Coincidences, Jessica Simpson, Shaki...and the Infamous Dance Off

Coincidence? I Think Not

I’ve written about it before, but it will never cease to amaze me that life’s biggest decisions are sometimes made in a matter of hours, minutes…even seconds. In my most recent case, it was made over a weekend.

As many of you know, I have long struggled with the idea of leaving New York, as I think all transplants always do. It’s hard to contemplate moving back to the suburbs when you know everything you are leaving behind to do so. As I do when I have big decisions to make, I look to the universe to give me signs if things are right or wrong…but in this case, every sign pointed in every direction and I just couldn’t tell.

However, when both the people who were going to take my room fell through (or as we were calling them “The New Lia”) and certain other things I thought would work out in Florida turned out not to be as picture-perfect as I was imagining...I knew I had my answer.

But as I alluded to before, this decision was not made without the patience, support and love of my friends and my family. Thank you to M and A who stayed up with me until the sun came up on Saturday morning (meaning all night Friday was spent in deep debate) to help me analyze EVERY AGONIZING point and counterpoint of staying, to P who refused to ever believe I was leaving in the first place and took every opportunity to remark how sad she was to see me go and just generally lay on the guilt, and of course to my mom and sister, who told me my decision was right, knowing that I always need them to confirm these things for me.

So…the good news is, I get to keep my kick ass apartment, I get to hang out with the influx of new friends I know are moving into the city, I may still get the chance to go to Newport, Rhode Island and Philadelphia, can continue eating my way across the city, add to my karaoke repertoire, and find Laura from Cellar Bar and go round two in the dance off when she doesn’t have the judge and jury in her pocket (see below for the dance off specifics)….and last but not least, I don’t have to change the point of this blog and can keep documenting the fantastic random shit I see in New York City. Cause somehow, I don’t think the crazy streets of Boca Raton and Ft. Lauderdale can really compare right now.

A Public Affair

Try as I might, even though she gets on my nerves, I still like Jessica Simpson. I admit, I was on Team Lachey for like two minutes, until I realized that I too would probably hook up with Johnny Knoxville and Adam Levine were they to hit on me. Ok…no I totally wouldn’t if I was married….Ok, ok I would totally consider it.

Anyways, today I got sucked into the Top 20 countdown on VH1 and finally caught the video for A Public Affair. I found myself wishing that I lived in Hollywood and could go rollerskating with my BFFs Eva Longoria, Christina Applegate and Christina Milian. The video is totally cheeste-tastic and gay, but I loved it enough to wish I was in it..so I guess that counts for something.

However, I still hope Joe Simpson dies in a fiery car crash.


Shakira

I also just have to point out that the countdown is officially on for me to see Shakira in Miami on September 15. Today, also during the VH1 countdown, the video for Hips Don't Lie came on, and I’m sad to say that this story is totally true, I got so excited I actually began to cry from sheer joy. Now I just need to find someone to go with me – so all interested applicants, feel free to contact me directly. Your ticket will be free!

My First, and Very Possibly Only, Dance Off

There has always been a small part of me that wanted to get in a fight. Like a real fight where I get punched in the face and I punch someone else in the face, and the end result is that I kick this person’s ass and stand over their body and yell “Take That Bitch!!!!”

The only problem is, I’m not a violent person. And chances are, the scenario above will never, ever happen. I hold out a small ray of hope, but as I get older, I realize the likelihood of this coming to fruition decreases every day. So I figure that the only way I can ever come close to being victorious over someone in a physical way is what may be my best hidden talent – no, not my cover of Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative” (and note that I know how to spell it correctly) – but dance.

Thanks to my dad, Best Dancer of the Class of 1970, and my mom, who perfected the Hustle and the Bump at Studio 54 in the 70s…I just happen to be, through genetics, a phenomenal dancer. I think my friends would tend to agree.

And for someone of my dancing pedigree, I’ve secretly longed to be in a dance off. I can pinpoint this desire to a tabloid report circa 1999 or 2000 when it was reported Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake engaged in a dance off in a Hollywood club post break-up and pre-Kevin Federline. The desire was further fueled about two years ago when the show “So You Think You Can Dance?” began airing on TV. My answer? An enthusiastic yes, but because I never tried out for the show, I don’t watch it, because I can’t control the desire to dance around my room after it goes off, which is unbecoming of a 25-year old professional with roommates who would make fun of her if they ever caught her doing it. Nevermind a brother and sister who once found me out in 7th grade dancing full throttle in my room and made fun of me for oh, about 10 years after that.

Two Thursdays ago, I went out with three friends for dinner and after dinner, one decided it would be a good idea to go dancing. They suggested Cellar Bar, which I had never been to, so I said okay let’s do it. As with all nights that quickly spiral out of control, it started innocently enough, someone offered to order the first round. (It is helpful to note at this point that I also drank two beers with dinner, so this was my third drink of the evening and I usually have to tap out around four anyways). I love this move, because it forces the other people in the party to also order a round, meaning that you know your going to consume multiple drinks. Because I had cleared my plate at dinner, as usual, I was feeling a little sluggish so I got a Vodka and Red Bull, my drink of choice when I need to step up the energy level with the quickness. For the second round, which came around only 8 minutes later, I also ordered a Vodka Red Bull which means that upon the drink’s completion, my energy level was now roughly equivalent to the energy released when an A-Bomb explodes. The DJ was playing really fun songs and then he went for broke – he offered free bottles to the two best female dancers in the club. I was feeling lucky, but when I noticed that the first bottle went to the two girls who were making out, my friends and I decided that we weren’t going to go that far for victory. But the possibility still existed that we would win on the merits of our phenomenal dance moves so we continued dancing.

