Ricky Diamond got me listening to this song last night... And yes, I spent the better part of my morning dancing in my underwear while getting ready for work to it.
Showing posts with label Ricky Diamond. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ricky Diamond. Show all posts
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Karma
I’m a firm believer in karma. Unfortunately, it always seems to bite you in the ass at the bar. Last night was no exception.
I made it out to BBQ Bar and its crowd of Indie Rock Boys and the Top 40 Girls who love them. It’s also the only place I've been to where you can hear Black Eyed Peas mashed with Rage Against the Machine... And it actually sounds good. Every now and then I feel the need to dance to some mainstream pop. Rather than go to a classy establishment like Tabu and risk getting some tool looking like he’s screwing me from behind on the dance floor, I’ll go where you never know if you’re going to skank to ‘Bro Hymn’ or get low to it.
Although I love the Ke$ha diluted enough for me to enjoy, the real reason we’re here (like many other people) is for the $2 Narragansett tallboys that Ricky Diamond will be double-fisting all night. I'll stick to my gin and tonics, only to be called out by the lone and hapless Jersey Shore lookalike that obviously wound up here as a cruel and tasteless joke. At some point in the night he must have asked the wrong person, “Where's a good bar around here?” Instantly I ask if he's from out of town and he plays it off with the line, “Oh I live here, I…um…Just don't get out too often.” I try to shake him with talk of getting back to my boyfriend on the dance floor. Hopefully he doesn't follow me because my ‘boyfriend’ is wearing a fuschia and turquoise Addidas track jacket, and a turquoise visor with matching faux alligator shoes all the while contorting his torso to a remix of MGMT. Dead give away? Yes, but this Jersey Shore kid looks like he needs to be let down softly. He had such hope in his eyes, and such eagerness in the hand that he place on the small of my back before I deftly stepped to the side 1.3 seconds later.
Perhaps I should have been a little more friendly towards Jersey Shore. Much like Independent Bar is to my gay friends on a Friday night, BBQ Bar is to my previous hookups on a Saturday night: all stored neatly in one location where I'm sure to find them passing by the dance floor. Great for if I'm looking for someone to chat with while looking for my friend that went AWOL, and awkward for the same reasons. Exit Ricky, enter Previous Hookup. We’ve all used the same awkward lines: “Yeah, thought that was you.” “Recognized the tattoo.” Last night’s was, “So how was the tour?” We were having the We-Haven’t-Spoken-In-2-Months conversation where we stood in the same place where we confessed we had mutual attraction a few months prior. And though I’m playing it off well and it went smoothly, I found myself furiously scanning the crowd for Ricky as I heard Previous Hookup say the he was going back to the front bar to meet up with his bandmate.
I end up finding Ricky chatting it up with a friend and we finish off the night dancing while I let my buzz wear off. I tally up the nights wins and losses to see if I at least broke even, and as I leaned against the DJ booth I looked down to see some wasted guy in his Express button down bent over in front of me, fist-pumping with fervor to 2 Live Crew and his rear end sloppily knocking me in the crotch with the bass line. Ricky Diamond looked over at me, two tallboys in hand, and said in for-the-win style, “Look! It’s your chance to f*ck a guy in the ass!”
I made it out to BBQ Bar and its crowd of Indie Rock Boys and the Top 40 Girls who love them. It’s also the only place I've been to where you can hear Black Eyed Peas mashed with Rage Against the Machine... And it actually sounds good. Every now and then I feel the need to dance to some mainstream pop. Rather than go to a classy establishment like Tabu and risk getting some tool looking like he’s screwing me from behind on the dance floor, I’ll go where you never know if you’re going to skank to ‘Bro Hymn’ or get low to it.
