A Tardy Mardi is Better than No Mardi

As previously posted, I went to the Utah Arts Festival's Tardy Mardi fundraiser on Saturday night. I didn't really know what to expect, but I wasn't disappointed when I arrived with B-Lo, Stella, and Georgeory. Stella's main worry was that there wouldn't be a coat check. There was. My main worry was that there wouldn't be a band or a DJ. There was a DJ. The crowd was pretty diverse. The food was served buffet style. While I was in the buffet line filling a plate, a woman passed by me wearing a mask. The mask had what appeared to be a prosthetic penis attached to it. Amazed by her boldness, I unwittingly dropped my plate. That was the first of many mistakes I would make the rest of the night.

After making a table out of a busser station, and procuring plenty of drinks, we dined and then made our way to the casino tables. Charity gambling is infinitely more fun than real gambling because (a) you don't play with real money, and (b) because you are not playing with real money, the dealers don't really care if you cheat. For example, you bet 10 chips and then you get your cards, and because you are unhappy with your hand, you take back nine chips and tell the dealer that she messed up. I could have played blackjack like that for hours. But then the DJ fired up.

I enjoyed the music and even did a little dancing. Well, a lot of dancing. I was dancing so well, in fact, that I decided I should dance on the stage. And because I didn't want to dance on the stage alone, I invited a few ladies to join me. We did the bump, we did the grind, we did the dancing that you generally see on Real World or MTV Spring Break. The real mistake I made here was not dancing, not dancing on the stage, and not dancing with strage women. But rather, not checking the ladies' left hands for wedding rings. Because late into the evening I came walking out of the mens room and was heading back to the party area when some man stopped me and said, "You better f@#%ing watch out - I don't ever want you dancing with my wife again!" To which I said, "Who is your wife?" He tried to refresh my memory with, "The one you were dancing with on the stage?" Because there wasn't just one, I was more than a little confused. However, B-lo saw this altercation happening and jumped in. Her opening line, "HOW COME THE WIFE NEVER GETS IN TROUBLE?!?!" The chivalrous husband replied, "Believe me! She is!" And then B-lo got her big punch line in, "WELL HE'S MY HUSBAND!" And then angry left.

The highlight of the evening for me happened on our way out. We passed by the silent auction, and B-Lo stopped for one final look at a painting she'd been eyeing all night. And she decided that she just had to have it. So she grabbed it and started walking out. With all the calm of Violet Newstead stealing a dead body from a hospital in Nine to Five. Although she was smooth and sly, I fortunately saw that one of the party employees saw her in action. So she returned the art, playing it off as a crazy, hilarious joke. She later assured me that it was in fact a crazy, hilarious joke and she was testing me to see if I would have gone along with the ruse. Thankfully, I passed the test. But truly, I think I stopped her because I had just given her 14 paintings earlier that week and she didn't need any more paintings.

I added the picture upon reader request (hi Deanna), but it isn't a very good picture. Best picture of the party goes to Stella photographed playing blackjack with Randall Carlisle.

Is it just me or were the Oscars a bit boring? I'm glad Eddie Murphy didn't win.

Today's Song: I Turn My Camera On, Rock Kills Kid