The chain of events about to be revealed must remain confidential, un-judged and, most importantly, a subject of little discussion.

Tuesday of last week I went up to McBabes to hang with my friend The Realtor. That evening during our conversation, I emphasized my conservative nature and habits (or lack there of). Shortly thereafter, circa Friday night, I gave The Realtor good reason to doubt my conservative nature. For several years now, myself and a certain individual of the male gender (who shall remain nameless) have somehow maintained a strange and flirtatious friendship. Our history is littered with random bouts of snuggles and spooning, indecipherable “dates”, awkward moments, great fun and one semi-romantic, semi-awkward under-the-stars-make-out-session. There is some strange power that exists between us, be it thoughts of something greater than friendship, strong physical attraction or a combination of the two. Despite his sometimes often awkward and immature behavior, he intrigues me and always has. Recently, he has been jovial, humorous and all around enjoyable to hang out with.

With the stage set, enter boozahol. Never before has the faculty of tequila absorbed my entire being, crippling any chance of resistance or employment of better judgment. There must be some ancient Mexican mixture infused into the particles of agave. Admittedly, tequila makes me crazy. And when I say crazy, I mean crazy. As the evening wore down so did my inhibitions. It was a little wild, quite fervent and, between you and me, very fun.

Oops.

Are you wondering if I slept with him? Yes, you are. No, I did not—not even close, I might add. Do I feel bad? A little. Would I do it again? Maybe.

Goodnight Bahamas!

A couple weeks ago a middle aged woman knocked on my door. When I answered, she politely began telling me about the research project going on and how I could become thirty dollars richer. I may have heard about it since notices were sent out in the mail. I explained to her that yes, I did hear of it and no, I am respectively declining. She attempted to convince me to do the research project. Again, I said, “No thank you…” and shut the door.

The second notice came in the mail and, as a good little girl, ripped it up and threw it away. Never did I think little miss interviewer would return. Not ten minutes ago, someone knocked on my door. No one visits me unannounced, so I immediately knew it was some sort of solicitation. I looked in the peep hole and who did I find? That woman. Little miss interviewer. Kita barked letting me know someone was at the door, just in case I didn’t hear them knock. I debated whether or not to answer but didn’t want her to continue to knock, knowing I was home. I cracked the door and asked, “How may I help you?” She started to explain who she was and how I probably remember and there were a few mail notices about this research project, yadda, yadda. Before she could get two more words in, I’d had enough. I interjected, putting my hand up, and in a calm and respectful tone I said, “Excuse me, as I said before, I am not interested and I will not be interested. So while I appreciate you asking again, I would appreciate you not coming back. Thank you.”

Speechless and taken aback, she fumbled for words and managed a flustered, “Okay.”

Tell me, who is the rude individual? The interviewer who goes to a private residence a second time asking a question the resident has already answered? OR the resident who after already giving a negative answer, gives an indefinite no?!

Stay the f**k away.

Pause. Freak out. Just a little skip of the beat of the heart. Skip. Hop. Jump. OMG.

Reply, enter, enter. “Yes, I would LOVE one! Know anyone with another? I’d love to get two tix…”

Turns out my client / friend has several tickets to the festival. She is a vendor every year and every year vendors get free tickets. So, long story shortest, we got two tickets to Bumbershoot. Sister did not care to go b/c she had an early morning rise the following AM. However, my beast has been a long time lover of the Mr A to the Z. TEXT. Hello? C’mon. C’mon. Two seconds, three seconds. NO REPLY. WTF is she doing? I dunno. RING! “Sup guuuuurl! Did you get my text?!” … “No?!” … “So…I may or may not have TWO FREE tickets to Bumbershoot and YOUR BOYFRIEND is playing tonight. Would you like to join me?!” As IF I did not know the answer.

Fun story number One. Tammy and I could not just waltz into Jay to the Z (standing for the super sexy Jason, not to be mistaken for a washed up rap star). Mr. A Z costs extra to get into. However, my same friend(ish) gave us two passes. One was a VIP weekend pass with the three days listed on it (this is important). The second, mine, was a stage pass with out days listed. We strolled up to the VIP entrance (pronounced en-traunce) and flashed the badges. BLAM. I’m in.

