Ross has a Philip Roth-esque crush on everyone's favorite pop shiksa, so Jord thought it would be funny to have Britney come perform a lil' birthday dance for the birthday man.
Right when we'd gotten to the bar, there were a few girls that came over to us because they could tell that we "weren't from around there." We chatted them up for awhile until we noticed that it was causing all of the guys in the room to give us the stinkeye. As the night pressed on and some of those guys started getting drunker and giving us the stink eye again, we decided it would probably be best to quit while we were ahead and call it a night. We snuck out right in the middle of a slow jam. Farewell, Coarse Gold!
The wasabi got us all fiesty because the next thing you know, we'd driven 25 mintues to nearby Coarse Gold, CA in search of the legendary Friday night karaoke party we'd heard about from the locals. Yep, you heard me right. KARAOKE!
For some reason this is the only pic I have of Grant singing...see him there in the background? Look carefully, I know it's hard to see him behind the group of people who actually got up out of their seats and started doing a FUCKING KICKLINE to the end of his incredible rendition of Frank's "New York, New York." (People from California got up and kicklined to "New York, New York" sung by a Brit. Think about that.)
My disco finger brings all the girls to my yard. I could teach you but I've have to charge. (By the way, if I die anytime soon, make sure this pic finds its way into the casket collage, mmmkay?)
And tried to woo the local ladies with some fancy footwork. My moves had the ladies smiling (well, laughing and pointing is probably more accurate), but none of them would dance with me.
It was getting pretty late and Shelby, Tymber's roommate, seemed like she was tired and getting ready to go home. Grant sensing that Shelby was going to try to get Tymber to leave early with her, tried to get Shelby in the mix out on the dance floor in hopes that she'd stay a little longer. Check out the Fatty peeping Grant's crafty "Hey, now let's ALL dance together!" move from the sidelines. Smoooooooooth! Hahaha.
Now normally, this would've been a deal breaker for New York City Grant. But On-Vacation Grant, shrugged that shit off like a bad dream and went right back to kicking it on the dance floor.
Shortly after, his girlfriend returned and somehow Jen Choi ended up on stage dirty dancing with her. (It was also right around here that my camera's batteries fucking died on me. I managed to snap a few more pics, but I kept having to turn the cam off for a few seconds, let it rest, then turn it on and try to take another pic before it died again.)
And then he treated us to even more "Frank dancing." (You should probably take the above image and save it to your desktop - that way, the next time you're feeling down, happiness is only a double-click away.)
While we were standing around shooting the shit with Tracy, all of a sudden this girl busted out onto the dance floor with the strap from her giant "fashion purse" pulled over her face and just started freaking the fuck out. After watching her do her thing (maybe it was performance art?) for a few minutes, we decided it was time to head out.
...Colin gets dirty with the imaginary girl he was dancing with all night (But I don't think he managed to take her home with him at the end of the night! Oh, snap!).
Here's a pic of me trying to put my face in between Sarah's bizzoobies and nuzzle them in time to the music. Needless to say, she resisted. Shortly after this pic, we wrapped up the dance party and headed back downtown to the Hole to try to catch last call (at this point it was 8:30am for Charlene, who was still on London time, so she and Grant headed home).
Ohhhh, man. I'm so not allowed to tell you about the rest of the night. (I want to type it sooooo bad. My fingers are trembling with the desire to spill forth the bestest story ever). But alas, I promised Colin (the artist formerly known as Big Daddy) that this story would stay under wraps until at least 2013. Check back then, please. Thank you.
One night when we were out like two years ago, Grant busted out his impressoin of "Molly Ringwald in every 80's movie" dance-move and cracked us all up. But ever since then, everytime he tries to dance, he inadvertently ends up doing the same Molly Ringwald dance - it just happens and he can't seem to stop. For once, the total and complete gayness that said dance move conjures, worked in his favor. You go, girlfriend!
You know, life's funny: One minute you're riding high at a fancy-smancy club in the West Village and dancing with a hot chick. And then just 10 minutes later...
Grant was sweating this chick for awhile, so after he finished his ridicu-normous-sized drink he mustered up enough liquid courage to go up and start dancing with her.
Yeah, that's right - B.Bat's gots moves and he's not afraid to put his point on tha floor and prove it (or at least prove it all the way on the other side of the basement away from the dancefloor and where nobody is).
Forget about that "kissing co-workers" or nonsense, Emma just plain said fuck it and got up on the dancing cube in nothing but her undies. Fuck Yeah. (Also, it should be noted at this point that she's up there dancing with the infamous "tie off your weiner, professional stripper guy" from when Grant and I stripped).
I decided to sing "Faith" by George Michael. This is me striking my very authentic George Michael Stance. (P.S. - check out my little bum. You could fit that shit in a teacup.)
As the show progressed, they eventually went as far to put their "prop" instruments down. This is where the show, in my humble opion, really transformed from a "rock show" to a "insightful art performance piece remarking upon the inherent irony in post-existentialist thought."
...only because this photo is the greatest. Look at who's large and in charge at the back of the caboose. Frances in the muthafucking hizzouse, you know what I'm sayin?
After we left the Grand (aka - when the free vodka ran out around 2am, we headed over to gay-ass SPA). Matt Weiner (who also hails from Succasunna, NJ believe it or not) feels the love. He sent me this email the next day:
"Hey Bri, Just wanted to thank you for havin us last night and for making me 2 1/2 hours late for work today. I was supposed to be in at 9 am for a presentation. Uh oh spaghettios! Not to mention I blacked out at some point in Spa but somehow managed to order delivery from a Diner. I kinda remember eating it. Yeah, It's all over my living room."
Two screwdrivers later, the midget was still ambulatory (and dancing up a storm) So we decided it was time to step things up a notch...and started buying him shots. Of Tequilla. Cheap Tequilla. Cheap Bar Tequilla...which he drank with no further prompting from us, on the dancefloor. (Note girl in white shirt in the background laughing and pointing.) Tequilla makes all kinds of people do crazy stuff. We couldn't wait to see what it would make the midget do...
Er, sort of....but he got an "A+" for effort in my book. (You should've seen his little midget legs pumping to the beat as he attempted "the scramble." Priceless.
Ok, back to the midget! We told him flat out: "We'll buy you drinks, but you've gotta drink them on the dance floor." We started him out nice and easy with a screwdriver (keep in mind, when he was handed over to us, he was already totally shitfaced. He was from Japan and couldn't even say his name. We told him we didn't need to know his name...and that if we needed him we'd just say "Hey! Midget!" And he nodded vigorously as he pretended to understand us).
After fleeing the scene of the place where the car-peeing took place, we headed up to a bar on lake Hopactcong called the Tidal Wave. We show up to the place and right when we walk in we see this group of girl dancing in a circle around a guy who appears to be really far away. Upon closer examination, we realized that he wasn't far away, he was a MIDGET!
After resting up the first night, we decided to hit the town on our second night. We asked for the local "hot spot" and were promptly directed to some Cabana-type bar in the middle of a strip mall parking lot....where we met this guy, the drunkest guy ever. He was from England and wanted us to call him should we ever visit. He wrote his number down on a 20 pound note in the most illegible handwriting I've ever seen.
