It all began innocently enough. Matt’s little brother Greg was turning 22, and so (as if we needed an excuse) we all met at Joe’s for drinks. There was pool, there were shots, there was some Cupid Shuffling. Things didn’t really start to get interesting though, until the boys went to the patio to bum some smokes. I took up my usual place, upwind and close to a heater, and watched Travis try to work some magic over on an unsuspecting blonde. For the sake of accurate reporting, yesterday I conferred with Travis as to his intentions and he conceded that while there were many possible outcomes, his primary objective was to prove to Greg that “nothing bad happens when you get rejected.” Maybe he’d get rejected, maybe he wouldn’t, maybe he could convince her to come over to talk to the birthday boy. Multiple possibilities. What actually happened, however, was nowhere to close to any of those. The girl’s thickneck boyfriend walked over and shut that shit down, getting in Travis’s face, and generally looking utterly exasperated that people kept hitting on his girlfriend (honestly, guys, she wasn’t that cute…). Then, the man who was soon to become our new best friend let out a very sincere chuckle and made no attempt to hide it. The boyfriend was not pleased, and what ensued was a near half hour long pissing contest where our hero, Randy, maintained that the situation was funny. At one point, Randy uttered a line that nearly turned the evening into a John Woo film: “Let’s you and me just live our lives from this point on, man. From this point on.”

A few minutes later, in a perfect demonstration of what I love most about men, as things started to get really heated, something was said and Randy and that idiot tool started to hug. And not just posturing, back-slapping, or boxer hugging—hugging in earnest. Friends now. I guess the blonde was disappointed that there would be no chivalric blood shed, so she started to stir up some shit of her own, only to be dissuaded by her boyfriend. There were a few more words exchanged and hackles raised, but by now everyone could see that Randy had complete control of the situation, and things dissipated after that.

While Randy was chatting with the guys, a girl—we’ll call her Tricia… because that’s her name—walked up with her sister and joined me under the heating lamp. We chatted for a bit and when some ass clown creepster tried to pull the brush-pass on me (the “accidental” ass-grab), Tricia totally had my back and—cheerily—chewed the guy out. I should probably mention that Tricia was not the most sober person in the room, but she was friendly and, without revealing too much identifying/incriminating information, we knew some of the same people and had some things in common. Eventually, I brought her over and introduced her to the guys. We all chatted a bit more and then headed back inside, where we met Randy’s big-ass friend Brooks and came to the delightful realization that if the douche-bag boyfriend came back and shit went down, we were going to be the safest people in the bar. Randy delighted us with stories, took a kamikaze shot like a champ, and then disappeared into the ether.

It was around this time, that Travis and Tricia started dancing. And, with no disrespect to either parties, I use that term loosely. Eventually, the rest of the gang headed home, leaving Travis and Tricia to fend for themselves. Oh, and fend they did. Because Travis is such a gentleman and because Tricia is such a classy gal, I’m going to leave exactly what transpired to your imagination. Suffice it to say, though, later that night when I was giving Travis a ride home, we had the following conversation:

“Congratulations, Champ,” I said, sticking out my right hand to shake.
“Uh, you’re gonna wanna shake this hand, instead” he replied, offering me his left.

Like I said, a gentleman.