m unprepared, what are going to do?

We had a nice dinner of shicken, rice, and green beans washed down with ice cold beer. We stood on my balcony, music blaring, and pounded beers.

10pm

“Let’s go to the Oasis dude! We’ve never been there before!  It looks cool, let’s go!” The Silver Fox slurred, already on his 8th Coors Light.

I shrugged. “Fine with me, let’s rock.”

We walked past Joe’s–dead. We continued downtown to the ATM–nobody’s out and about.

As we get closer to the Oasis we see quite a large crowd milling about in the parking lot.

“What the fuck dude? What is this place? Is that the line? Are we going to get in?”

Shit, I don t know. The place looks hoppin  tonight. We must be in the right place!

11pm

Tuesday night, 11pm, Chico, Calfornia, The Oasis. The bar is slammed. Jam packed. Overflowing. All four pool tables in the back are taken. The foosball table is taken. The ping pong table is taken. Galaga, Dig Dug, and Star Wars pinball are all taken. Jesus, don t these people have school tomorrow?

The Silver Fox and I mosey on up to the bar and order a pitcher of Coors Light. The bartender plops the brew down and gives us two ice cold pint glasses.

Three dollars please.

WHAT? WHAT DID HE JUST SAY? The Silver Fox and I look at each other at that moment, dumbfounded, stricken. The deer-in-the-headlights look, so to speak.

Guys? Three bucks please.

Our vacant expressions slowly turned into goofy, shit-eating grins. We slowly began to nod our heads, conversing in that unspoken guy-language. Tension mounting, and releasing with some sort of Beavis and Butthead laugh.

I gave the bartender a fiver, shit-eating grin still plastered on my mug. I poured The Silver Fox a beer, then me. I turned to The Silver Fox and we both said at the same time:

“I think we’re staying here.”

We drank deeply of our Coors Light, the nectar of the gods. Many pitchers later the room began to spin. Not long after that we were forcibly ejected from the establishment. One pedicab and five bucks later we were back at my apartment. Passed out.

9am.

That motherfuckingcocksuckingpieceofshit alarm clock is going off. I have to get up. I HAVE to get up and go to class. I was still drunk. My head was pounding. I was dehydrated, I felt like crap, and I had to go to class.

On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I have three classes. The first two classes I m allotted three absences for the semester. For every class after three that you miss, it s one letter grade off your final grade. I ve already used my three absences. I had to go to class.

I suffered through a few hours at school, and managed to pound three liters of water. All I could think of was going home and napping.

1pm

When I got home, The Silver Fox was still there. Still there, and drinking a beer.

Let s go play golf dude! I slept in, showered, had breakfast around the corner  I m ready to roll! Let s go, come on! Don t be a pussy!

Dammit. I can t be a pussy. Fine. FINE! Let s go.

The Silver Fox and I drove out to Bidwell Park Golf Course. We played like shit, but it was still fun. I love playing golf with The Silver Fox. We aren’t competitive at all. We don t even keep score. We just go out, drink beer, and have fun.

Why play a sport if you re not going to have fun? I don t understand why some people get all serious and competitive and aggressive when it comes to sports. They want to win SOOO bad. When they don’t, or when they play poorly, they get all bent out of shape. That doesn t sound like fun to me. Why play if you’re not going to have fun?

The Silver Fox and I played with two guys that took golf way too seriously today. These two jackasses were all gussied up in their $200 golf shoes and $100 Ashton polo shirts and crap. One guy talked on his cell phone constantly. They lined up all their shots, cleaned off their ball on the green, took off their gloves to putt, all the dumb shit. They took forever. They hardly spoke to each other. Maybe they were in  the zone ? Who knows.

What a couple of jackasses. The Silver Fox and I were hung over, and drinking, and drunk. We were playing shitty golf, laughing hysterically when one of us sliced a ball off into the woods. I once swung the club so hard I fell down. The two PGA tour guys got all huffy and starting sighing loudly and forcibly. I cracked open another beer, pounded it, and burped as loud as I could all the while staring the two jackasses in the face.

Dude, if you re not going to have fun, why play golf?

6pm

We finished 18, finally. We bought some Coors Light tall boys and drove up to Bear Hole, and swam for an hour in Chico Creek. It felt fantastic. As I laid in the sun I kept repeating, “I love this town.” The Silver Fox agreed with me.

7pm

Exhausted, we drove back to my place and bbq ed some tri tip. We hung out for a bit.

10pm

The Silver Fox drove home.

I am so tired right now I can barely type. I might even fall asleep before midnight tonight. Hey, isn t today Cincqo de Mayo? Hmmm… Maybe I ll just go out for a bit. I ll just have ONE beer

Ole!