Day 4 of the non-drinking.

Found out that 2 WACO boys got engaged this week.

*~*

Today is a beautiful day. And I am young and vibrant and alive. I can see and hear and smell and smile. I can run and jump and laugh when I trip over my two left feet.

*~*

I realized that I never filled you all in on the weekend.

Pablo was here. Let me tell you a little something about Pablo. He is one of those guys who exudes a quiet, inner sensuality. He probably knows what he is doing, but he refuses to acknowledge it. But it�s there, for all of the world to pick up on. Liked the vibe.

For his final evening in town, Gingi rallied me and I rallied a small, eclectic group to karoake. You didn�t think we�d allow Mr. Union Jack to leave town without bestowing a performance, did you? Silly readers. When a rockstar is in your midst, he needs an audience and adoration.

So we took him to this ridiculous transvestite bar. Pablo and Gingi were talking forever and a day to pick out their songs, as were the others.

I handed in my name and song.

Jen and I decided we had to step it up a notch, so we ordered some SoCo shots for some quick courage. Problem: The bartender did not chill the SoCo. And Partygirl was already not feeling right.

I threw that shot back and before I could even swallow it, I knew there was going to be a problem. I turned and walked to the bathroom, walked into the stall, and projectile vomited. Twice. I slumped back against the stall door for a second, to catch my breathe and that�s when I heard my name being called from the stage. I walked out of the stall, rinsed out my mouth with water, fixed my lipstick and exited the bathroom.

I took my place on stage.

My legs were still shaking from getting so sick, but it was my moment and I knew I had to do this. I then proceeded to sing what was possibly the worst version of Bobby McGee to ever be sung. I�m talking, Janis would have to be shooting up, in her grave, to put herself out of the misery that came with this rendition. I sucked.

I sing terribly to begin with. We�ve been over this. I�m all glitz and glam, no talent. So I get to the la-di-da part and I am distracted by the crowd who are just staring at me on stage, and I kinda do one of those �Oh yeah, I almost forgot!� faces and pull my harmonica out of my bra.

The crowd goes crazy. Jen and Gingi said that people stood up and starting clapping and screaming for me but all I saw was this hottie in the front row � with a set of dimples that I wanted to stick my tongue in and his huge tattooed arms that Jen and I almost girl-fought over - smiling at me. He had this look of mirth and delight on his face and when I saw him smiling at me, he was the only person I saw in the room and I knew I could finish this song.

Later, Gingi got up and the room went crazy for her Britney imitation. And Pablo wowed the crowd with his Morrissey-like interpretation of Elvis. He was�genius. We tossed our panties at him.

We stayed there for hours, entertained by the drag queens. One of my life questions was answered: What would happen if boys had boobs? Let me tell you. This tranny had boobs, but they were clearly new. They looked like man tits but I would never tell her that. Anyway, she was strutting her stuff on stage and when she couldn�t think of another move, she'd just pull her dress down and flash her man-tits. Squeezing and covering them coquettishly, flashing them brazenly. She just could not stop showing them and touching them. And that�s what would happen if men had boobs. They would show everyone and touch them all the time.

You don�t see women doing that. Because we have them and really, they aren�t that exciting. But men have this body part/playing thing anyway. Like they are constantly readjusting and touching their privates. It�s a bizarre thing. You�d think they would get tired of touching themselves, but they don�t.

Anyway, when I was standing at the stage, with Pablo behind me, watching the tranny shake her ass, the gay man next to me starts talking to me. Think Javier from Felicity. So he turns to me and somehow we get on the topic of my boobs. He starts talking about my breasts and I tell him they�re real and before I know it he�s asking if he can feel them. �Sure,� I say. What do I care? So the next thing I know this Mary is feeling me up and then I am feeling him up and Pablo is taking it all in.

Later that night, sometime during the time that Jen and I were plotting how to get in with the hottie tattooed guy, I was walking back from the bathroom and looked over at him as I approached.

I caught his eye. And just as I was about to pass him, he leaned into me and said in my ear, �Hey, you were great. I have to tell you that when you pulled that harmonica out, I thought it was fantastic!� And he smiled. His smile was like a galaxy of million brightly burning stars. I wanted to jump into his smile. And then I looked in his eyes. And I almost took a step back. Because he had such a solid twinkle in his eyes, the kind that few people have and that you only read about these days in silly romance novels. But here he was. Not a romance hero. Flesh and blood and twinkling right in front of me. Twinkling in my face.

I may have blushed.

I asked him his name and he told me, �Michael.� We shook hands and my hand felt lost in this enormous grip of flesh and bone and muscle. And I felt something unusual. Callouses. Rarely, in these parts, can you find a ruff �n tumble man. A man that really works for a living. He uses his hands and turns earth and puts things together�builds. For a split second, I thought about his rough hand and what it might feel like against my cheek. But just as quickly as I was lost in his hand, my hand was returned to it�s single status.

I walked behind him and whispered his name to Jen. I desperately tried to get back in there with him. Jen got in for a little while. But a few hours later, Jen and I dejectedly put on our coats after watching him lean over and kiss this Nina Gordon-esque chick he was with. It sucked.

We left.

And hit another bar. By the way, it�s about 4AM at this point. Get to the other bar. I was assaulted by the man who sells roses. Then when I refused to kiss him after he tried to tongue me, he leans over me to smooch Gingi and stuck his hand up my skirt.

HELLO! This is a middle-aged, balding Mediterranean man. I took his hand and tossed it back into his lap, screaming. I yelled at the pervert, I screamed at the bouncer � who found the whole situation amusing and took his sweet time getting the guy to move along.

For the next half hour, we watched all of the men leaving the bar make goo-goo eyes at Jen. Everyone wanted a piece of her, and really they should, because she is so Fabu. Some of them stopped and introduced themselves to her. Did goofy things to impress her. All of that.

All for naught really, because at the end of the night, both of us girls left alone. And sadly bid the fabulous Pablo, Farewell.

I hope he does fare well.

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