Last night was interesting to say the least.

I met my friend Joan in downtown Denver for a little dancing at the Appaloosa Grill. FUNKMA$TER, a favorite performer of Joan’s, was rocking the house. Here’s a brief description of his music (right off his Facebook page):

“FUNKMA$TER is a multi-instrumentalist. With drums, bass, keyboards, guitar, vocals, and a looping device called an Electrix Repeater, he is able to create layers of sound that will make you think you’re listening to an entire band. Embracing new technology while shying away from drum machines and pre-recorded samples, he is truly a One-Man-Band in the most modern, yet traditional sense of the term.”

He played a lot of classics that made me laugh with excitement, including “Regulate” by Nate Dogg and Warren G (this song has a SUPER special place in my heart–I shared so many good times with my college buddies dancing the night away to this and other such fantastic songs). “Regulators, mount up!” and “I can’t believe this happenin’ in my own town! If I had wings I would fly, let me contemplate…” (Haha! Love you, Emo!)

So Joan and I are dancing and having a good time and here he comes: a drunk 55-year-old businessman out for a night on the town. He continues to get more touchy and more invasive of the space around us the more he drinks. First I’m his target, then it’s Joan, then it’s Joan’s friend Julie, then it’s back to me and he’s explaining that really I’m the one. I’m the one who was the original “distraction” for him and I shouldn’t hold it against him that he was flirting with Joan and Julie. (Clearly he’s got me all figured out.) “You get it right? You get that you are what I desire to wake to up every morning?” Wow, he went there. So then I have the “back off, buddy” talk and literally push him to arms-length away from me and tell him to stay there. That lasts about 10 seconds and there he is again in my space, staling my air, breathing on me. Awesome.

I finally get to the point where I’m going to leave. I’m like, “Joan, I can’t deal with him.” She says, “You want me to talk to him?” “Yes!!” I say (knowing full well I’m being a chickenshit). So she talks to him and that accomplishes one thing: he leaves her alone. Awesome. Then he starts in about how Joan is controlling me. Haha! This is getting funnier and funnier in a “I’d rather be watching this on Seinfeld than actually experiencing it myself” sorta’ way. So now it’s to the point where I am literally mock jogging around the floor (to the beat, of course) keeping other people (aka Joan) between him and me as a physical barrier. All the while, the men sitting near the back of the room are watching what’s happening, wondering at what point I’m going to hit the dude or they’re going to have to step in.

My evasion tactics worked pretty well. My frequent trips to the restroom also came in quite handy, as did feeding the meter. The trump card I didn’t pull was  a little dose of kill energy. You know, the energy a mother would throw at someone who was threatening her child. Mama bear I-Will-Literally-Kill-You-If-You-Take-One-Step-Closer kinda’ energy. And why didn’t I do that? That’s precisely the question I asked myself upon waking this morning with the feeling of having been slimed. I allowed slimeage to occur because I put this DRUNK man’s feelings before my own desire to just have a great night of dancing. For whatever reason, I was valuing “being nice” over creating the night exactly as I desired it to be. How does it get any better than that?!

So I’ve been in question about this today (rather than resorting to the “Erin, you’re so stupid!” flagellation). Why did I choose to have 354% of the 1000% of the fun I could have chosen? What creation of BEING NICE was I using to validate drunk guy’s reality? What questions did I not ask that if I had asked would have created a different experience?

What was right about it? This one’s easy. Dude was a walking comedy routine. During his lecture about allowing Joan to control me, he says, “Yeah, like the Scientologists!” Seeing that I’m confused about how the neural connections in his brain got him there, he proceeds to tell me that they tried to get his wife, which led ultimately to the demise of his marriage. Wow, dancing to reggae and hearing about Scientology. Funny, right? And then he starts doing the drunk man wink. I’m sure you’ve seen it. When not inebriated, this is the guy who SUBTLY winks at you during the most inappropriate times thinking he’s creating connection and intimacy. When inebriated, however, it’s the most over-the-top effortful act of coordination to get just the one eye to wink. Just imagine his head over-tilted to the side, his mouth open really wide as a way to push that cheek up closer to the eye, and the over-repetition of the action, just in case I didn’t catch it the first five times. Truly, it was hysterical.

So maybe the night was just a different kind of fun than I’d left the house expecting. Maybe everything truly is the opposite of what it appears to be and maybe nothing is the opposite of what it appears to be. Either way, there will be more nights spent with Joan and FUNKMA$TER. And now, I’m off to sharpen my kill energy…and legally change the spelling of my last name to LAW$ON. It looks so much more money that way.