i had a ball!

If you've stopped by Chez Pez lately, you know that Friday night was Tonic Ball.

The night went great. I poured wine at Tonic Gallery before the show and raked in $74 in tips to donate, which made me feel better since I couldn't afford to bid on the art. The music, as Jerry said, rawked. (It was great to meet you, Jerry!) I could do a post just on the music, but I suspect Nora will do a better job of covering that.

What I will cover is the men. Good god, they were everywhere. Deputy Joe, Bob Sanders, Dead-to-Me, plus a multitude of minor characters and some really great guys that I am lucky to call my friends.

One guy I'd never seen before walked up to me and started dancing with me (it wasn't even Drinky Bear), and--get this--could actually dance! Before I knew it I was being whirled, spun, and dipped all over the place. Then he bought me a Jagerbomb. With surprising clarity, I guessed where that whole scene was headed (nowhere good), and fled. After I drank the Jagerbomb, of course.

Deputy Joe looked super-hot with freshly grown stubble, but was in full self-absorption mode. Dead-to-Me was wearing a sling from having shoulder surgery. Nora accidentally hit him on his bad arm. Thanks, Nora!

And Bob Sanders fell down at my feet. Literally.

I first saw him outside Radio Radio waiting in line. He explained he was limping because he'd had an accident. Pressing further, I determined that "accident" was actually a euphemism for "bar fight."

The next time I saw him he was fubar. His friends, no doubt with a wisdom born of experience, had abandoned him. He said something, the exact memory of which was erased by what happened next, and I gave him a playful shove.

Possibly due to the injury from his "accident," but more likely due to mass quantities of alcohol, he fell on the floor in the bar. Nora moved in to see if it was time to kick him out. I helped him up and apologized. "My bad leg!" he shouted. "You owe me a blow job for that!"

Oh-kayyy...

Now, I stopped falling for the "you owe me a blow job" line sometime around 1988. That also might be the last time I heard it. Bob Sanders gets this month's "these people can't be serious" gold medal for shocking me to the point of speechlessness.

This morning I ignored a 9 a.m. (4 hours after I got home) text from him offering to make some "killer pancakes."

Let's take a moment to review what I now know about Bob Sanders: he desperately wants to marry and breed, he is "accident" prone, and he loudly demands blow jobs when he's really drunk. It's clear that any smart woman would stay far, far away from him. But me, well, I'd say odds are better than even that sooner or later I will sample those killer pancakes.

But back to last night. After the music wrapped up, I closed down a saloon in the bad part of town with some of Dead-to-Me's friends. Then I gave Dead-to-Me's neighbor (who also happens to be his best friend) a ride home, and a cop caught us making out in the alley in back of his house.

Making out with the neighbor/friend of a guy I dated for 5 months may seem like an odd thing to do, but a) he's hot, and b) it furthers my mission to prove that Dead-to-Me is an idiot. You see, his friends already like me a lot, and must suspect that Dead-to-Me was stupid to dump me, but now...well, now at least one of them has some idea of the full scope of reasons why Dead-to-Me will never do better than me.