Although I love the Ke$ha diluted enough for me to enjoy, the real reason we’re here (like many other people) is for the $2 Narragansett tallboys that Ricky Diamond will be double-fisting all night. I'll stick to my gin and tonics, only to be called out by the lone and hapless Jersey Shore lookalike that obviously wound up here as a cruel and tasteless joke. At some point in the night he must have asked the wrong person, “Where's a good bar around here?” Instantly I ask if he's from out of town and he plays it off with the line, “Oh I live here, I…um…Just don't get out too often.” I try to shake him with talk of getting back to my boyfriend on the dance floor. Hopefully he doesn't follow me because my ‘boyfriend’ is wearing a fuschia and turquoise Addidas track jacket, and a turquoise visor with matching faux alligator shoes all the while contorting his torso to a remix of MGMT. Dead give away? Yes, but this Jersey Shore kid looks like he needs to be let down softly. He had such hope in his eyes, and such eagerness in the hand that he place on the small of my back before I deftly stepped to the side 1.3 seconds later.
Perhaps I should have been a little more friendly towards Jersey Shore. Much like Independent Bar is to my gay friends on a Friday night, BBQ Bar is to my previous hookups on a Saturday night: all stored neatly in one location where I'm sure to find them passing by the dance floor. Great for if I'm looking for someone to chat with while looking for my friend that went AWOL, and awkward for the same reasons. Exit Ricky, enter Previous Hookup. We’ve all used the same awkward lines: “Yeah, thought that was you.” “Recognized the tattoo.” Last night’s was, “So how was the tour?” We were having the We-Haven’t-Spoken-In-2-Months conversation where we stood in the same place where we confessed we had mutual attraction a few months prior. And though I’m playing it off well and it went smoothly, I found myself furiously scanning the crowd for Ricky as I heard Previous Hookup say the he was going back to the front bar to meet up with his bandmate.
I end up finding Ricky chatting it up with a friend and we finish off the night dancing while I let my buzz wear off. I tally up the nights wins and losses to see if I at least broke even, and as I leaned against the DJ booth I looked down to see some wasted guy in his Express button down bent over in front of me, fist-pumping with fervor to 2 Live Crew and his rear end sloppily knocking me in the crotch with the bass line. Ricky Diamond looked over at me, two tallboys in hand, and said in for-the-win style, “Look! It’s your chance to f*ck a guy in the ass!”
Saturday, November 21, 2009
What happens in the DJ booth, stays in the DJ booth?
Yet another great weekend down in the books. The Magic beat the Celtics. My high school friends came in to Orlando to hit downtown. My good friend Lauren D. came in a week early from FSU and we hit our one-night tradition Big Belly Brewery for 3-4-1’s. Couldn’t have asked for more fun!
…Except last weekend. See photos below.
Ricky Diamond and I hit up Midnight Mass at Back Booth last weekend to spice things up a bit. We were going to give Sky60 a shot, but we got the good word that friends were elsewhere. Needless to say things got pretty crazy in the DJ booth!
This last Friday night was good. I caught the Magic game at Buffalo Wild Wings with my friend Scott Harris (think 740 The Game), which consisted of me ordering boneless wings with a side of all of Scott’s French fries LOL Luckily he says that he has dined out enough times with girls that he knows that we all eat the French fries of someone else. I-Bar was the typical, but the past 2 or 3 weeks I’ve been seeing more and more ‘suits’ there… What happened? Did all of the kids start switching from flannel to J. Crew? I ended up closing down Friday night at Stardust Lounge- I never knew that they had drinks there for $2.50…
Lauren and I shook things up for me this weekend by her calling me to say she was in town earlier than anticipated. Rather than attempting to get to Sky60 since last weekend it didn’t happen, we opted to climb the stairs and take in the night air at Latitudes. My friend Chris joined us, and we had a grand time debating philosophy (aka me sipping on Sweet Tea vodka while listening to Chris and Lauren talk about the bar being real because we think its real).
Chris has taken a fancy to busting my balls about my blogging. I know he’s only half-serious (he says he’s joking, but I always read into things far more than I should LOL). He asks if I can blog from my phone, and I say yes although I don’t have internet access on it. I say that I still tweet from it via text. I one-upped him in the form of microblogging.
Cross that one off of the to-do list!
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