For Guavaween this year, Severin and I had a busy schedule. Not one, but two costumes this year. If you have accidentally stumbled upon this page from somewhere other than the Tampa Bay area, Guavaween is our plagiarism of New Orleans' Mardi Gras festival: drunken stumbling lechers trading beads for boobs. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I had prior dinner reservations at Der Schnitzelhaus, where Karen and I met three of our friends to gorge upon carbohydrate-laden German food and Spaten Oktoberfest Bier. Technically, thanks to GERD, I'm not supposed to have either of them, but (a) it's Oktoberfest, and (b) it's Guavaween, so I cheated.

Karen then dropped me off in Ybor City, where the good suit I was wearing enabled me to pass easily through the security checkpoint (whereas other people were being patted down as they went through). Good to know for the future! I repaired to Joffrey's Coffee Shop, where I joined Sev, Brian, Carl and Bob in a re-creation of Dogs Playing Poker.

For once, I actually didn't run out of money. Every time I came close to going broke, I'd win the pot. My most bitter defeat of the evening was when I had a straight, Jack high, and lost to Carl's King-high straight.

Many people took our picture. The smart ones came inside the shop. Some others almost certainly ended up with a photo of a window reflecting their flash. Brian and Carl, sitting on the end of the table, had many young women sitting on their laps as they posed with the dogs. ("Can I hump your leg?") Severin got a couple of ladies on his lap, when more than two wanted to be photographed. Bob and I remained un-sat-upon throughout the night; however, being closer to the windows, we got a much clearer view of the women who expressed their appreciation of our tableau through the wanton display of their bodies.

Around 11:30, we broke up the game, and Sev, Brian and I changed into our second costumes. This proved more difficult than we'd hoped, as the costumes were in Brian's car, outside the gates. And there was no stamping of hands; to go out and come back in, one had to pay another ticket. So Carl, who was leaving, went up to the car to bring them down, as the cops said it would be okay to pass the bags through (as long as they were searched).

While Carl was up there, I remembered the bottles of beer I'd brought to help me get into character, and the Ranitidine pills to keep the GERD under control. Since Bob was still with us (and planning to leave with Carl), we sent him up to intercept Carl and have him remove the offending items before the cops searched the bags.

As Carl approached the gate, he hailed us with a hearty "I found the booze, but I couldn't find the pills!" Knucklehead. Alas, my bag had come open, and the hat that was essential to my costume spilled out. Carl, being the literal-minded engineer that he is, hadn't brought it because it wasn't one of the things we'd mentioned. So we sent him back up to get it. He returned empty handed. When queried about his lack of encumberment, he replied that he would have to make another trip to the car to bring our first costumes back, so he'd left the hat there for the final trip (meaning that he made an entire trip to the car for no purpose whatsoever, as he left with nothing and returned with nothing. Knucklehead).

Anyway, when all the dust had settled, we stood revealed in our glory: Severin and I reprised our costumes as Jay and Silent Bob, and Brian was winking away as Buddy Christ from Dogma. (Now is the appropriate time to mention that Karen's spousely advice was "Be careful, and don't get a lap dance. And don't let Silent Bob get a lap dance. And don't let Buddy Christ get a lap dance." My response was, "Honey, I'd pay to see Buddy Christ getting a lap dance!")

Alas, I didn't look as much like Jay this year as I used to. When I shaved (much to Karen's dismay), I discovered that my cheeks were still noticeably swollen from when I had my wisdom teeth removed, so my face was fairly round, rather than being long like Jason Mewes'.

We made a beeline for The Castle, a Goth-frequented drinking and dancing establishment. Last year, when Jay and Silent Bob roamed the streets, we heard many cries of "Hey, it's Silent Bob... and the other guy!" and "Look, it's Joe and Silent Bob!" Wankers. But at The Castle, we were like unto gods. Everyone knew Jay's name, and all was good with the world. So we headed immediately there, safe in the knowledge that our costumes wouldn't be going to waste.

However, my Jay-in-a-bottle had been left behind. Reserved and soft-spoken as I am, it's difficult for me to transform into the foul-mouthed stoner Jay unaided, and the Spaten Oktoberfest was long gone from my system. A can of Foster's (Australian for "Budweiser") outside, followed in quick succession inside by a double of B&B, a double of Goldschläger and an Amberbock, quickly loosened my tongue, if not my wits. As we stood at the bar, Brian — dressed in white and burgundy robes — looked around at all the black-clad Goths, and said that he had never felt so out-of-place in his life.

Upstairs on the dance floor, we were hailed by a willowy young woman who had dressed last year as Leeloo from The Fifth Element. Shouting into our ears over the bone-crunching music, she told us how much she'd missed us, and hoped it wouldn't be another year before we came to the Castle again. When she asked if we had missed her, my inner Jay burst through and told her that I'd gotten a woody every time I thought about her. Then she apologized, for it was her turn to get up on a pedestal and dance.

We watched her for a while until Sev realized that he wasn't driving back (we were all going home in Brian's car). So we repaired to the dance-floor bar. Some time later, we stood at the top of the stairwell, where we encountered some SCA people. Yoan, the Crown Prince of Trimaris, was dressed as a Cæsar, which for some reason caused me to collapse into paroxysms of laughter. I don't know why. And the details are hazy, but I think I might have grabbed Countess Teresa's ass.

This was the third year we've worn this costume, and every time, women are drawn to Silent Bob as if by strong magnets. Jay, not so much. Perhaps it's the foul mouth, or the misogyny, or the infantile behavior — but whatever it is, the ladies love Silent Bob but avoid Jay like the plague. But this time, I actually met a Jay groupie!

She and her friend invited us up to their party, so we left the Castle and tried to weave our way through the drunken crowd. Along the way, I was gripped by an unreasoning paranoia. What if we woke up in a hotel bathtub full of ice, our kidneys missing? But Buddy Christ was with us, so I quelled my fears.

At the party, which by this time was sparsely populated, I don't remember much, but some guy (who looked familiar) grabbed my Drug Dealers' Union card away from me. I could easily make another one, but for some reason it seemed very important to get it back. Leigh (the Jay groupie) retrieved it for me, and the guy and I shook hands.

At some point during our conversation, Leigh and I exchanged email addresses and phone numbers; she felt that she and her husband (a lawyer) should get together with Karen and me sometime. I remember writing something down, purportedly my email address and URL. Hopefully it was actually mine, and I didn't send her to some place like Consumption Junction!

Eventually, it was time to go. I say eventually, but from the time the alcohol hit to the time I came in the door felt like only about forty-five minutes. I sat at the computer with the intention of blogging about the experience immediately, but my fingers refused to cooperate. So I gave up and went to bed, somewhere around 5 AM. And promptly began snoring loudly, keeping Karen from her rest. Next year, I'll have to remember to sleep on the couch to avoid disturbing her.

And I think it's about time to retire Jay and Silent Bob. Next year, perhaps Guavaween shall instead see the appearance of Bluntman and Chronic!