ExposedNYC

Yes, that’s right, a week and a half after dreaming about bar hopping with Justin Timberlake and Timbaland I was doing exactly that (well, by some decent stretch of the imagination anyway, nothing that would pull the muscle).

I got off work early for a change, well before the sun began to glare disapproval over the horizon at my recent habit of sleeping through daylight hours. I called the few girlfriends that I knew wouldn’t pulverize me for waking them to see if any were out on the town. I got an immediate response from Blondie, who was at Southern Hospitality- the bar Justin co-owns- and insisted that I come immediately because he was on his way.

Now, I like to pride myself on rarely being star struck, but there is something about this man that has always reduced me to a screaming teeny-bopper, standing on her chair at an *NSYNC concert. I own a couple concerts on VHS, which are a little warped from overplay, and I hung his shirtless Rolling Stone cover on my wall well beyond the age that that should have been acceptable.

So, I raced home and dropped off my bags, changed clothes five times before deciding that nothing was going to look right and that I was just wasting precious time coming to that realization, and raced out the door. I got there in time to meet Blondie, order a beer from the bar, and observe the other sundress-attired females attempting to look casual while frequently glancing towards the door.

Justin made a quick entrance to the back room, refusing an offer of a shot bought by a creative girl in his path along the way. Blondie and I hung back for a few minutes, let the crowd ooh and ahh, get frustrated, and head home. Then we decided to try to weasel our way into reserved territory.

This ended up to be easier than we could have expected, and in no time I was rubbing up against Joey Fatone, Lance Bass, Ashley Parker Angel, Trace Ayala, and Justin’s adorable mom Lynn. I casually sidled over to the beer pong table, where a game was being organized by Justin and a nameless friend against two young women, who were obviously previous acquaintances. I positioned myself across the table, plainly in his line of sight, and did my best Scarlett Johannsson/Jessica Biel impersonation (which basically consisted of pretending that I wasn’t completely delusional to try to sway the attention of a guy previously linked to the best tits and best ass in Hollywood). Things I observed:

1. He was dressed in a black Harley Davidson t-shirt, jeans, and a greenish fedora.
2. He was taller than I expected in person, a pleasant surprise.
3. He drinks Coors Light in a bottle.
4. He is an intensely competitive beer pong player, but not outrageously adept.
5. Timbaland stopped by briefly, and he looks much shorter and older in person.

When the game finished, Justin resigned himself to a corner, deep in conversation with a friend. I stood five feet away silently arguing with myself.

“I could just walk up to him and ask for a picture”

“No, you idiot. He’s surrounded by people he knows and dealt with that all night. Don’t be that girl.”

“But I would have that picture forever, as proof to my friends. I could just say ‘I just have one quick question, and will take your answer at face value, and then walk away and leave you alone for the rest of the night’”

“Yeah, and he hasn’t heard that before, and then played a concert on top of it. I’m sure he’s exhausted. Wouldn’t you just want to talk to your friends and be left alone by some party crasher?”

And, while my gaze swiveled from shoulder to shoulder listening to the arguments of either side of my conscience, giving me a neck ache and probably solidifying me as the crazy girl in the room, he decided to leave. I did at that point muster up enough courage to get in front of him and mutter, “Could I just shake your hand before you leave?” He was gracious enough to ignore my utter dorkiness and respond with, “Absolutely” before reaching out and giving me a firm handshake.

I then raced to the front of the bar to take at least a bad paparazzi shot as he left, knowing I would regret forever if I had NO pictures of the night I met him. It may not have been my moment of shining glory, but it was one that I’ll never forget. And if I ever get the chance again, I’ll remember to challenge him to a game of beer pong, or at least be the girl that knows to offer him his drink of choice.

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