I intone sweetly, "You could make a total ass of yourself in a freakin' church, and no one would give a javelina's pattootie."
"I'm not used to the attention. I got really chubby when I was married. But my ex-husband cheated on me. Left me for a 19-year-old girl. So I was like -- fuck it -- success is the best revenge, and I lost 90 pounds."
I ask about the '80s thing. She recalls the decade fondly -- the fashions, the socks with heels, the neon, "and most definitely, the music."
Allie Cat revs up some Blondie, which is okay. But if I hear any Boy George, I'm going to slit my wrists.
"You going to interview me?" asks a voice from the darkness. Mario, a dark-haired boy in a sleeveless black tee shirt inscribed with a tribal-style eagle, introduces himself. Mario's English is sketchy, but he keeps kissing my hand, so what's a big fella to do?
"I sell this on eBay," says Mario, rubbing his chest.
"You sell yourself on eBay?"
"No, the shirt," he twitters. "I am from Mexico. I go to ASU."
"What are you studying?"
"I want to be an ac-tor, so I work on my English."
He looks vaguely familiar. "Were you in Menudo?"
"Nooooo, you silly!"
Allie Cat drops Toni Basil's "Mickey." What's next, Wang Chung?
"I'm starting to feel nauseous," I tell Jett. "Wish she'd play something better from back then. Some Cars, maybe."
Looking alarmed, Jett scolds, "If you faint, you're on your own. I'd never be able to lift 300 pounds of manly flesh. I'm only a girl."
A girl . . . right. Jett leads me to my car, where, safe inside, I wash out my ears with some Neptunes.