Antics on a Saturday night

Round One: Back Page

Last night, Lauren, Caroline, Angie and I went to Back Page to watch the Final Four basketball games. Despite the crowds, we were able to snag a table in the back corner with a clear view of the screen. Well, a mostly clear view...the bottom of the projection was cut off, making it difficult to track the score...but other than that it was a clear view. 

As we sat in the corner watching Memphis dominate UCLA (one half of my bracket going kaput), we noticed a group of relatively cute guys sitting two tables over. Determined to redeem my utter failure the last time I spotted a cute guy at a restaurant, I begin to set wheels in motion to interact with the table of guys.  The girls and I brainstormed our options (Send over a plate of wings?  A pitcher of beer?), and we ultimately decided to solicit help from our waitress, a tactic inspired by our fabulously friendly and helpful waitress at Hi Life who aided us in Operation Hawks Hottie.  We flagged our waitress down and said, "Hi.  We notice you're waiting on that table of guys.  We think they're cute.  Are they?"  She looked at us with a deadpan expression and said, "I don't personally find them attractive.  Why?  Do you know them?"  "Um...no...we just think they're kinda cute.  Let us know if they are and if they're nice to you!"  [Insert forced awkward laughter from us and continued deadpan expression from her.]  

Needless to say, we were not too enchanted with our snotty little waitress.  She was no fun and NO HELP.  Not only did she never report back on the guys - as in NOT A WORD - she also avoided us the rest of the night, despite the fact that, you know, we needed refills and, you know, food.  With the waitress plan down the drain, we stumbled through our other options (Back to sending over wings?  Just walking over and sitting at an empty chair at their table?), but everything seemed a bit brazen for our tastes.  We decided we were done with Back Page and, with a UCLA defeat in pocket, headed for our next destination.

Round Two:  Brother Jimmy's

Happy to be done with the Jayhawk-infested bar that was Back Page, we found ourselves at Brother Jimmy's, a regular ole Southern watering hole filled to the brim with UNC fans like myself.  (Side note:  There will be no discussion of game two that was the UNC/Kansas debacle, except that both halves of my bracket are now kaput and there will be no money coming my way from my Yahoo! sports pool.)  After being secluded in the back corner of Back Page for one game, interacting only with the unfriendly waitress from Hades, we enjoyed the more upbeat atmosphere of Brother Jimmy's.  We did, however, have several mysterious, bamboozling, humorous incidents:

Incident #1:  Clemson Cutie

Eyes wide open to the Southern studs that hang out at Brother Jimmy's, we noticed across the crowded bar a cutie patootie in a Clemson hat.  He was quite good looking and was dressed in a charming navy V-neck sweater.  As we stood and chatted, we looked up and noticed that the Clemson Cutie was walking our way.  You can imagine our surprise, then, when he walked right up to us and, out of nowhere, said, "Hi."  In my head, I thought, "Ohmigosh, did he hear us talking about him?!"  We were so befuddled by his awkward approach that we lost our normal wits and charm.  Never mind, though - his cute exterior gave way to a weird and intoxicated interior.  He was totally uninterested in us and instead tried to introduce us to his friend R-O-B (not Rob...'R-O-B'), who allegedly just moved to New York.  I later asked Rob when he moved to New York and he said two years ago, so I'm not quite sure what was going on there.  And then, as quickly as he swooped in, Clemson Cutie swooped out, leaving us confused as to what just happened and if he even knew R-O-B at all.

Incident #2:  The shirt

Later in the night, Angie saw some friends from Florida come in, including her friend Elliott.  All of the sudden, she burst out in a panic, "I'm wearing the same shirt I had on the last time I hung out with him!"  Rolling my eyes and thinking her somewhat insane, I said, "Ang, he's a guy.  He will not remember what you were wearing last time you were with him."  "No," she responded, "he will.  We talked about my shirt for like an hour.  He will remember."  With this, she looked at my shirt and proposed that we trade.  Always up for an adventure, and okay with the sitch because her shirt was cute, I agreed.  We headed to the bathroom, swapped shirts, and emerged as new women.  I felt kind of like Clark Kent.  We headed over to talk to Elliott, and about two minutes into the conversation, what did he bring up?  The shirt Angie had been wearing the last time he saw her.  And I am not kidding, we talked about the shirt for the better part of half an hour.  I had on a jacket over the shirt, so Elliott did not realize that I had on said shirt, but Ang and I got a kick out of hearing his commentary on her wardrobe.  He even looked at me and said, "Seriously, you should see this shirt."  Oh no worries, buddy...I've seen it.  And I'm wearing it.

Incident #3:  Huh?!

Angie, Lauren and I were standing outside Brother Jimmy's, preparing to leave.  A total stranger came up to us and said, "You have small heads."  We found this to be rather strange.  In particular, I found it strange and untrue, because if there's anything I know about my head, it is that it is kind of large.

And there you have it...just another Saturday night in New York City.