10/13/2004 - Birthday Party

Things in my life right now need to develop just a little bit more before I tell everyone about them. So I'll tell everyone about the birthday party that my friend Abbi threw for me a few months ago.

Abbi runs karaoke at a bar in town, so she decided to have a karaoke birthday party for me, with games and prizes and such. With much trepidation, I showed up.

"Be ready for some crazy surprises, Jay! And make sure you have someone to drive you home!"

The last time someone told me that I'd need someone to drive me home, it was a doctor, and it wasn't a good thing. Visions of humiliation run through my head. Will they punch me in the face? Tar and feather me? Burn me with their cigarettes? "Happy Birthday!"

I sit in the bar, wearing a Burger King crown, holding a balloon, and wearing a glow in the dark necklace. I think to myself, "I'm really not looking forward to being embarrassed."

Side note: It doesn't look like it, but I have a tremendous head. Normal hats do not fit me. Burger King crowns strain to contain my brain.

The moment I was dreading arrived. Abbi called me up to the microphone. "I'm really not looking forward to being embarrassed," I think again. I take the microphone from the stand, and say, "I'm not comfortable in front of large groups of people, Abbi." Then I bust out in dorkish laughter in front of the assembled mass of bikers and truck drivers. "Hee-hee-hee-(snort)!"

"Oh, yeah, right Jay, " says Abbi. "You're in front of crowds every weekend."
Silence. A cool breeze blows. I let out a final "hyuck".
"Okay, Jay, here's your challenge!" Abbi reaches into a bag, and pulls out a tiara, a pink shirt, and Elton John sunglasses. "You need to sing this next song wearing these things."

"Okay." I put on the pink shirt, which has "I'm too sexy" written across the front. Looks pretty cool. I stare at myself in the Budweiser mirror while Abbi's friend puts the tiara and the sunglasses on me. Lookin' sharp! I ask the audience how I look. I think someone grunted. Abbi starts the song, and I was dressed for the occassion. Right Said Fred - I'm Too Sexy.

"Aw, ye-ah, " I say, then I start singing along, trying to sound like Elmer Fudd. "I'm too sexy for dat wabbit, too sexy for dat wabbit." I shook my little tush on the catwalk. Aw, ye-ah.

The song ended, and I gleefully queried, "Now what?"
"Go sit down, Jay. I'm done with you for now."
"Can I keep the tiara?"
"No, Jay, you need to give that stuff back to me."

Dang. So I head back to my table, all the while thinking, "I'm really not looking forward to it once they start to embarrass me."

Time passes, I make friends with a couple of the lads near me, and then Abbi calls me back up to the microphone. I take the microphone away from someone and say, "Now what?"

"Okay, Jay, now we're going to blindfold you."
"Okay!"
Someone blindfolded me.
"And you have to identify this drink."
I'm handed a drink, and I taste. Fruity. Pleasant. And definately nothing like a Manhattan, the only mixed drink I like.
"What the hell is this," I holler in disgust.

Freeze frame. Let's survey this scene for a moment, gang. I am in a bar with a pretty rough looking crowd. Blindfolded. The center of attention. Drinking a foo-foo drink. Yelling in disgust. And the thought never occurs to me that this is the embarrassing part.

Back to the scene.

"So you don't know what it is?"
"I don't know. It's a Blackberry Pansy!"
"What?"
"This tastes like crap!"
"Okay, Jay, you have to pay the price."

Aw, crap. Here it comes. Now someone's going to embarrass me. They pull up a chair for me to sit in, and Abbi starts a song.

"Okay, ladies, here's your chance! Come on up and give the birthday boy a lap dance!"
I had a dog that liked cheese. If you said the word "cheese", the dog's head would cock, ears would perk up, and the mouth would start watering. "Lap dance" does the same thing to me.

Before I know it, four girls are around me, butts and boobs everywhere. I look to my right. Oh my gosh! I know that girl's husband! He's bigger than me! Shake that thang, baby!

One of the girls pushes her way onto my lap, pulling up her skirt enough so she can have a leg on each side of me, facing me.

"You're kinda cute," she says.
"I know!"

Then she starts kissing me, right there in front of everyone. I push her back a little bit so I can find my friends. They are gone! I've been deserted!

Oh well. Looks like I've got a new friend to take me home. I slide her over to my left leg so I can get another honey on the right leg, and then...

This drunk falls off! Incredible! I tried to help her up, but couldn't. It took three guys to get her standing again. How embarrassing for her!

The song ends, and I ask her if she's okay. She really looks like she's in a lot of pain, so I say, "See ya."
"Wait a second." She puts her arms around me as the next song starts, and starts dancing with me. My friends are still nowhere to be found, and some woman I never met is dirty dancing with me as well as she can with a broken tailbone.

Now, sexy readers, there are a few types of women that I'm attracted to, but following is a list of basics that I must have, whether the woman is a long term relationship or a quick fling:

• She must be clean

By "clean", I mean that there shouldn't be an immediate desire to wash after touching the woman. I'm not going to go in depth in my explanation of what is acceptably clean and what is not. If you have a question, assume that you're not clean enough.

Now, I usually refrain from saying things on here that would be hurtful to any person, but my potential mate did not meet my extensive... criterion.

However, I am two pitchers of beer, three shots of whiskey, and a Fruity Foofer into the night, and - please don't hate me for admitting this - I think, "This wouldn't be that bad. I could keep my eyes closed."

Yes, dear sweet sexy readers, I was at that moment at the beginning of a Very Bad Decision, which invariably ends with, at best, a horrified "Oh, sweet Jesus, what did I just do?"

She gazed lovingly in my eyes as she coughed up a hairball, then laughed.

"You're cute," she said after swallowing whatever had been coughed up.
"Ah." How could I respond? Do I complement her? On what? "Nice... case of emphysema. You must have smoked over 20 years to get that."

Aha! My friends have returned. One of them comes up to me and says, "Jay, it's time to head home."
"I need to go with my friends, honey."

I wait for a moment as one of them finishes his beer and says, "Can you drive him home, or should I?"
"I'm FIIIIIIine," I slur.
"Jay."
"What?"
"You were going to do it, weren't you?"
I pause. "Maybe. Why not?"
"You're not okay to drive."

The next morning, the alarm goes off. I slowly, painfully wake up, thanking the dear Lord for my friends.