I'm proud of myself because I keep thinking of new, ingenious ways to get guys I don't know to grab my ass during Jukebox Stories. As you know, part of our set list is randomized, and last night I shoved the pieces of paper with our story and song titles into the back pocket of my jeans. Several guys at The Wonderland Ballroom helped to keep the show going by reaching deep into my back pocket, fumbling around to find the pieces of paper, and naturally feeling me up.
The Wonderland Ballroom is pretty hip, and they gave me a generous bar tab, which I used to get excellent macaroni and cheese and more Shirley Temples than I could possibly drink.
I'm now back on the Bolt Bus, and I can't stop staring at this straight guy in front of me. (DSL! DSL! DSL!) How do I convince him to reach into my back pocket?
Ah, theater provides unlimited freedom; real life has its limits.