August 29th 2012
Story originally written and experienced: August 24th 2012
Welcome Melanie and Jenn.
Let’s. Get Weird.
We huddled in Charlie’s room, sitting in a potent cloud of perfume and hairspray,ready to escort our out-of-town visitors to an odd evening of New York City shenanigans. We were on a desperate endeavor to produce another episode of what we like to call “Weirdfest 2012.” Would we succeed? Only the night will tell.
Shoes were strapped and Keystones were chugged.
Let the games, begin.
We made reservations for a classy dinner at the Freeman’s restaurant in the east village. We strutted down the quintessential pathway, gracefully skIPped through vintage doors, and immediately upon my arrival I
noticed the copious amounts of…dead animals on the wall…
LOOK AWAY PETA!
But no matter, the hovering carcasses were only but slight damper on the candlelit- potpourri-crisp baguette- ambiance we were originally hoping for and served as the perfect opening ceremonies to our weirdfest kick-off.
Aside from the fact that our waiter had a handlebar mustache, and a bitter attitude towards fruit,
That’s all about you really need to know about dinner.
>> Moving on.
We ventured over to a local hot spot named “Pianos” and as standard, human protocol I immediately >>>> shuffled over to the bar.
2 hoe gardens please.
“2 coronas coming your way!”
Within minutes we morphed into that pack of girls: huddled in a closed off corner, backs to society howling with laughter at nonsensical whimsies in hopes it would alert the rest of the establishment that we were in fact, the most fun bitches in town.
Whilst pondering why on earth a single straight man wouldn’t bust through the lot of us and charm us with his investment banking ways,
<<< one brave soldier approached me from stage right.
Welcome, Blonde Beard.
Blonde beard tapped me on the shoulder ever so boldly interrupting my urgent text message conversation. He informed me he was concerned about my mobile device and uncomfortable with my blackberry ways (leave me alone).
Actually…hold on…the direct quote went more like this:
“HI THERE HO THERE. Your blackberry makes me physically upset. WHO has a blackberry anymore? I find you very STUPID.”
…It was always my hope to find my future husband at the neighborhood pub.
I explained to the cordial gentleman that I was in fact waiting for the iPhone 5 to birth itself and would be up to par with society any day now to which he responded that I was the absolute worst.
He then vented to me about how he literally wanted to grab my blackberry out of my hand and shatter it into the nearby wall into “millions and frillions” of pieces.
…Long gone are the days of “Hey what’s up?” Am I right? Just me? Did you forget about the turkey burger incident already?
After the one sided banter of my mobile device of choice, I made the worthwhile decision to flee to another premises of the bar.
My teacher friend Krissy had >>>>> beckoned me over for her turn at odd behavior and whispered
It was her signature move. And it worked. every. time.
She leaned over the bar inadvertently catching the attention she was looking for. She requested 2 more Coronas and when the bartender waltzed over the check she pulled out her…
15% off staples coupon to barter for her 2 new brewskies. The bartender grabbed the coupon
looked at it-
then looked at her-
then looked at it-
then back at her.
And she batted her eye lashes and said “Does this…not work here? I’m a teacher and I work very….very hard…”
“…No. But it might work at TGI fridays.”
A good joke, bartender.
He gave her a stern look. Ill-advised for someone who just made a joke (mixed-signals) seemingly unimpressed by her bold suggestion. He slowly walked over to the cooler, pulled out 2 fresh Coronas and calmly said
“MY DAD WAS A TEACHER. MY GRANDPAPPY WAS A TEACER….DRINKS ON THE HOUSE”
Pass ’em << back Krissy.
and that she did
We headed uP stairs, complimentary Coronas in hand, and about 14 seconds after we had departed from the final step, I discovered
>>>>>> Melanie on the complete opposite side of the bar
on her knees.
Here’s what happened:
Somewhere in the 6.3 seconds that we had parted ways, Melanie was challenged by a local bystander to chug a bottle of ketchup in exchange for unlimited…whiskey and gingers.
There she was
on her knees.
The ketchup was flowing.
The townies were cheering.
Blonde Beard was cheering.
She came. She chugged. She conquered.
After being bombarded by the paparazzi (or maybe that was just me) and basking in her new found celebrity,
We congratulated on her weird contribution and found ourselves 8 whiskey gingers deep and going absolutely, 100% ape shit on the dance floor (thank you local challenger). We felt like a pack of swans but in retrospect…appeared reminiscent of herd of oFfbEat penguins.
A very large individual tagged himself in from
<<the far corner of the dance floor.
inserted>> himself into the middle of our attempted semi-circle and began to profusely gyrate while screaming the following words:
“JUST PRETEND LIKE IM ONE OF THE GIRLS. JUST PRETEND. I’M ONE OF YOU GIRLS. ACCEPT ME PLEASE!!!”
