And an extra special thanks to Scott & Leigh! In addition to pulling dance moves like this all night, they also shot tons of footage and interviews of the party...
Then later that night I took a ride up to Pat's Bar in Landing to visit Scott, who after years on the waiting list, is finally a regular bartender at Pat's!
Which the locals affectionately refer to as "The D.P." (which is accidental comedy gold as far as I'm concerned).
When most people think of New Jersey, they think of Guidos and horrible orange-women with belly-jewelry. While that's certainly something that Jersey should be famous for, what most people don't realize is that if you go into any part of western NJ near the PA border, Jersey is totally filled with rednecks! The DP was the embodiment of Jersey redneckness. We walked in the place and it was filled with bearded men wearing cowboy hats singing along to the country music that was blasting over the PA. Scott looked like he fit in, but me, I looked like someone in need of an ass-kicking so we only stayed for a beer.
...and they came out with their three kinds in a mini-procession! The best part about the whole bit? The fact that they chose Welcome to the Jungle as the song the DJ blasted when they came into the room. Amazing!
So by this point in the night, we'd told everyone that we'd flown in without a place to stay and that we planned on partying ALL NIGHT our first two days and sleeping in the car for a few hours each morning. So when when the Paddock had last call at 2am, the group (still clearly riding high from our Jersey-pride fueled rendition of Bon Jovi's seminal hit "Livin' on A Prayer"), was only too happy to indulge the "crazy New Yorkers," and suggested we all head to an all night karaoke afterhours club. ("An Arubian all night karaoke afterhours club." Is there a sweeter phrase in the world?)
By the way, as we were getting ready to leave the Paddock, the bartender put a stack of plastic cups on the bar. When I inquired what they were for, our new friend Inge explained that they were "to go" cups for your drinks. She mistook my blank stare of disbelief and explained further, "You know, in case you're not done with your drink - you pour it in one of those and then you have it with you for the car ride to where ever you're going next." Me: "Um, but isn't it illegal to drink and drive?" Inge: "I don't think so. Wait, maybe it's illegal for the driver to be drinking, but it doesn't matter. Everyone does it anyway." Me: "Isn't that dangerous?" Inge: "Not really, there are only a few roads and the speed limit is 35mph everywhere - so even if you crash no one really ever gets hurt." Um. Yeah. O-kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.
I call this photo "Birthday Boy, 5:42am." If you listen very carefully while looking at this picture, you can actually hear him groaning. (PS - Is that a velour shirt you're wearing, Scott?)
At some point in the early morning, my roommate's cat walked into the living room with something in his mouth. Which closer investigation revealed to be this severed mouse head! UGH! Here's Scott laughing hysterically and posing with it.
Now Scott and I had spent many an hour compiling lists of things we would do if, per chance, we were ever given our very own midget. So we didn't waste any time and got right down to the activity at the top of our list: finding out just how much alcohol a midget can actually consume.
