Superstar, where you from? How's it goin'? I know you got a clue what you doin'.

And we're back for part 2 of the story. After a day of reading "The Secret Diary of a Call Girl" (pretty good. Not Pulitzer-worthy, but I don't regret the amount of time I have an will continue to put into it), watching Iron Chef America, napping and talking to MK, I'm feeling good. Usually, when I spend a day doing nothing productive, I feel guilty about it, but not today. Today, the only negative is that my back kind of hurts from sitting in bed as long as I have. But hey, at least I got dressed!

OK, so back to last night. After the Convict said he felt like we were talking about him (We were.) and NewJeff said we weren't (He lied.) we got our complimentary (kind of gross) champagne, and went back out to the main area of the place to wait for midnight. While waiting for midnight to strike, I see, out of the corner of my eye, Convict just WATCHING me. Creepy. Severely creepy. Midnight strikes, there is general merriment (I didn't mention before, and it should be noted, that watching middle-aged people dance drunkenly and grope each other on the dance floor is. . .kind of fun. It would have been better if I'd had someone to watch them with me, but being someone who likes to people watch, I thoroughly enjoyed that part of the evening. But seriously? These people were basically getting it on on the dance floor.) I was toasted by Katia (which made me think maybe her disliking me was all in my head) and toasted from across the room by this woman who later came over and hit on me.

Everyone made the rounds, toasting everyone, saying happy new year, rocking out to the music, etc. The woman came over and hit on me, one of the guys in the band who remembered me from when I dropped NewJeff off at rehearsal once came over and said hi. . .I was a lot less awkward at that point, but I also know that I was about ready to go. I stayed for a couple songs, and then headed out, as I was picking Carrie up from a church function.

I head out the door, say goodnight to the guy at the door I'd talked to when I came in, and started to head to my car. I heard the door close behind me, and, as I was walking down the stairs, I heard the door open again and footsteps behind me. I keep walking, but not toward my own car. I had a feeling I knew who was behind me, and I didn't want him knowing which car was mine. So I stopped at this random car and pulled on my gloves (this is quasi-important later) as Convict walks up to me. "You leaving?" he asks. "Yep," I said, pulling my keys out of my purse and putting them in my pocket. At the same time I put the keys in my pocket, I pull my cell phone out and transfer it to my other, empty pocket. I flipped the phone open inside my coat pocket and, through the amazing power of texting all the time, managed to text "911" (I am, upon further consideration, really glad I knew how many presses of the "1" button it took to actually get a number one, rather than punctuation [13, if you're interested] because there was a distinct possibility that the message could have read "9]]" and I probably would have had people thinking I was just drunk texting.) to the last person I'd sent a message to. (So really, any of you that I was texting last night could have received that message, and I wonder if everything would have turned out the same way.)

He started asking me if he could have my phone number so he could take me out, and I told him, no, no, I'm actually married. (He wouldn't have been able to confirm whether or not I was wearing a ring when I talked to him the first time because I was holding a plate in my left hand and it obstructed the view of my fingers. This time, since I'd put on my gloves, he couldn't tell then, either.) I said my husband wouldn't appreciate it, but he seemed nice, etc. He started to say something else, stepping closer to me, making me painfully aware that there was absolutely no one outside, and the music was so loud inside that if I screamed, no one would even hear me, when my phone rang. My text message, it seems, served its purpose. I said, "Oh, there he is now," and answered with a chipper, "Hey, sweetie, I was just talking about you." Never mind that I've never in my life called someone I was involved with "sweetie," but it seemed like something you'd call a husband. I don't know. I've never had one. My savior on the other end asked me if I was OK, and I said, "Yeah, yeah, I'm leaving right now. I'm just having a conversation with a gentleman in the parking lot." She said, "Are you OK? Is everything alright?" and I said, "Yes. I was actually hoping you'd call, because I wanted to ask you if you wanted me to pick anything up on the way home." (Never mind it was like 1 a.m. and nowhere would be open.)

The conversation went on like that for another couple of minutes, and Convict was still standing there. I was beginning to wonder how long I was going to have to stand there in the cold, talking to my "husband," leaning against some random person's car, before he'd leave. Lucky for me, people started coming out of the bar, and Convict lost interest and wandered back inside. I hung up from my call, promising I'd tell her what happened later, and kind of sprinted to my car, locking the doors behind me and tearing out of the parking lot ASAP.

So that? Is how my evening ended.

And I have to make a note here: If you are someone who knows the story of what happened last night, and when you see me, you give me an uncomfortably firm handshake and an uncomfortable hug, imitating what Convict did, even though I don't realize it until after you do it, that? Is a dick move. And so incredibly immature and rude, I can't even really explain it. Period.

I am now going to venture out and go to Asheville right now. Because I'm craving IHOP, and it's going to be my last hurrah before I make good on my decision (not resolution. Decision.) to cook more.

Oh, but before I go. . .I am completely and utterly obsessed with this song right now:

Say what you will about Britney Spears, but not only is she hot, she performs a damn catchy song. It doesn't hurt that this has become the theme song for the very sexy Chuck Bass (On Gossip Girl) and that YouTube has several videos with clips from the show between him and Blair Waldorf (another hot one) that are awesome.

Yes, I'm lusting after characters on a TV show. What of it?

Incidentally, Nick sent me this video because he wanted me to see how attractive the main man is, but I spent the entire video watching Britney. Something about a girl who changes identities by changing her hair. It's hot.

But yes. Ever since I ripped this CD from Ashley, I've been playing this song pretty much non-stop on my iPod (for which I now have awesome, AWESOME headphones I'll have to talk about later.)

Pancake time!