Ninety Percent Chance Of Reign

So in the past three nights I've gotten in two dance-offs. As illustrated by the title of this post I bat about .900, with my only career losses being against DC. No matter the case, no matter the race, no matter the place, I do what I need to get the crowd clapping. The first showdown was at Point Pleasant, an incredible bar/restaurant at the top of one of the peaks here on St. Thomas. I was just sitting there, minding my own business when a local (who also happened to be waitressing at the time... interesting take on your job when you just jump on the dance floor mid-shift) (although upon further contemplation I'd probably get out there too, which explains my 9 for 10 average record in dance-offs) (I have nothing else to say, just wanted to use the pause concept again. Where was I? Oh yes, the local) challenged me to a "how low can you go" contest to the Ludacris song by the same name. Needless to say, I went low enough to make the dude from "Powder" blush. I was lower than G.W. Bush's approval rating. I was lower than the literacy rate in Mississippi (I'd apologize but the fact is those who would be offended by this can't read it). I was lower than Verne Troyer sitting down. You get the point. The fact of the matter was that she was unable to set the bar quite as low as I could. I stood up and walked away to thunderous applause.

Fast forward to last night. Now Fat Turtle was packed, and there was a bit-o-boozin going on. If memory serves me correctly, I'd be surprised if I remembered much at all. Two things I definitely remember as "the end of the night" are as follows:
1.) Kier mentioning that she just met three Hooters girls that are new to the island.
2.) Telling our restaurant manager that we had done enough dancing and that were ready to leave. Which was immediately followed by "Forever Young" by Jay-Z coming on and that statement being immediately retracted.

The problem is these two memories are both, as I said "the end of the night". They both were not. They were probably about two hours apart.

In the mean time, there was a dance-off.

Now as I've made fully clear, the few precious moments of said dance-off are a bit hazy. It was more like the pictures during the credits at the end of The Hangover. Not necessarily a full encapsulation of the night's transgressions, but a solid snapshot slideshow nonetheless. Here is how I remember things going just prior to the dance-off:
-The "watchu doin? I dunno" dance.
-A firedancer that refused to accept my challenge.
-Much applause from Taavon's necklace.
-Push-ups on the dance floor.
-Rocking the cyclone AND the Thunderclap.

So after all this, I find myself faced off with a 6'5" and at least 275 lbs. West Indian dude that thought I was trying to out dance him in order to win the affection of his ladyfriend. Undeterred, I confronted him, face to face, and said..... "This ain't no Dancing With The Stars, sucka. It's time for a dance-off."

The music screeched to a halt. The crowd oooooooooo'd. A circle was formed around us and he stared me down like he was going to eat my unborn children (yes I'm pregnant. Twins!!). Unfortunately for him, my glare spoke for itself - "you're going down, you handsome son of a B." It was tense. There we stood, squared off for what felt like an eternity before one of us made the first move. It was me. I turned to the DJ, and with full confidence and aspiration in my voice, said "Gimme the hard stuff." The song: "Take My Breath Away" by Berlin.

Naw I'm just kidding, It was more of a dance-off between DC and I, neither of us really remember much so we'll just call it a draw.

Currently batting: 0.904762. Holla!