Our little Utopia (work) staff went out for drinks tonight after a long day of load in for our event. We're never a boring crowd, but tonight was particularly non-dull.
I've mentioned him before, but for this story, you'll need a quick run down of Brain from my office. He's a mid-40's techy type with a huge heart, short legs and one of the nicest guys I know. He's nerdy, in a very very endearing way but he's hip...ya know....he gets it. He surfs every weekend, he's mastered online dating and he loves everything Asia(n). My boss and I love Brain whose real name is Brian, but after tonight, he will forever be called B-Rain.
It was Latin night at Tijuana's in the lovely city of Irvine. And based on the outfits, I would have guessed we were at a South Beach prom gone wrong. Our crew was in sweaty polo shirts, various shorts and tennis shoes. But I will have you know, that WE, with our white dance moves and big smiles, started the dance floor. All because Brain looked over at the empty space with it's lonely disco ball and fancy fog machine and said, "Nice dance floor, but where are the bitches?"
It rolled off his tongue as if he said it every Friday night at the club. I convinced him that if we went out there, not only would we bring the dance floor, but the bitches too. And we did.
And B-Rain puffed his chest out the rest of the night as we worked it in the club.
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