Saturday Night Special

I woke up Sunday morning with a smashing headache. The room swirled into focus and I thought, "Did I really let Jack's Ladyfriend pull a soggy cocktail napkin out of my bra with her teeth?"

I rolled over and threw up a bit, then started pondering the previous evening, each memory crashing into the other until Jack called and it was embarrassingly confirmed.

The evening started pleasantly. We met Tinyhands (who has a secret and everyone should dogpile him until he tells it) and Beth (probably the sweetest Jersey Girl you'll ever meet) at a restaurant called Lupe Tortillas which seems to be the standard meeting place for bloggers.

While we were waiting for Jack and his Ladyfriend to show up, Beth and I (or at least I) took the liberty of a margarita or two. Possibly three. I don't know.

I think Jack must really enjoy his air of mystery because I looked up suddenly, and there was a figure in a black hood with a zipper mouth standing before us holding a sheaf of confidentiality agreements. He unzipped the mouth a little to inform us that we all had to sign them and take a blood oath that we would display no photographs of his image. Being a tranquil, yet curious drunk, I figured I would oblige. He removed the hood, and I was glad I did. I cringe when I think how close I came to being courtesy bound to desecrate my beautiful blog with that mug. Ladies, I don't know what you've been imagining, but gone was the golden-mulleted, muscle-bound star of my cop fantasies to be replaced with something resembling this with slightly fewer feathers. Secretly though, I couldn't help but think he could probably give some wicked beak.

Jack sat down and introduced the Ladyfriend, a blog lurker who gives lie to the notion that lurkers are fat, hairy, bearded slobs who have mastered the art of naked, one-handed net surfing. She knew about everyone's blogs, was very pretty - way out of Jack's league - and she was an actual writer. So henceforth, she will be referred to as AW.

Then he asked us how we liked his "ninja" mask. He seemed so proud of it that I didn't have the heart to tell him what it really was. And the only reason I know is because I've seen Pulp Fiction, like, 500 times.

We talked for awhile in the restaurant, then hit another bar in Rice Village. I drank some more and had what I think was a fairly good conversation with AW about her literary career. I came to the conclusion that I'm a blogger not a writer. But I'm very anxious to read her work when it comes out.

Jack, after singing a dirge to Jay with his lighter lit and tears in his eyes, suggested we go to a Karaoke bar. This is always a good idea, so we went.

The rest of the evening is a blur that tastes a lot like cranberry juice and vodka. But during that time I recall having my breasts fondled by AW and liking it, having another girl dedicate her performance of "I Touch Myself" to me (at least I think it was me), lamenting the crowsfeet at the corners of my eyes in the bathroom with Beth, drinking a shot with the kids at the next table, and mooning Jack and Tinyhands while they sang "Stand By Your Man."

We finally left and were making out/saying good-bye in the parking lot when:

POP!.....POP!.....POPOPOPOPOPOP!

I hit the deck on the second pop. I suppose it could have been a car backfiring, but I knew it wasn't. Sometimes I have a certain drunken clarity. Plus, I am a shameless coward. No one was hurt, thankfully, but Jack said he saw the muzzle flash from across the freeway. We finished our goodbyes and I must admit I clung a little tighter to Beth than I might have. It's a shame our visitor ended up with her knees in the dirt for a reason such as that, but hopefully all's well that ends well. And it ended well, I think.

Tinyhands: You are a sneak. Time to 'fess up, boy. And don't think you got away with squeezing my butt no matter how much you think I liked it.

Beth - I'm sorry we didn't get to hang out more. But hopefully you were more pleasantly occupied. And despite the gunshots, I think there will be a next time.

Jack - You are the best sport in the entire world. Thanks for letting me sharpen my claws on you just a little bit. And I sincerely hope you got to see a little more than my blog fat.

AW - You little minx. Don't be a stranger, m'kay?

Jethro - Thanks for staying sober and carting our asses around all night. I hope my brilliant conversation plus the head made it worth it. And don't worry about him, folks. I gave him head for all of us.