Miami: Take Two: Saturday Night!

Our second night in Miami begins with another marathon PRIMP-tastic session.  Damn, we are some fine ladies!  Our waiter at Ola does not see fit to tell us we are dressed to get laid, though.  That’s fine with us.  Dinner is relatively tame, although the table full of menz next to us ask us to hang with them afterwards.  They send in one of their “representatives” to talk to us, but he keeps his hand in front of his mouth while he’s talking.   “I’m covering my mouth because I broke my tooth last night,” he says.  (I’m wondering if he was the best choice to woo the ladies.)

“How did you lose the tooth?” I ask. 

He shrugs.  “I don’t remember.”

Oh my God—this guy is straight out of The Hangover or something.  Would it really be safe to hang with this crew?

We take off from Ola and walk Chevre back to the hotel, as she is not feeling up to painting the town red again.  We are stopped just next to the hotel by a blond man (the Piano Man) who is standing at the door to a bar called Crescendo.  He asks us to go come inside and sing a few songs.  Eh, sure, why not?  Surely we can lend some of our awesome lyrical and comedy stylings to this bar.

Piano Man has thoughtfully provided Post-it notes and pencils so we can suggest songs to him.  He also welcomes our quartet (sadly, the Fab Five has been reduced to just four for the evening!) to sit on the other side of the piano. 

Renaissance is a lovely songbird indeed, and she kicks things off with a rendition of Journey.  The bar patrons urge her to stand as she sings.  I have a feeling this is to get a better look at her lovely legs!

Next up: a montage of awesomeness, as Piano Man indulges nearly our every whim.  Piano Man channels reality TV’s favorite lovelorn rock star with Brett Michael’s (well, Poison I guess) “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.”  Did you know a stripper inspired that song?  She unleashed such raw emotion and talent!

We all sing along next to Eric Clapton’s “Layla.”

I shake my head as the song finishes.  “That Layla is one hot bitch.”

“You’re a hot bitch,” Piano Man says into the microphone.  Heeee!

It’s time for a little Van Morrison and—of course!—“Brown Eyed Girl.” Intrigue turns to me.  “Don’t you hate it when this song comes on and like, every girl in the bar is all, this is MY song?!”

“Oh, crap,” I tell her.  “I’m totally that girl.”

Piano Man sings the next line: “My how you have grown….”

I lean back in my stool and gesture to my shoes.  “Yeah, it’s the wedges.” Piano Man practically falls out his own stool—he’s laughing so hard he misses the next line.

“Thanks ladies and gents!  I’ll be here all night!” I say.

Piano Man treats us to “New York, New York.” Renaissance and I get up and do our version of the Rockettes.  It’s a little slow, and a lot clumsy, but we finish strong as Renaissance’s shoe goes flying off and sails all the way across the bar right at the last note.  Perfect!

Alas, we feel our time at Crescendo has come to an end.  You should always leave them wanting more!  Piano Man literally picks me up in a bear hug.  “You can’t go!” he says.

“I’m sorry—we have to spread the love elsewhere,” I tell him.  And we’re on our way, tripping up the sidewalk to find the mythical Set.

It’s another huge crazy club much like LIV.  Outside, we find velvet ropes and beautiful people, and we stand on the fringes waiting to gain admittance. 

“Are we pretty enough for this bar?” I ask Uma, feeling judged.

It turns out we are, in fact, pretty enough (or something?), as the four of us are allowed in.  Renaissance leads us through the bar.  It is one of the most insane places I have ever seen.  There are bottles of liquor stacked up to the ceiling behind the bar.  It must be forty or fifty feet high.  Meanwhile, more go-go dancers gyrate for us and the rest of the crowd dances with sparklers, drinks, cigarettes and madness—most evident by the gold lamé pants I see on one club attendee.  Are those spray-painted on?!  They are frightening.

After a quick trip upstairs to check the rest of the scene, we decide we’ve had enough Miami excess and head back to the hotel.  We wake Chevre up and then settle into our beds and giggle.  It’s amazing how FUNNY everything is.  It’s almost like….we had a ton of vodka to drink, including some weird shots from the piano bar….or something.  Oh, wait, that’s exactly what happened.

And then—we hear a card key slide into the door.  What the hell? Intrigue and I hop out of bed and look through the peephole.  It’s a drunk, shirtless man trying to get into our room.  Who invited him?!  We are not exactly quiet as we run back and forth from the door to our
beds, squealing about the crazy drunk man who can’t find his room or his shirt.

Luckily, the Ritz personnel come to guide him to the proper room and we go to sleep.  Goodnight, Miami!

-Shakira 10.18.09