Coyote Ugly Needs More Jazz Hands

We did about a million things yesterday, and I could give you all the details, but who really wants to read someone’s travel journal? FIRST COMES THE DAY:

  • Bacon waffles and mimosas for breakfast

  • Walking through Central Park
  • Touring the Metropolitan Museum of Art where Kim told us that the $25 admission price was only a ‘suggestion’. We watched her get in for only a dollar. I paid $7 and then apologized. Kim informed us that you can always tell someone is from the Midwest because they’re always apologizing. I promptly said, “Yeah. That’s true. I’m sorry.”
  • We walked. And walked. And walked. And then Kim and Rae sent me back to the hotel for a nap while they had some random people in Chinatown rub their feet. Our plan was to go out at night and drink, and we all had to prepare.

 

THEN COMES THE NIGHT:

Kealoha uploaded all these things on my phone and conveniently put on the location for a tiki bar called Otto’s Shrunken Head. Our night started there, because if your plan is to go out in New York and drink until you’re stupid, it’s best to start at a tiki bar.

 

The drinks were so stiff that Rachel’s voice dropped two octaves and Kim grew chest hair. I was totally fine because Kealoha has put me through a rigorous training exercises with rum based drinks and hoops set on fire. I won’t go into that. Let’s just say we’re very happily married.

We decided to meet up with some old New York friends of mine. They’re not OLD, exactly, just friends from like ten years ago. I told them I’d give them Secret Identities on the blog, but I was so drunk that I can’t remember what they wanted to be known as. I think they were like super macho names or something, so let’s just call them Betty and Twinkle.

First, we had to eat. We found a nice little tapas place that looked inviting. It had dark wood paneling everywhere. It was like eating in a sauna. The Spanish waiter ignored Kim and I completely. He was smitten with Rachel. He even gave us a round of champagne FOR FREE. That has NEVER happened to me in New York. EVER. I think I want to carry Rachel around in my pocket. She’s like a superhero in hailing cabs and getting free drinks. She says it’s because of her boobs, but I think her face might also be part of the attraction.

 

 

Betty and Twinkle said they’d meet us at a bar that was close to us. They chose Coyote Ugly.

Let me say that again: COYOTE UGLY. You remember that movie? About the heart-of-gold girl who wants to Make It in the Big Apple so she takes a job at this bar where she learns to dance on the tables and sing? Yeah. THAT Coyote Ugly. Only this one was like the D List of Coyote Uglies.

We had a round of drinks, I went to the bathroom. The bathroom was straight out of Hades and I immediately threw up. Oh, the pleasure of having a weak stomach.

When I got back, the Big Bouncer dude came over to me and grabbed my hand and started pulling me to the bar. “No, no no no no!” I said. “No way am I dancing up there!”

And then I was dancing up there.

He lifted me to the bar. I guess they do this with random women. A few had gone before me. It’s actually pretty awkward and desperate to watch school teachers in their late forties dance all sexy-time. So, standing up there, I decided that what Coyote Ugly needed wasn’t another Sexy Woman Dancing. No. Coyote Ugly needed Jazz Hands. So I did what is probably the WORST DANCE EVER, and it might just show up on Youtube. Someone actually said “Oh, honey”. I bit my lip, I tapped, and I did this unique move where I pretend I’m hitchhiking.

Then I leapt into the bouncer’s arms ten seconds later and I was done.

I’m pretty sure that my dancing up there caused two, possibly three, pregnancies. It was that hot.

Rae got up next and I think she earned enough money to pay for our trip. (I’m telling you, I’m going to carry her in my pocket.)

AND THEN:

And then our New York friends with the cutest Brooklyn accents ever took us to this hipster bar. We did a round of shots and then we danced. We danced because they played the best mix of old-school Motown music. A smooth guy spun Kim around the dance floor and they did a complicated routine that just doesn’t happen spontaneously, but some how did. It was magic.

AND…

Then it starts to get a little blurry. We stopped for pizza where Kim and Rae and I pretty much told everyone how much we loved them and our Brooklyn buddies just laughed at us. There was some philosophical discussion about the importance of Fungi and then our friends looked at us and said: “You guys are done.” They hailed us a cab, and we were whisked away to our hotel, where we promptly collapsed.

THE MORNING AFTER

We have all made a solemn vow to never drink again. At least until lunch. This is what happens when you meet up with your college roommates.