When pot sitrring goes awry

Halloween night started out fabulously. My costume - Betty Boop circa 1940 - was a hit, our party was raging and two of my three 'pot stirring' invitees were in attendance.

One of my these special guests, Rico Suave, is a very good-looking, incredibly charming guy I'd met on a recent Thursday night date with my Girl Roommate. Initially, I'd been turned off by his slightly intrusive, over-the-top attention, but he eventually won me over with his light-hearted personality and tireless effort. Rico Suave called me a couple days after we met, but I never called him back.

Although I have some good reasons to be wary of super-charming, ultra good-looking guys (it has been my experience, that guys who are smooth talkers got that way by practicing...a lot), I tend to discount them altogether...which is a lot like discounting any guy who wears tapered jeans or drives an expensive sports car. So, in the midst of my pot stirring revelation, I'd decided to invite Rico Suave to our Halloween party. What better way to stir the pot then to throw in some unusual ingredients.

With the party in full swing, I was having a great 'ol time flirting, drinking and being a social butterfly. I didn't even realize I was drunk until I started making out with Rico Suave in the middle of the party...much to the dismay of my other special guest (oops). It was clear I needed to cut myself off - this was bad form for a reformed kissing slut. When Rico Suave's friends were ready to leave and head downtown, he hesitated, making it clear that he was hoping we could take our public display of affection somewhere a little more private. Inexplicably disenchanted, I told him to go with his friends.

Shortly after saying goodnight to my make-out buddy, I noticed that Girl Roommate and Guy Roommate were no where to be found. I briefly waded through the party for my roommates, realizing that I didn't recognize most of the remaining party guests, and that our house was quickly beginning to look like a frat house on homecoming weekend.

I decided to take brief refuge in my room to remove my itchy Betty Boop wig and enjoy some quiet time with a few Doritos. I was sitting on my bed, happily munching away, when four Poodles (for a definition of a Poodle, please refer to The Poodle Problem ), dressed as slutty cast members of Whinny-the-Poo (who knew Eeyore and Piglet could be slutty), came crashing through my closed door, landing in a drunken, giggling pile on my floor. I'd never seen these girls before in my life, so stepped over the Disney road kill, and fought through the crowd to catch some random, rather large guy, letting people into our house through the back door.

I was pissed.

I decided I needed to find my roommates, have them identify their friends and kick everyone else out. Apparently, in my drunken state, I hadn't noticed that my Girl Roommate had left the party and headed to the bars (Girl Roommate isn't a fan of house parties where the choices of men tend to be limited), and that Guy Roommate was off somewhere, "occupied" with his out-of-town crush, Cowgirl.

Now I was really pissed.

I identified one of Guy Roommate's friends, a frequent resident of our couch during football season, and demanded that he help me kick out the people we didn't know. Minutes later, there were only a handful of people remaining...and pretty soon, I was alone, lying on the couch in a cave of beer cans and red cups, drunkenly trying to bring DVRed episodes of The Office into focus by closing one eye.

With no desire to see my roommates or start cleaning up the mess, I called for back-up. My knight in shinning armor, on loan from the LAPD (yes, J-Dogg), came to pick me up after he got off work. I retreated to his apartment, eager for Halloween to be over.

Of course I didn't expect my first efforts to stir the pot to end with my ex-boyfriend. But sometimes, you just know what you need.