This past week's darts match was once again held at McCrossen's. We played a team from Kensington. They had lots to say about the set-up of the McCrossen's dart board, the prices of McCrossen's drinks, and the tendency of many customers and employees to walk by players as they were shooting (hard to avoid, as the bathrooms are all near the board). While I have no official role in the team (past 'unofficial drunken mascot') nor at the bar, their litany of complaints (some well-founded...it really is a tight space if you have a team of 10 people and when they first arrived there was nowhere for them/us to sit), I did take their early criticisms to heart. Or something. Not to heart. Basically in my head I believed conflict was a'brewing, so I drank heavily and tried to stay out of its way. At one point I really thought about just sitting under the table by the board and building a temporary fort...but I didn't do that. The end result was actually no large conflict, and me becoming very drunk. Though I still managed to have my 'moment of zen' by hitting an outshot just after the opposite team started making cracks about women, and how they throw. I don't know what LW is reacting to in this photo, but I like it.
This guy's nickname was Shorty. He and I had a conversation later about all the other nicknames he has 'upstate.' But I forget them now.
I did envy the other team their matching shirts.
K. shooting. I believe he and I had some kind of conversation about how one of the opposite team's member's flights were a confederate flag motif. Ugh.
Bunch a dudes playing darts.
Not sure what this is about, but I like it.
The older gentleman to the right was quite the flirt. I don't know why it is that I'm fine with men over 60 calling me sweetheart or hon (he was 83), but men under that age calling any woman they don't actually know either of those things raises my near non-existent feminist hackles.
I think this was after we won, which we did.
K. probably telling T. a number of things we could do to improve something.
Fist bumping it out. If I were fist bumping, I would be blowing that shit up.
Drunky McDrunkerpants (me, not LW).
I wore my boots, but you can't see them.
L. and K. talking about one thing or another.
This guy's nickname was Shorty. He and I had a conversation later about all the other nicknames he has 'upstate.' But I forget them now.
I did envy the other team their matching shirts.
K. shooting. I believe he and I had some kind of conversation about how one of the opposite team's member's flights were a confederate flag motif. Ugh. 
Bunch a dudes playing darts.
Not sure what this is about, but I like it.
The older gentleman to the right was quite the flirt. I don't know why it is that I'm fine with men over 60 calling me sweetheart or hon (he was 83), but men under that age calling any woman they don't actually know either of those things raises my near non-existent feminist hackles.
I think this was after we won, which we did.
K. probably telling T. a number of things we could do to improve something.
Fist bumping it out. If I were fist bumping, I would be blowing that shit up.
Drunky McDrunkerpants (me, not LW).
I wore my boots, but you can't see them.
L. and K. talking about one thing or another.
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