Penguins – Out.
As enticing as the giant man’s offer was, we surprisingly had more enthralling plans on our agenda than to entertain his gender specification.
>>>>>>>>>We ventured across the street to a joint called “No fun” (An ironic choice)
8 more whiskey and gingers please.
I glanced to my <<< left and witnessed a senorita dancing in the corner absolutely sola.
She wore this:
A tight black dress
A perfectly tousled bun
…and gym shoes
She was a talented lassie, there by her lonesome, with moves similar to jagger seizing hysterically (not at all epileptic) in the corner of the bar. You know how people are all into the term “baby giraffe” these days? Well it was kind like she was one of those…but with 2 fractured legs. Allow me to demonstrate:
Willing to give this sola artist the benefit of the doubt and eager to keep this night as strange as possible, we each exchanged turns attempting to collaborate with this new-found talent.
Let’s call her Cha Cha.
First up: Melanie
Melanie made her debut, clapping to the beat and ducking after each violent swing of Cha Cha’s bun. She attempted to make a classic movie reference reciting lighthearted and relevant lines such as “Nobody puts baby in the corner! GET IT? GET IT?”
I for sure got it.
Cha Cha however, did not.
She stopped in her t-r-a-c-k-s.
Enraged that someone had indeed, interrupted her groove and dropped subtle lines such as
“OUT OF MY WAY BITCH”
Melanie out. >>>> Charlie in.
Charlie went in headstrong going straight for the manual tWirl technique only to watch Cha Cha flee in the complete
Charlie out – Olive in.
I discovered Cha Cha shimmying in the far corner of the bar.
I made my entrance with my newest rendition of the pop and lock (inquire for details). She began to do the robot and that, my friends, sparked a dance off. (Get at me Channing Tatum). Realizing that my moves were swiftly reaching her standards she casually told me in passing, that I could kiss this:
Making new friends really is, the best.
After cementing a friendship with Cha Cha I glanced over at Melanie only to realize that her bra that was once strapped to her body, was now…in her hands.
So far, So weird.
She informed us that it was uncomfortable and proving to be an inglorious hassle prompting an unwelcomed Spaniard who overheard her distress to immediately beeline over to console her…offering his motor boating services in the process.
Such a good Samaritan.
Once everyone was fully dressed we ventured to find Lexi.
And there she was.
in the DJ booth completely…solo, like the boss that she was.
Somewhere in the last 2 1/2 minutes she had overtaken the DJ booth and looked like this:
We were kicked out immediately.
No longer welcome at our current location we suddenly found ourselves perched on the rooftop of the Delancey where a brazilian from Jersey struck up a conversation, wishing to converse in spanish.
I broke out my most insatiable spanish tossing aside any remnants of an american accent…He was pleased with my fluent ways and impressed with my colloquial banter…but within a matter of minutes the whiskey gingers from the two prior establishments began to sit heavy on my left hemisphere, in turn perplexing and confusing Paco as he attempted to keep the game-train going. I found my words to be mixed and my responses went from being the savvy bilingual chiquita from the upper east to…something less than flirtatious . A translated visual is available below:
“So do you come here often, Olive?”
“Beefcake salad and 13 shoes”
“…So…what do you do in the city?”
“Uh…Do you like…living in the city?”
“Burnt doves and spanish toast”
… 3 weird points for Olive.
Aware that my foreign love affair was indeed over, we made the executive decision to peace the fuck out.
On our way out the bar Jenn turned to the group and said
“All I want is a giant pickle tonight”
Now for those of you with a dirty mind, I applaud your modern-day, crude sense of humor.
I for sure thought Jenn meant that as well.
But indeed, we headed to the local deli to relieve her literal request and invested in a round of not 1 not 3 but 46, pickles.
Upon our arrival
Charlieand Jenn >>>>>>> sprinted to the counter and told the late night sandwich chef this:
“5 Pastrami sandwiches and a plate of pickles please…and don’t be shy.”
And shy they were not.
A plate of (questionably) fresh pickles were delivered in which Kate immediately began to teach a lesson of pastrami pickle pairing 101. Nothing weird about that.
And as they all sat there, pickles in hand, they each realized that they once again each, individually contributed to yet another episode of “weirdfest2012″and that a congratulations was in order, right here, right now:
Finally, after a lofty and lengthy awards session and feverishly consuming 46 pickles, we jumped in a cab and headed home, ready to leave the weirdness of this particular Saturday evening to rest…unaware that it would become a highly public blog post that would inescapably rest in the eternal archives, just a few short days later…Happy Weirdfest. We’ll be sure to celebrate again soon.