Toddy Chesney: On A Steel Horse I Ride.

There have been a lot of emails rolling in about last week’s “Drinking” blog.  Thank you for those emails (and the one death threat).  Even as brilliant as the piece was, none of the emails were in regard to the subject matter “Drinking” tackled.  Instead, all of the emails inquired about the reference to my alter ego, “Toddy Chesney.”

I figured I would shed some light on the guy.

Toddy Chesney started on a serendipitous day back in 2006.  I was living in Indianapolis then and I somehow let a couple of my friends convince me to attend Indiana’s State Fair.  Since “a couple of my friends” means “a girl I was trying to bed” I agreed.  I had always been resistant to the idea of the Indiana State Fair because rednecks, tractors and livestock are not really my scene.  In an attempt to make the best of it, I rounded up my old cowboy hat and set out to impress (schtup) my lady friend.

Seven friends, four mozzarella sticks, three mixed drinks, one hay ride, two goldfish, one corn-on-the-cob, 76 digital pictures, and one amateur rodeo later, “Toddy Chesney” was born.

[SIDEBAR:  For some reason, I get really pissed off when girls (who are not “Country” in the least) go out and buy cowboy hats before they attend the one and only Country music concert of their lifetimes.  Something about it just feels so corny.  I am also not “Country” in the least, but I am giving myself a pass on owning a cowboy hat since 1) I bought it as a Halloween costume and because 2) I wear it less in the name of acceptance and more in the names of humor and consummation.]

Prior to surfacing 1/23/2010, “Big Chez” had not made an appearance since his inception in 2006.  Being that I was attending friend’s birthday party 1/23/2010, I wanted to take my game up a notch (to notch two)---thus, I donned the hat. 

When my friends showed up at my apartment for Cocktail Kickoff hour and saw me sporting a Stetson they almost went home.  I received threats during the entire cocktail hour that if I wore “the hat” out of my apartment that night my friends would call the whole thing off.  60 minutes and a few shots of vodka later, everyone was so worried about leaving to get to the bar that no one realized I snuck out of my apartment with “the hat” still intact.

I had it figured this way:  We go out a lot and the action is hit and miss.  I hoped stepping out in a ridiculous hat would at least be a possible conversation starter (and trust, a conversation is all “Toddy Chesney” needs to start another amateur rodeo).

Standing in line outside the bar two Saturdays ago I was feeling good.  People outside were telling me they loved the hat (and not in a “he’s really a d-bag and we’re going to be making fun of him as soon as he turns around” sort of way.  I can sense these things).  I felt amazing and my spirit was riding high…until we made it inside.  Because NOTHING EVER goes my way, the only open table was in the back of the bar...RIGHT NEXT TO THE ONLY OTHER GUY IN LOS ANGELES THAT WORE A COWBOY HAT OUT THAT NIGHT (because Bret Michaels was out of town).  Immediately, my entire group of friends started pointing and laughing at me.  I Told You So’s started rolling in faster than…something that’s really fast. 

I was actually proud of how I shrugged off the embarrassment. 

The other guy’s hat was white and my hat was black (it was a lot like the “Friends” episode wear Joey sells cologne.   A showdown).  I figured there was room enough for both of us in the bar. 

“Blanco” apparently figured differently. 

As soon as Blanco saw me, he and his friend stood up and sprinted for the door.  At that point, I knew it was gonna be on and subsequently crackin’ because I was the only hat in town.  Moreover, I was taller, thinner, more funny, and better looking than Blanco.

Now, free of all other cowboy hats, we ordered the first round and beganst to get it popping. 

Soon, I was all over the bar drinking, telling jokes, and doing what I now refer to as “the move.”  It’s where Toddy Chesney (Yes, I am now referring to myself in the ninth person) uses his index finger to pop the front bill of his cowboy hat up so you can see his mysterious eyes.

It worked.

Well.

Two hours after our arrival at the bar, Ice Man, Slider and me were all engaged in combat (it was what I call a “target-rich environment”).  The interesting thing about my conversation is that the young lady I was conversing with had told me an hour earlier that she was not drinking because she was her party’s designated driver for the evening.  One hour later, this woman was on her third glass of wine, wearing my cowboy hat and asking me if I was in possession of several pieces of football equipment that I now believe to have been euphemisms for sex acts.

I’d say the hat played.

(“Face” @allofmyfriendswhodidn’tbelieveinToddyChesney).

As you know from last week’s blog, I didn’t go home with the woman who was pursuing me.  I am too hard to get.  Instead, I fulfilled my friend responsibilities and 1) took the drunken birthday girl to breakfast, 2) handed her off to her roommate for safe keeping and 3) hit on a gorgeous Spanish girl at the breakfast spot who will probably never call me.

[SIDEBAR:  Does anyone ever go out with anyone?  As evidenced by my most recent night out, it feels like I am never interested in the women who make advances toward me.  Meanwhile, the women I ask out are never interested in me.  It feels like we’re all just in limbo.  How do people ever get a date these days?  Online dating?  Shameless.]

So, that was a little background on, and some of the goings-on in the life of, my alter ego.

It’s really anyone’s guess as to when Toddy Chesney will ever ride again.

Regardless, I can’t wait to saddle up for another round.

ReTweet,

-The Chez



[Author's Note: I do not even know one Kenny Chesney song.  Points will be awarded to the first five people to post K.C. song titles that you think I should download.  Get on it.]