So I walked over to the bar. My good friends Reed and Karin, the marryees on this festive occasion, had done a phenomenal job planning this event and each bar was outfitted with their favorite drinks throughout their three year relationship. The bartender recommended a little concoction called “Virginia is for Lovers”. It had gin, pomegranate juice, and some other fruity stuff that I normally wouldn’t order, but hey, one girly drink wouldn’t hurt. At this point, it is probably important to mention that I was standing next to a former West Point football player from the Class of 95 whom I had just met on the shuttle ride from the hotel over to the reception, along with two friends I hadn’t seen in a while that not unlike me, are total assclowns. Respectively, we’ll call them Skullcrusher, Tomfoolery, and Hijinks. The shuttle ride was one hour and Reed and Karin, great hosts that they are, outfitted the shuttle with several coolers of Sports Beverages, known to the layman as Bud Light. Even though we had never met each other, the classic military posturing began, and in short order, Skullcrusher, Tomfoolery, Hijinks and I had emptied the coolers. There may or may not have been a shotgunning involved… Come to find out, girly drink or no, Virginia is for Lovers is a delicious beverage. We got another round. The line was long, which was somewhat aggravating; so when we arrived at the front of the line, I handed the bartender a $20 tip, despite there being no tip jar. He handed us four pilsner glasses in place of the mini-martini glasses and filled each giant glass with Virginia is for Lovers. Now we were getting somewhere. Tomfoolery decided to go all Ashton Kutcher Commercial out on us, and started stealing digital cameras from the tables and taking pictures of people’s butts and groins – thankfully still wearing clothes (for once). Unfortunately, in one scenario the folks returned to their table and he saw no way to return it. I Rangered Up and grabbed the camera, bent down behind the table for a moment, then stood and asked “Does this belong to anyone?” They were happy. I was a hero. We were now in with the bartender and Virginia is for Lovers flowed like wine…or water…or like Virginia is for Lovers. They all have basically the same viscosity, so just pick your simile. Aside, aside (heh, heh) – we’re drunk. I’m not a dancer. You will never see me on “So you think you can dance?” I cannot. That being said, I did spend 3.5 years of my life living in Germany with some of the craziest dudes you will ever meet, and we actually created some “routines” over there to 1) impress the Fraulines and more importantly 2) amuse ourselves. As such, I have a bit of a penchant for break dancing. But I’m older now…more mature…not a twenty-something wet-behind-the-ears infantryman anymore. I was going to hold back…until… Michael Jackson’s Thriller came on. I knew then what man has known, ever since the sands of time have sifted through the hour glass…or at least since 1983…Not unlike the Rhythm, The Thriller is gonna get ya… Every fiber of my being said, “It’s GO TIME.” But still, I held back…a voice inside of me said, “Maybe this isn’t the time to show everyone what you’re made of…maybe, and I’m going out on a limb here, just once, you need to not be an attention whore.” Then they got me: Skullcrusher called me out. Tomfoolery told me I was scared. And Hijinks took to the dance floor, casually telling me over his shoulder he was probably better anyway. I had no options left. When I say I can smoke Thriller, I mean it. What I did not expect was that Hijinks was equally skilled. We played off each other so well that they cleared the dance floor and the entire wedding was in a circle around us. This upped the ante. He’d do a move. I’d do a move. Each one had to be more spectacular than the previous one. His rhythm was a smidge better – I had to go with acrobatics. I did a bunch of drop downs, leg claps, etc. – all the basics, and he followed suit with moves of his own. It was time to go for the kill shot – to show Hijinks who the real zombie was. Aerial Split. Flawless. Floor slide. Crowd pleaser. Backspin. Laughter. Layout. Clapping. Popup. Hijinks knows victory is mine. Closing split. I get a grade 2 hamstring tear. This is probably the part where you ask, “Nick…did you just say that you got a Grade 2 Hamstring Tear while break dancing at a wedding?” And the answer is that is exactly what I just said. I’ve jumped out of planes, road marched, fought in every kind of martial art you can think of, lifted a stupid amount of heavy weights, played almost every sport, and nary a hamstring pull - never mind a tear, but on June 7th, all of that would change. Come to find out, when one of the largest muscles in your body tears apart, it smarts a bit. My first instinct was to writhe in pain on the ground, but then I thought, “What? And lose to Hijinks?” Instead, I tried to pop up. When I (quickly) realized that I did not have the hamstring strength to get up, I did a back somersault and hopped up on my left leg and finished the song. Before you ask: 1) Yes, it made my injury worse, but I won. 2) No, it was not an actual competition, but I make everything a competition. 3) If you think it is silly to complicate a major injury in order to win a wedding dance competition that isn’t really a competition, you clearly have never met me. As I hid my limp coming off the dance floor, I received many a pat on the back. I walked past a table with a few over-60 couples, and was asked point blank if I was a professional dancer. I replied, “Yes, ma’am. Yes I am.” Act like a teenager at a black tie wedding? Check. Abuse alcohol? Check. Receive a personal thank you from the photographer? Check. Told “Thanks for coming and being you” from bride and groom? Check. Lied to senior citizens about actual profession? Check. Tore major and essential muscle group for no good reason? Check. Walked two miles to the famous Arlington International House of Pancakes anyway? Check. I nominate, second, and formally send myself to Douchebagistan. I’ll be there for at least 6 weeks while I rehab. Copyright of Nick Click below to read more nominees to Douchebagistan! |
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