I turn and wait while Tam-dawg speaks with the STAFF. Hmm. This is taking longer than my BLAM, I’m in. Crap. Turns out, two of the three days (Saturday & Sunday) were crossed out on her VIP badge. Shit guys! The STAFF man asks her, “Why is Sunday crossed out? Were you here earlier?”

“Yes, of course,” she responds! She had not. Side note: they stamp your wrist when you enter the VIP gate with an invisible ink. I know, SO high tech. Prolly just lemon juice or some shiz.

“Well do you have a stamp?”

“No?! I didn’t know I had to get a stamp…no one told me I had to earlier…” says Tammy in her cute and quit polite voice.

Speaking up from stage right a lady, whom we do not know, says, “Oh yeah! I remember her! She was here earlier…”

“Yeah!” says Tam to the M-Y.

He allows her to go through and tells her, in her semi-stupor, to get a stamp from the man. We both got stamps. Oh yeah, lil detail, we’d split a bottle of wine, rode the bus downtown and while on the bus, drank two Mike’s hards out of our Nalgenes. Super classy. Don’t judge.

Lamest thing about Bumbershoot and yet another reason I never go, the seating in the stadium is GA. Every man, woman and child for themselves. We showed up with about two songs left in the prior act. We shoved and pushed our way toward the front. This one girl *literally* pushed me when I tried passing. I was just tipsy enough to lash out, “Bitch don’t push me! We’re trying to find our friends! Fuck off!” Haha. I’m a little surprised at myself, even drunk self. Anyway, she backed down big time and we kept moving forward. We tucked ourselves just right of center, nestled in between under 21-ners and SANG OUR HEARTS OUT.

Sadly, all I had was my crappy phone video … no flip.

During the concert Jay to the Z announced his band would be playing at the Crocadile downtown at midnight. Huh. Well isn’t that just great. My little mind started working and apparently Tammy’s did too. We must find Fluffy. (If you have not yet seen Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist, you must see it.) After the show closed we ran as fast as we coulds go, hopped on the bus and took our chances. Luckily, I had another friend who I coerced into meeting us down there. Her and her boyfriend saved us a table. We order drinks, twice and then made our way to the back where the show was. There were maybe 100 people? Tamms, confirm?

So we’re chillin’, listenin’ to Jason’s band, some skaw wanna-be white boy rapper and another no-body rapsta. Then, out comes our man.

OMG. We flipped.

He sang, rapped, and got jiggy. It was A-mazin’.

(Sound quality and picture are crap … but you get the idea)

THEN, out of no where, he jumps down into the crowd and starts dancing. Tamms flips her lid and screams. Mind you, we are three? four? G & Ts in. So I push her toward the stage. Could she ask for a better friend? She disappears into the crowd. A few seconds go by. Then a minute. She reappears out of the crowd screaming, “OH MY GOSH!!!!! I TOUCHED JASON MRAZ! OH MY GOSH. OH MY GOOOOOOOOSH!”

Life goal. Check.

In the meantime, Mr. Jay to the Z had begun moving his way toward the back of the crowd, a.k.a. us. So again, I turn to my beast and say, “What the hell are you doing?! GO DANCE WITH HIM!” And she was gone.

Next thing I know, he’s dancing right next to me. Eye contact. Check. Look exchange, “Oh, I’ve seen you before?” “Yes, last November when I met you. I’m sure you remember my soft voice greeting you.”

(Last November. Hello. This is an anonymous blog. I cannot fully reveal. For those who know me, you’ll know this is me.)

The moment passes and I chicken out on kissing his face. Surry. Tammy turns to me with the most extactic look on her face, “I rode his ass all the way to you!” She literally did.

Don’t tell Wonka.

When we got home we called the one person we knew would appreciate the phone call at 4 in the morning her time. Kritta. Tamms later messaged Kirtta about dancing with Jay to the Z saying, “I will never wash my front again!”

This is one for the books.

There are few words able to describe last night’s affair. Drunken might work; or, utter merriment. I will go with the latter.

This is long, but sooo worth the read.

The night started when Tammy got out of class early. “Let’s go to the fair!” she texted me. We quickly ran home to change clothes, grab cameras (both still and video), and convince our roommate Ruth to join us. That was not hard. After much disorganized preparation, we were ready. All of us needed cash, so on the way we stopped at the bank. I withdrew enough money to pay our pimp, I mean roommate, I mean landlord Ruth her cash money for rent and have enough to eat, drink and be merry at the fair. Tammy didn’t know her pin number and needed to borrow twenty bucks. Ruth obliged since she was now well endowed.

