Gluten Free Breeze (formerly Brendygirl) Blog

It began at 7:30 PM and ended at 7:30 AM. I kinda thought I'd picked the lesser of two evils by opting to see my friend's husband's band play for Halloween, and not going to the party where I knew my ex-boyfriend from 2 years ago would be. You decide:

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I had a blast in my St. Pauli Girl costume, dancing (extra fun to shake my mini crinoline-clad booty) with the wives of the band dudes, doing raspberry kamikaze shots, and complimenting people's costumes. It was fun when dudes would shout, "The St. Pauli Girl!" My favorite costumes were: the gay cupid (a statement about CA's gay marriage?-see my avatar on the forum), sumo wrestler, roadkill rabbit with tiretracks and blood, Amy Winehouse, BatGirl, and Richard Simmons.

My friend and I decided to galavant across the street to the gay bar for awhile to see the REALLY good costumes. We saw drag brides, Mario and Luigi, the trench coat pervert, gay cupid, etc. We felt slighted when a guy shouted, You don't belong here!...evoking the notion that we are practically the postergirls for heterosexuality...we're mildly annoyed that that there would be zero mystery about our orientation.

Then we went back to the band place and flirted with firefighters. Those guys are suckers for teachers. With a herd of them and only a couple of us, they competed for our attention. One grabbing me for a salsa dance, pleasantly surprised that I could hang. Others flexing muscles. With my inhibitions on a vodka vacation, I attempted to amuse myself with a game where I pulled up their shirts in places to guess where their cliche tattoos were. Easy targets.

2:00 AM Boarded the hotel shuttle to the band's after-party with my friend (her husband is the guitarist dressed as Richard Simmons). To the dismay of my friend (Alice in Wonderland), a guy who was chatting me up (he was dressed as Arthur Miller, but everyone said he looks just like Kevin Bacon- amusing and cute, but not my type)invited himself along. We hung out for awhile, and then the 4 of us began to walk back to the car thru a residential area. A police car pulled over and the officer asked where we were walking to. Then, recognizing her husband as being a colleague's wife's boss, he offered to drive us home. I rode up front with him and took pics of them riding in back through the cage. My first time in a police car!

4:30 AM, we're at their house, but I don't wanna sleep there. I wanna get my car and drive home. We do a breathalizer (she has a home-version, bought for safety, but more often used for entertainment), and I am at .08. So, we decide that I should wait a bit. Her brother-in-law (retired marine and sometimes singer for the band) comes over. It is important to note that we have a mild underlying sexual tension. This summer he nicknamed me Rude Girl. I tease him about his anal-retentive quirk of methodically rotating his plate when he eats and straightening rugs, pics, anything he finds crooked. We bicker and banter, as usual. He offers to drive me and my Kevin Bacon suitor( a college pal of his I discover) home. We drop KB off and he asks for my #. I can tell the singer doesn't like it, but I punch it into his cell anyway. He says, are you hungry? and drives us to Denny's.

At Denny's we order hot teaand he makes a silly excuse to get me to move over to his side of the booth. He comments on my thigh-highs, and I say, how did you know they weren't regular stockings? He said, I saw them the minute you walked in tonight (while he was singing onstage). I'm surprised at his admission.

The group of guys behind us is NOISY and the waitress can't hear our order. She says, Do you want to move to another table? My singer companion can't hear her, so I repeat it and he says yes. To this, the dudes in the next booth say, OH, So you guys are moving to a new table? And the singer replies, as only a marine would, "Yes. You got a problem with that? He helps me out of the booth and I reach over to get my teacup, and I hear WHAM, and UHHH!

I swing around to see the four muscular, jersey-clad punks whaling punches on my friend! It was like a movie. The Marine in him is trying to stand his ground and blood is flying everywhere! I run over there and yell at them to stop. Then, he's on the ground and 3 are still beating and one is kicking him. He's 6'1'' and all muscle (but, he just had knee surgery and is wearing a brace under his pants that they can't see- thankfully) and 4 against 1 leaves him no chance.

The waitress calls 911. I charge the guy who's kicking him and I push him hard, away. He looks shocked and says, Good thing you're a girl! Then the manager and I push my friend behind the service counter, where they can't get to him. He's covered in blood. The hoodrats escape and a worker gets their license plate. Police come. The mgr is reviewing the surveillance videotape. They ask ?s and I tell them I barely know him. He's my friend's bro-in-law and he was taking me home. I insist if they find them, he press charges. He tells them Semper Fi.

Ambulance comes. He refuses help. I insist they check him. They are concerned. They tell me to drive him to the hospital. I hold ice on him and try to talk him into letting me take him to the hospital. Our costumes are spattered in blood. Ironic on Halloween. He keeps saying it's not that bad, evoking Marine memories where he's been in far worse shape. He tries to make me laugh and comments on my chest as I lean over him. He shows concern for me about the blood running down my arms and insists I wash it off. I object, and he won't hear it. I acquiesce. Then I'm back to putting pressure on the gash in his forehead with ice and watching his two black eyes swell bigger and bigger. I'm fighting the urge to throw up-- I'm quite squeamish-And the paramedics tell me to at least observe him for a few hours. Finally I get his keys to drive us. He can barely see and is limping. I talk him into coming to my house and sleeping while I watch for signs of a concussion. I've been up for more than 24 hours and don't even feel tired. I want to nurture him. I miss him when he goes at noon. Whatta night.