Re-certified the Man Card

So this weekend was sweet. I played COD4 Friday until the wee hours of the morning and finished with some serious headway in MOH:Airborne. I finished the Casual campaign for the achievement and started maxing out all the campaign weapons. It's a PITA to clear bunkers with a M1911 Pistol and a Panzerschrek, btw. I've got three more guns to go and I'll have that achievement. I'm normally not an achievement hound, but this game is fun enough to make me rock through it. The MP is never gonna happen, though.

So Saturday I get up and see the boy off to visit with his bio mom and mosey down to my buddy Bad Billy's house. Bad Billy is the farthest thing from bad you'll ever meet, but it makes it all the funnier. Bad Billy is the guy selling me the Harley. He bounced it off a dude's bumper at about 15mph and had a "hard get-off to the right." The HD has a bend in the fork tube that you damn near need a straight edge to notice, but his wife gave him the banhammer for it. "You can keep the bike, but you can't fix it." We've been using it as a bar stool in the garage for two years. So, in order to keep me busy and get it out of his garage, he's letting/helping me fix it up and going to sell it to me for a song. It's an early 1984 XLH Sportster 1000, which is a great commuter bike for the price. It's got a generator and no alternator, with a knucklehead motor. Post-AMF (thx Gaius!), but it's still a leaky SOB. We got it running last weekend and I'm back to start getting serious. Got a parts catalog, got the aftermarket sites bookmarked on the 'puter and started putting together a cost sheet. When I went out to start getting the controls off (because I noticed a frayed wire) I saw a puddle under the bike. Shit. I look and its coming from the chain case cover. I just happen to have a case gasket. Hell, this thing came with five buckets of parts, 7 (yes, s-e-v-e-n) seats, two sets of pipes, an extra 3.25 gallon tank, new front fender and four chain guards. So I grab the gasket and get to wrenching. It was satisfying, I really forgot how much I enjoy cussing American vehicles when I'm working on them. I got the new gasket in with some Ultra Grey super gasket goo and we'll see if it leaks next Saturday. I had grease and dirt up to my eyeballs. Couldn't be happier.

Bad Billy asked me if I could help him with some vehicular musical chairs, so I jumped in his work truck and whipped it around the block. He was going to back the attached trailer into the drive, but I said fuck it and ran that puppy in there on the first try. Felt pretty manly, right there I did. I hadn't backed a trailer in close to ten years, a tongue hitch in even longer. First try, I AM MAN!

They BBQ'd some dinner and I was off to the bar for another buddy's 25th birthday. He's the youngest of all my friends, but hell if I wasn't one of the oldest there.... BOO! So another carload of his friends breaks down on the way there. His bro goes to rescue them, leaving his girlfriend standing there with us looking bored. So I break into some small talk with her, alleviating her boredom and my own- sober sucks once in a while- and we get to what we do for a living. I tell her I work in a rocket shop and she flat out called me a liar. "ShUt Up!, You do nOt!" Umm, yeah, I do. So then she goes into damn near groupie mode. Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoy talking about what I do, but this gal was making me feel akward about it. I'm not ready for the ritual mating dances yet; I'm still damaged goods. So I run through the spiel and tell her what my job entails when her boyfriend arrives. He's a nice enough guy, but his woman is hanging on my arm. So I try and make sure that I acknowledge him and try and make my distance. She moves with me. I get her peeled off and he's quick to suck her up next to him. Good, I think, this goofy drunk broad will get the message. Ummm, no, all night she waits until he's more than three inches away and she's got her prodigious bosom on my arm and her lips on my ear talking about how cool it would be to work with me. She's hot, too. But I'm not going to poach one of my buddy's buddy's girlfriends- bros before ho's, right? Homeboy is quick to fetch her up and I keep making eye contact with him without being aggressive- I'm at the point of making sure there is someone between us when we speak, but she'd sail right through them to get next to me. She's telling me that she wants to move near Pasadena, needs a roommate and wanting to know how much I pay in rent in my area, etc. At one point she asks me why I'm not drinking, and I blahblahblah lost a lot of weight yaddayadda. She says she's not giving up booze but she runs six miles a day, then:

"Here. Touch my tummy. It's hard as a rock," as she pulls up her peasant blouse and gives me a look at her stripper soft flat belly with a nice tan and shiny jewelery.

Fuck. It's niiiiice. And she's making eye contact. And her boyfriend's back is to her and I. Temptation rears its beastly head.

"I am not getting punched in the face for touching your stomach. Haha." I'm a puss. Respectful, but a puss.

Her man turns around and sees the situation and puts his hand on her shirt to put it down. He heard me tell her, so he's cool. She starts asking for my number so she can send me her resume' so I tell her to grab her phone. She doesn't have it, so I tell her boy I'll give him my digits and he can pass the resume' along.

If he's smart, he'll tell her that he did it and I never got back to him. Because I AM MAN! :D