Giddy, we walked into the fair and headed straight for the local food section. I’m still not entirely sure how that was any different than any of the other foods, but it didn’t really matter—they had corn dogs. After eating a scrumptious meal, we felt quite parched. We moseyed on over to the beer garden, passing motorcycle cops (note: an important detail to come) showing off their bikes to small children. As we walked passed, we most certainly noticed that one cop in particular, had a very nice behind.

The beer garden was a strange setup. First you had to get your ID checked, which is normal. Then we had to buy tickets to buy booze. The tickets proved a complicating detail in the process of attaining beverages. Bitch beer was $6 a bottle / 2 tickets. Shit beer was $3 / 1 ticket. For some reason, breaking this down into dollars made our minds spin. We somehow managed to figure it out and all bought bitch beer.

We sat down and didn’t leave the beer garden for several hours. Ooops. We saw George W. and his trusty brother Jed. We carded boys who looked 12. We video taped ourselves talking about being at the fair, drawing attention to us. Ooops. We documented more Missoula Magic like Jed and the 12 year olds. One of the 12 year olds was named Austin. Nice boy but grew up in Juno, AK and had some issues. The only thing to do there is, “drink [raising his beer], have sex and do drugs.” Right.

Tammy and Ruth started daring me to do silly things. A.K.A. “You should totally go up to Hot Cop and ask for his number.” “No seriously, you should. Go up and tell him that your friends call him hot cop because he has a nice ass and that they want his number.” It took about 30 minutes and two bitch beers. I stood up, Tammy grabbed the camcorder, and I walked over to Hot Cop.

Me: “Hey, are you still giving rides?”

Hot Cop: “Uh, well we were just leaving. But yeah, I guess we could give you a ride.”

Me: “Oh well I don’t need a ride. I just wanted to sit on it. Are you still letting people do that?”

Hot Cop: “We were allowing little kids to do so…”

Me: “But not big kids?”

Hot Cop: “Haha, well…”

Me: “By the way, my friends think your hot and they call you hot cop and think you have a nice ass and want your number.”

Hot Cop: “Ha. Oh yeah?”

Me: “Yeah, totally.”

Hot Cop: “Where?”

Me: “In the beer garden. I’m not allowed to point.”

[the bike was not on but he was sitting on it, just slightly too far passed the door to see, he began backing up]

Me: “Beep, beep, beeeep.”

Hot Cop: “You mean right there?” pointing at Ruth who then realized I had sold her out and was PISSED.

Me: “Haha, yup. That’s one of them.”

Me: “Well, can I sit on the bike?”

Hot Cop: “Sure. Just don’t knock it over…”

Me: “Haha, okay, how do you not?”

I got on the bike, felt really awesome and then got off and shook his hand. Tammy got the whole thing on tape.

Next to the beer garden was the arena. We could hear the music coming from the Sawyer Brown concert. Earlier there had been security guards at the entrance gate but we noticed they were no where to be found. Ruth and I decided we were going to the concert. We walked over and pushed our way to the front of the crowd. We heard the last three songs, of course they were the best songs and the only songs I knew! It was awesome. We almost got tackled by these drunken people swing dancing in the packed crowd but managed to avoid them.

When we got back to the beer garden after the concert, there were a ton more people. A guy holding several lawn chairs walked passed out table, bumping Ruth in the head with one of the chairs that was red, white and blue. I quickly shouted at him, “Hey! You better watch where those things go!”

Just as quickly as I shouted he shouted back, “HEY THIS IS AMERICA! Respect the stars and stripes!”

So I yelled back, “America?! F*** yeah!”

His chair was essentially the American flag. Classic.

