I don't usually write blogs about my personal life, because who really cares what I had for breakfast (a bowl of Kix cereal if you must know), but a few strange things happened to me last night that I thought I'd share them. Be warned. It gets a little PG-13.

What I should've been doing last night was watching the Cure at the Hollywood Bowl. But Robert and the boys were not ready with the new album, so they postponed until May. So I did the next best thing, I went to see Stacey Q perform at a local gay bar. For those of you unfamiliar with the Q, she's an 80's one-hit wonder. Her hit "Two of Hearts" ("Two hearts that beat as one."), is a staple of the 80's club.

After her four-song, lip-synched performance, she had a meet and greet. My friend, another gay Tom, was excited to meet her and asked if I would take their picture. As I was focusing the camera, I mentioned that I'd met the keyboardist on "Two of Hearts" at a party about a month ago.

Stacey perked up. "Rick West! You know Rick West!"

"He was dating a friend of a friend," I told her.

Next thing I know, her (I assume) PR man was taking down my information in hoped of getting in contact with Rick. Just to make sure I wasn't making a fool out of myself, I called my friend who called her friend who called me and told her Rick would love to work with Stacey again. So I gave Stacey's people his phone number and told them I expected front row seats when they played the Staples Center (yeah, I know, but you gotta give these fading 80's stars some hope).

On the way out, we ran into this very cute young man who was excited to have Stacey Q sign his arm so he could have it tattooed. I noticed he also had "Sing Your Life" tattooed on his arm. I asked if that were a Morrissey reference, and he was impressed that I picked that up. So impressed, he gave me the rose that Stacey Q gave to him. I was flattered, been a long time since a man gave me… anything!

Then he asked for my phone number. Kind of surprising, since a boy like that is usually out of my league. But I gave it. And before he left, he leaned in for what I assumed was a peck on the lips.

"Kiss me like you mean it," he said. The next thing I knew, his tongue was down my throat. Not that I minded, no siree, Bob!

After that, Tom wanted to check out the gay bar down the street. There, we were joined by a lesbian named Maria (How do you solve a problem like Maria?), who, when trying to poke me in the stomach because I said something silly, exclaimed: "My God! You have great abs!"

She must have been very drunk, because even though my abs may be a little tone thanks to yoga, they are still covered by a nice, thick layer of fat.

I'm hosting a fashion show here in March," she told me. "And I want you to be one of my models."

I looked around for the camera and asked, "Me?

"You're the cutest guy in here," she told me.

She must have been drunk and farsighted. Granted, the bar was pretty empty, but it wasn't deserted.

Next thing I know, she's dragging me into the ladies' room (yes, they do have those in gay bars, and it was still nicer than the men's room). She styled my hair and told me all the ideas she had for me to show off my body as I modeled her clothes. Drunk, farsighted and sadistic towards her future audience.

She gave me her card and said, "You're going to call me, right?"

Of course, I will. It could have been a hoax or the ravings of a drunk dyke, but it was a surreal end to a surreal night. Who knows, you may see me backstage at a Stacey Q show with a hot boy, or working the runway in the SFV. Just make sure you have lots of alcohol in you, and leave your glasses at home.