With Frank properly attired, we instructed the driver to make a few victory laps around Soho so we could shoot the shit and have a few drinks before our first destination: Blue Mountain BBQ on Spring St.
Oh, so I forgot to mention. On the walk over to Sarah's, I ran into my friend Emily on the street who pointed out David Lee Roth's new two-storey apartment to me. I won't give away his exact address, but suffice it to say, one of the floors has a prominent balcony that overlooks a heavily foot-trafficked area of the Lower East Side). Anyway, she told me that according to rumor, DLR was having a huge Fourth of July party on his balcony. When I relayed this info to Grant and the Fatty, we all decided that we had no choice: we had to round up a group and attempt to crash it.
...the craziest, highest rock n' roll jump kick I've ever seen in my life. If only DLR (who lives less than a block away, incidentally) could've been there to see it - he would've wept with joy knowing his heir apparent lives. (This is so wallpaper worth - click here for the hi-res version).
With Grant still away (he was in the UK and then Spain for a few weeks chilling with his family), Fatty had some serious comedy slack to pick up. Luckily, he was up for the challenge, hunchedly chasing this snooty fur shawl-wearing lady down Park Ave while making a silly "I'm tip-toeing" face on our way back from playing Frisbee in the Sheep's Meadow in Central Park. Comedy gold, I tell ya. Later that night, a whole bunch of us met up in the East Village to celebrate...
...that's right. The one thing my mom forgot to mention was that all of the ski clothes that they had were purchased at the height of the eighties' fluorescent colors craze. Check us out! (You may need to dim your monitor's brightness setting in order to do so).
This was too fucking funny: Jen Choi and Amber were arguing over who should get to drink an errant shot of whiskey (that was likley there because we're all girly men who were too pussy to drink it). Jen Choi was like "How about we each drink half?" Amber was like "Sounds good. Here, I'll drink the first half." Then after pausing for a moment, she yelled "SUCKER!" and shot the shot. I managed to catch Jen's face right when she started to realize she'd been had. That just goes to prove the old adage: Never trust a heavily tattooed girl in a hot-pink lycra shirt to share her whiskey.
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