When rockstars try to be civilized.

Every so often, I enjoy dressing up.

G. & I attended a cocktail party last night at a friend's house. Well, actually it was his boyfriend's house, but we'll get to that later. She purchased me a new pair of cufflinks - an Ace and Jack of spades - and a tie to match her dress, specifically for the occasion. I even combed my hair, kinda.

Her friend and co-worker S. and his boyfriend R. hosted this little shindig. R.'s younger than me and filthy fucking rich. He owns a building business, drives an '07 Escalade and an '05 Mercedes of some sort, both in matching silver. His house is at the end of some bumfuck road in Harpursville, and it is ludicrously massive. He described it as a "Colonial." I think you could park a C-130 in it.

The rooms are full of people I don't know, and after listening to inane conversation for about a half-hour, I start drinking straight Jack Daniels. I hear one person who I've actually met before blurt out, "My brother works with a midget named Porkchop who can kick himself in the forehead. That's not a joke." This from the gritty contractor who just recently got his ear pierced after hanging out with me once. I'm a goddamn role model.

I go out for a smoke and find myself chatting amiably with two decent-looking girls.
Them: "Are you smoking non-filtered cigarettes?"
Me: "Yes, yes I am."
Them: "What's your name?"
Me: "Jarad."
Them: "We like your style. Wanna do tequila shots?"
Me: "Yes, yes I do."

Things get a little fuzzy from there. There was some dancing, and I discovered that one of those girls was a pole-dancer. (How do I always find those?) I was definitely wearing a Santa hat at one point, and I remember swiping an annoying dancing snowman knick-knack and stashing it in the freezer. I kicked some cougar-wannabe in the shins.

Party winds down, R. suggests we go for a drink. He's buying. I'm game. We end up at the fucking Hitching Post. I'll let that sink in. THE HITCHING POST. Meshbacks galore, and nobody's singing karaoke. R. is hitting on me and buying me Captain & Cokes. G. is running interference and blocking his advances, as well as herding me away from the pole dancer. Some chick walks in on me in the men's room.

And then I treated the entire bar to "I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight." While wearing a sombrero.

I told you, I like dressing up.