I’m not sure why, well yes I am, but Tammy decided that I needed to marry this guy and made me run after him. She followed close behind with the video camera. When we got up to him, he turned and started yelling about the American chair again and asked if I would like to sit in THE chair. I obliged. “Hells yes!” He struggled to open it but eventually got it to and I sat down. Tammy still filming. OUT OF NOWHERE this guy runs at me. Not kidding. Turns and sits in my lap. OMG. Funny shit. I don’t even remember what he said to me because I was laughing so hard. However, I do know he said something about how he’d been watching us with that damn video camera and wanted in on the action. I then yelled, “NEXT!” He promptly got up and his buddy runs over and sits down. WTF. I was kidding. They were serious. THEN the other guy came back and said down. I then had two guys sitting on my lap in the America chair. Wow. Total hysteria. We got up, Tammy still filming and I told the guys we were making a documentary about Missoula. I kid you not, he says, “Oh no shit! That’s awesome. ‘Round here we play slug-bug with black people. If you see a black person, you say ‘SLUG BUG!’ and punch!”

OMG.

I looked over at Tammy. She was struggling to hold the camera still as we both keeled over, not knowing how to react.

Things calmed down and we decided to walk around to go on rides. What we didn’t realize is that even though there was still 45 minutes left (fair ended at midnight), the ticket booths were closed. We had no way to buy tickets to go on any of the rides. Totally bummed, we started begging. Of course, Tammy is just about the best flirt there ever was. Side note: I actually believe that because she is married and innocently flirting, it makes her more attractive and people FLOCK to her. Resuming: Tammy managed to get us onto this ride that had double seats that go up semi-horizontal and around in a big circle. She stood back on the ground and took pictures while Ruth and I rode the ride. We did our best not to throw up (drink + spinning rides does not mix well). We succeeded…well kinda. Ruth didn’t do so well once we got home. And she was the sober one. Haha. Surry friend. After that ride we went through a bunch of obstacle house thingies. At one of them the guy was being a total ass and not letting us go through it. We had to dance to the Journey song that started and then he finally let the girls on. I stayed back to hold the fort down.

We then sang Don’t Stop Believing on our way out of the fair.

The end.

I mean, honestly? If I admit to being an alcoholic, will I get to go to Kona for free? Cuz I’ll do it. I don’t even care.

I just checked my Google Analytics and here are this week’s top five keyword searches reaching my b-log:

HAHA.

WOW.

I’m guessing the second one down didn’t find what they were looking for…

i started up the truck, got to the ticket booth. wait. where’s the booth manager? it’s always a cute little ethiopian lady. hmm. something’s wrong. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. garage door slowly closes, just on the other side of the parking ‘arm’ preventing us from escaping. 8:15. fifteen minutes after eight o’clock. shit. apparently the garage closes at eight. no cute ethiopian means no exit. we are not apart of the cozy community above. we have no monthly pass. no electronic card to trigger the sensor and let us out. OH. a black button! so tammy jumps out, presses the button (which had a sign that told those of us after hours to do if we wanted out) aaaaand nothing. dial tone. voice mail. nothing.

i then called the number listed on the same sign that told us to press the black button. a woman answers. i explain that we had entered the garage only to visit the coffee shop above and that my sweet little ticket was awaiting a receiver so that we could be let out. she said, “i will have to come down to let you out. you need a pass. i will have to give you a ticket.” i thought to myself, “huh, i already have a ticket. and it’s validated!” wait. a ticket? “yes ma’am, a ticket. it is after hours.” NOOOOOO. “i guess i have no choice?” i hung up. we waited.

car 1 arrived, flashed it’s fancy covetted card, the arm waved up, the garage door opened and they left. just as soon as the arm went up, the arm went down. damn, i thought. we could’ve snuck behind them had we thought of it. and still, no security lady with ticket in sight. car 2. OH! this time it’s a sweet convertable saab with a flowy grey haired driver man. i quickly move into action and wave him down. he pulls up all swave. i asked if we could use his card a second time to get out and he said, “i think you’ll be able to squeeze in behind me. backup, i’ll pull forward and you stay close.” so i did as he said, backed up and he pulled in front of us. we got up real tight on his bumper and as soon as the arm let up, he sped forward and we raced behind him, cringing as the arm moved back down! PHEW! we made it. the garage door was slow up and slow down so i knew we were home free. he drove out and we escaped!

***

He called; asked if I wanted to go somewhere with him. It was informal, nothing to raise suspicion, aside from him actually calling. We drove. Stopped, not sure where. I was fussing with something, a bag maybe. He caught me in the side, lightly jabbing my ribs, flirting. I laughed, jerked away. I turned around to grab something from behind the seat. He jabbed me again. I laughed, looked up. And there, that pause. That moment. Slowly we moved, eventually only touching foreheads. A long moment, extended in my mind. I wondered what would happen. If he would move. I turned away. I awoke.

