Dear Amy,
recent events have lead me back to that warm, fuzzy, non-sticky mental dumping ground we like to call "our blog". I apologize for my absence, we both have been busy conquering the world. The bridal industy anyway. I think the last time I posted was the night i wound up doing a sobriety test in a tutu. Truely

Anyway... after meeting the entire crew of HV plumbing at Taco Cabana for lunch, I had to go back in because I forgot the cheese quesidillia I promised the girls back at the studio. As I was standing in line I felt something graze the back of my thigh. The upper back portion of my leg, the good part that my ass is attached to. Having all of us seen my ass, you can understand my shock. Its hard to get to on accident. A person would have to "reach in". My ass being so round, puffy and well... out there, there is no mistaking that it could not have possibly been an accident. I immediately turn on my heels and look to see what or who it was that would have the nerve. There was a random soccer mom in line standing behind me (she was actually wearing a t-shirt that said "im a soccer mom") and behind her was a girl I knew from the city where I pay my water bill. I had heard she started doing yoga and cocaine.. looks good on her.

After realizing it could not have possibly been either one of them I turned back around to wait for my turn to order fried cheese and I notice on my other side is a small homeless looking man with a handlebar mustache. A very stange looking little fellow, but somehow familiar to me. I remembered he looked just like the guy you paid in New Orleans to pull you in the wagon that time, when you were wearing the sash and crown and singing "all the single ladies", that guy. Upon closer inspection I determined it was not him. He immediately gave me a smile and said "how are you" to which I replied "very fine, thank you". I straighted back up in line and started with the whole don't make eye contact and he will go away vibe. He then said after tapping me on the sholder "you don't remember me, do you?". I said "no sir, im sorry" and "have we met before?". He put his hand over his mouth and giggled then said "we met in Vegas, on the strip". I said "sir, I have never been to Vegas". Lying so he would leave. His response was (leaning in and whispering to me), and I am quoting him.. "we had one hell of a time, I blacked out right about the time I started licking your teeth" and walked away. SWEAR! LICKING MY TEETH!

Astonished, I am playing all the highlight reels in my head at this time trying to come up with which trip to Vegas we could have encountered him. The only memoriable ones were when I took that doorman up to the room and was having sex with him on the bed while you were sitting naked in the desk chair, drinking whiskey straight out of the bottle and asking me for my laptop password so you could play mood music. High five. Go us. Or maybe it was third trip. That weekend was outta control. The point of no return was when you "drugged" that guys drink with glitter.. face-planting on his dick was going way beyond. But, still in all of this... never saw the small handlebar mustache guy. Do you remember him?