The third round came around, and I decided to switch my drink of choice to my new favorite – Stoli Raspberi and Sprite with a splash of cranberry and a lime. And this is where things started to turn around….the music was so loud that the drink came back a little wrong….I got a glass of Stoli with a splash of cranberry. The first sip was like getting punched in the stomach, I was, afterall, drinking vodka straight up. But anyone who drinks Red Bull knows what can happen when it’s coursing through your bloodstream – you are invincible. You can do anything. And so, I didn’t send the drink back…I drank it. Quickly. And I was basically having the best time ever.

So, N. and I are dancing near the front of the dance floor, hoping the DJ notices how great we are, but not hoping for much, when The Song comes on. Hips Don’t Lie. Shakira. We look at each other. We Smile. We begin to go crazy…when N. does the thing I’ve always needed someone to do – push me toward my destiny. She pushes me toward the “stage,” which is basically, the small platform in front of the DJ booth. She pushed me toward it, and I take the fateful step up…onto the platform. And I begin to shake.

At this point, I have to explain that I debuted the shake in Boston back in March, when N. and I went dancing after the taping of Dane Cook’s HBO special. I have the self-confidence to admit that I had been practicing. After watching the debut of Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie video, I decided I needed to learn how to dance as similar as possible. And so I began to practice…and because of genetics, as previously mentioned, I quickly got it down. I’m not nearly as good…but I’m good enough, and was very happy to learn that I can actually shake my hips extremely fast. And then I started to learn how to bellydance slightly, and then I learned how to combine the two. The result may be no more than an awesome party trick, but it’s awesome nonetheless.

So, now I’m up on stage in front of a packed dance floor doing the shake. And then people start watching. And they start cheering. And all I’m looking at is N. and our other two friends when I snap out of it and realize that I have an audience. And since the Red Bull and the straight vodka are in full control of me at this point, I decide I’m going to give everyone a show.

I’ve never danced so well. It was like I was Gumby. I could will my body to do whatever I thought. And when the song was done, and I swear to God that you can’t make this shit up, the audience cheered. And when I got down, people actually gave me five.

And that’s when the DJ threw it down. He said anyone who can shake faster than that wins the second bottle. I looked at N. – and very matter-of-factly stated, “No one can shake faster than that” and her very matter-of-fact reply was “No fucking way, this is OURS.”

And so a parade of wannabes went up there and tried as hard as they could, but it was very obvious, and not only by the audience boos, that there just was no chance. And then one DECENT AT BEST girl got up there and received half-hearted applause to make it a contest.

So the DJ said, let’s get the first girl back up there, and since I had regained my strength and breath at this point, I took the stage for Round Two. The audience cheered and I went for broke again, shaking and twisting. My thighs started to burn, my breath started to go, but I held it together until he called for the second girl to try again.

At this point, I have to give the girl credit. Many dance contests among girls turn into strip-offs. Someone lifts their skirt just enough, or whips their shirt off, she didn’t do that. She tried. She danced. So I appreciated that much, until the DJ called for both of us to get up on stage together and that bitch tried to booty bounce me off the stage. It’s also worth nothing at this point that I was wearing four-inch heels, in which I can barely walk normally, forget trying to hold my balance while someone tries to hip check me off the stage.

So I did the only thing I could do. I spun that bitch around, put my hand on her head and bent her over and tried to make her lose HER balance. She didn’t go, but I was able to make my point successfully.

The time period ended and now it was time for the audience vote. I was dead. My legs felt like someone had beat them with a rock, I was totally winded and worst of all, my stomach was beginning to hurt. But I was sure victory was mine. There was NO WAY she could have won. Only Shakira herself could have done better. So the DJ called for audience applause and Laura’s (we had to give our names after the music turned off) table of about 25 people turned up the volume, making it even. We went two rounds of applause, where my fans in the audience did the best they could, but Laura’s table made it impossible to gain an edge. And because they were ordering bottles left and right – the DJ called it in her favor. That asshole!

However, at that moment I had a bigger problem - I needed to use the bathroom. I had actually shaken so hard and so fast, that the pure vodka effectively milkshaked with my stomach contents, so I ran to the restroom and I had the best throw up of my life. I felt 1000 times better immediately but still exhausted, and came out of the stall to find N. waiting. Apparently she had gone over to the DJ, cursed him out and told him he sucked ass and threw the contest. I’m sure he had no idea what she was talking about, he obviously had no idea that sheer amount of lifelong dreams I had up on the stage, but N. did and it’s good to know that your friends are in your corner. While we washed our hands, I kid you not, four girls came up to me and told me they were cheering for me and asked did I give lessons?

I told them thanks, laughed out of disbelief and came out of the bathroom. Immediately, a very large black man came over and said, I just wanted to tell you that you can move. I laughed and said thanks. And he said, no seriously, you can dance, and if a black guy is telling a while girl she can dance, she can dance! And then he shook my hand and told me he was sorry the DJ cheated.

I looked at N. and we both decided that our jobs at Cellar Bar were effectively finished. And I went home, glad that I can check a dance off, even if I lost, off of my life’s to-do list.