****

It took me back to the first date. Excited and very nervous, I got all my things together. I was going hunting with my friend’s brother, whom I’d met once and knew nothing about. My only precautionary step was asking his brother if he was safe, hoping he would not kidnap me and shoot me dead in the woods! He arrived at my house. 9 am. Got all my stuff together. Gave him a hug and we left. Easy conversation along the way. We first headed north, but there was a bad storm. So we turned around, hoping that south east of town there would not be rain. It was cold. November 8th actually. High 30s I believe. His driving was a bit scary at times, but somehow I trusted him. We were out on country roads singing at the top of our lungs, headed no where in particular. He made me feel special. Asked me questions. Wanted to know me.

We drove to the top of this mountain. Awesome views. Cold as hell. Stopped, got out and ate lunch while shaking the chill off. Even under the down vest I had on I was still cold! We found nothing to shoot, at least not anything alive that we could eat. So we just set up some targets and shot a few times. Exciting and fun. Not a care. We got back in the truck. Drove fast down the little forest service roads, hitting every puddle only to watch it splash and cover the windshield. Laughing. Singing as loud as possible. We’d stop in good spots for the satellite radio and wait for a good song to finish, only to record it and play it again.

Headed back north we took every back road possible. Killing time. Not wasting a moment and soaking it up. We ended up back where we originally wanted to go. As it got darker, we headed back toward the main highway. Stopped at a brewery. Had a beer. Easy conversation. By then end of our day adventure we were silly. Doing impersonations. His infectious silent laugh put me in tears. We were crying, cramping and having the time of our lives. Eleven hours, a record first date. Never had we met anyone like the other. I saw his edge, but I kind of liked it. That edge that only young men have. They eventually grow out of it, or at least stow it away and tap into only every once and a while as they settle down. He had a grounded wild. Steadfast, loving, loyal, courageous and honest. I knew that immediately. I fell hard and I fell fast.

I can’t lie. I still think about him. Often I guess. Is it possible to be both over it and not? Ready to kiss another, ready to risk again, ready to do it all over and yet, hold that moment, maintain that pause in your mind, reach to the other pillow in hopes of feeling that warmth again?

Will he return? I wonder. There is something deep within that believes he will, that knows he will. But my logical mind returns me to the present.

He has not.

She was nearly in tears, whispering to her self while closing her eyes, “don’t cry, don’t cry…”. I asked where she needed to go, gas station, tow company, home, etc. but really she just needed to use my phone. She told me what happened with her car and how she was disappointment because now she’ll miss her doctor’s appointment, acupuncture you know. She just lost her husband. Two years of chemo and she kept him home the whole time and took care of him. Now she had really worked herself up so I tried to calm her down and we called her daughter, Gayle. While Julie (the cute old lady) caught Gayle up on what had happened, “My car just stopped. No sputtering, no nothing. I even checked the gas and it was half full. And the dogs… my dogs are in the car… Oooh, I was on my way to that doctors appointment you know, for acupuncture and the car just stopped.” So Gayle called her boyfriend, of whom Julie initially called her son-in-law but then later said, “Well I’m not sure what to call him. They’re not married but they’ve been together for a while.”

After that we called a family friend who own’s a shop, who gave us a number to the towing company he’s used for years. We called the towing guy, asked for Ralph, who knew John, “…who just passed away” and she went on to explain again the situation and the location of her car. After that she needed to call and cancel her appointment that she was actually “quite anxious about and disappointed to cancel” but now would not make the 10 am time. After she hung up she worried again aloud about her doggies in the car. I told her they’d be fine and waiting for her when they got the car all situated. I contemplated called the police station but then thought the tow company would show sooner than they did. Meanwhile, we chatted. She talked about her lovely 16 year old granddaughter who goes to Holy Names Academy and gets straight As. How she raised her but now she’s back with her mother Grace and her, “well he’s not my son-in-law” boyfriend she said with a smile. She pulled out of her purse a full on photo album and showed me pics of her two doggies and her granddaughter, who’s gorgeous … going to be a killer!

