Bloody Mary night went over well and I even made falafel - which I was craving for some strange reason.

Regardless, we moved the party to the venue where the band was playing later that evening. Let the freak parade begin for Snidge!

Let me set the stage:

I'm standing at the bar waiting for a beer, and this super creepy guy starts talking to me.

"Hey, you know about Saturday right?"

yeh, pal, I've heard of it, comes right after Friday, huh?

"Yeh, it's my birthday and my going away party. Ya know, I'm the one who got Phil in that house. And I set up that whole thing with Phil and the {indistinguishable word}.”

And yes, you guessed correctly...I have NO FRICKIN IDEA who Phil is. Or who this guy is. Or what the hell he's talking about. Except that I'm noticing that he is wearing what appears to be a uhm, fedora? And that he's missing a bicuspid.

Anyhoo, so I'm all "hey, well happy birthday. That's great."

His reply: "So can you make it? On Saturday?"

Me: "Yeh, I got a lot to do on Saturday. You know, stuff."

Enter fedora's friend: "Wow, what is that scent? What perfume are you wearing?"

Me wearily: "Me."

Fedora friend momentarily confused: "Me? Oh, man you should have that bottled. I'd pay to smell that."

Yeh, I'll get right on that.

The best part is that the guy on the other side of me hears the whole thing and when I say "Me", he guffaws and nearly falls off his barstool.

My god. It never ends. I mean, it's a bar. You can't smell anything but smoke and peanut oil french fry grease in that place.

Course I run into a whateverwhatever - why? Because M-town is that small... and I can't seem to get away from the crazy.