Let’s “rewind it back” to New Year’s Eve a few years ago. Once the bar party we were at ended, my friend and I found ourselves at a crossroads for what to do with the rest of the evening. And by evening I mean morning, as the sun would have been rising in a few short hours. Apparently six hours of binge drinking was not quite enough.
The group we had originally gone with had slowly dispersed. Some were passed out in their own urine on a street corner. Another had made the excellent decision to drunk dial her jerky ex-boyfriend to “meet up.” One couple had already made their way back to my house to pass out sans shirt and vomit on my futon.
And then there were two.
New Year’s Eve in Chicago = freezing. The streets are typically a skating rink. And finding an available cab is akin to a cage match. Fortunately for my friend, I had brought my brass knuckles and sabre for the occasion. Bring it on people!
As we stood shivering while trying to hail down every taken cab that went by, we began talking to some drunken gentleman outside the bar. I noticed one of the men was wearing some very sweet black and white pin-striped pants. Thankfully, his very handsome face was a distraction from those god awful pantalones.
They eventually invited us back to their place. My friend and I telephathically conversed and politely declined. They then mentioned they had pizza at their house.
Naturally, we changed our minds instantly and quickly agreed to accompany them. In fact, I offered to carry the crew on my back, with no shoes on, uphill, over broken glass…as long as the promise of pizza still remained at the end of the journey.
By the grace of God, at this exact moment a van cab pulled up and we piled in to go to some stranger’s house we spent all of two minutes talking to. Let’s just say that the thought of going back to some strange men’s house isn’t quite as scary when you’re packing the heat. (Heat is the name of my sabre, of course.)
When we arrived they quickly started warming up the oven for the pizza. Let the romancing begin! The smell of melted cheese is the best foreplay maneuver in my book. Trust me, you’ll get way farther with pizza then you will with rose petal trails leading to an aromatic bath, wine or candle light. Even if it’s only Tombstone, beggars can’t be choosers!
As the pizza was warming up, Pin Stripe Pants decided to put on some tunes. Usher’s song “Yeah” started blasting from the stereo (“Lil’ John!”). My friend and I quickly realized that not only were we going to be treated to dinner, but also to a show!
We watched in horrified fascination as Pin Stripe Pants began doing choreographed moves to “Take that – rewind it back – Usher got the voice that make ya booty go CLAP.” He was sashaying left and right, barely in time with the beat. He incorporated some elaborate twirls as his pin stripes swayed to and fro.
“My outfit’s ridiculous, In the club lookin’ so conspicuous.”
I honestly was expecting a disco ball to drop from the ceiling and Ed McMahon to come running in from one of the rooms. Star Search, we have arrived! I couldn’t take my eyes off this train wreck but somehow managed to stifle my laughter. Pin Stripe Pants was very clearly NOT looking for a dance partner, or for my friend and I to join him. He was wanting to show off! Even better was that his friends sat there watching this unfold as if it was all quite common place.
The best part of the whole choreography was trying to decipher what he was doing while performing these weird finger-rolling movements near his ears.
“Cause on a one-to-ten she’s a certified twenty, and that just ain’t me.”
After the song ended, I asked him about some of his strange finger manipulations. He proudly informed me that he was imitating using a Q-Tip on his ear. And that his nickname was Q-Tip.
Nice. Lombada is the dance of lust? No way. Lombada con ear wax? Well, that’s more like it. Thanks Q-Tip!
To this day, I often think about his lanky body clad in pin-striped pants, sliding across the floor, and I can’t help but giggle.
No hard and fast dating rules here: I never ended up going out on an actual date with Pin Stripe Pants. My friend and I basically used him and his friend for pizza…
…and to copy some of his sweet dance moves.
I’m actually all for any type of choreography at any time. My only rule is that you feed me pizza FIRST. Then entertain me with your ear canal cleaning moves.
“She asked for one more dance and I’m like YEAH, how the hell am I supposed to leave?”