Then we talked about her grandson who’s 28. In high school he had this website and someone in California saw it and called him. He was into art and this company in California flew him down for an interview and he got a job creating backgrounds for movies near Laguna beach! After a few years he was laid off and stayed in Laguna for another 6 months; “he had saved his money up ya know.” Then again, was recruited by a New York company and got a job out there. They talk pretty often and he’s a really nice boy but “won’t marry”. Julie said he told his mother, “I’m not gay mom. I know that’s what you are thinking about and you don’t have to worry!” Julie said he thinks girls his age don’t speak well and are “dingbats”. Haha. “He’ll probably end up marrying an older woman.”

At this point I hear sirens. I look up and sure enough, two cop cars are pulling up just beyond the intersection behind her car. She’s getting worried and so I ran out to talk to the policeman. I told him the quick synopsis and how “this old lady broke down, who is now sitting back in my truck over there”. He asks if she might be able to help push it up a ways to an exit where there was a shoulder. I said,

“Uhh, no she’s really old…”

“Like how old?”

“Like 80!”

“Ah, okay. Well do you have the key? Could you help us?”

“Sure, I’ll run and get it.”

So I ran back, grabbed the key, updated Julie what was happening and ran back. I thought we were going to physically push the little car like 100 feet and was a little concerned but then realized the policeman was going to push with his car behind her car and I was to steer. I unlock the car and am quickly “welcomed” by the dogs and am “not to mind Maggy, she’s all talk!” Nervous, I tell the puppies it’s okay in my high pitched tone and get in, steer the car down the road with the policeman behind. He gave me a ride back to the parking lot (my first ever ride in a cop car!).

By then Julie’s daughter’s fake husband had arrived and Julie was up, out and ready to go. She thanks me profusely and asks for my phone number and name so she could call me later. I gave her my little biz card since that was easiest and then gave her a hug. She gave me the BIGGEST hug ever. It was super cute. Like grandma style, a little too long but still endearing and makes you feel all warm and fuzzy :0)

P.S. Julie & Gayle just called to thank me (separately) … haha …

Let me tell you, this was very interesting. I was extremely curious what it would be like to be amongst a Mormon family. Brother is no longer Mormon and is in some sort of searching place in life. But his family is still VERY much so. In some ways it was very familiar, they all went to church, came over and the craziness began. Just like my family. Lots of love, the smell of baked goods and juicy ham. They were friendly, welcoming and a little suspicious! Haha. He told me he would prep his family before I came so that they were clear that we were not dating. However, no matter how much you prep and squawk, family is family and siblings will always be pecking like hens, especially sisters of the only Brother. One of his sisters walked in, introduced herself, I shook hands, introduced myself and she asked, “So, you are … what … with Brother? Friends or … what?” I said assertively, “JUST friends. Just friends.” with a smile. She smiled and then said, “Oh okay, just friends. So is it getting serious?!” HAHA. I about lost it. I said, “NO no. Just friends. The 14 years difference, plus 2 kids and baggage are not really what I’m looking for.” She laughed and said, “Oh, okay so just platonic friends? This is Brother’s platonic friend.” Ha. It was great.

The day went on and we ate. Kids screaming and running everywhere—a welcomed chaos. I like being around kids and don’t mind the insanity at times. After dinner his dad sat down at the piano and started to play hymns. This was fun to listen to. I knew the songs he was playing and Brother’s sisters started to all join in, singing the harmonies, even Brother sang. It was really neat to see him with his family. I sang what I knew quietly while sitting on the couch next to one of his sisters. I was asked a couple times, once by his mom and again by this sister on the couch with me, if I was Mormon. His mom said that I carried myself in that way and his sister noticed that I knew the hymns. What is curious and funny about Mormons is that they believe they too are Christians. I am not to say ya or nay but certainly believe there is a distinction. I told them I am a Christian and that I grew up going to church, etc. So, at this moment, while sitting on the couch listening to the Von Trapp family sing, his dad started to play a family favorite. This tune, I was unfamiliar with. I don’t remember the lyrics, just the message … something to the extent of, “the woman should be in the kitchen cooking bread and then feed her husband breakfast in bed!” Haha. Brother and I talk regularly about religion and I told him, “I’m not saying those stigmas don’t exist in the Christian faith, I’ve just never heard them vocalized and harmonized!”