Adventures of a reluctant club princess

I have an ambivalent relationship with clubs. While I like having an excuse to get prettied up every once in a while, and I love dancing (in fact, dancing may be one of the only things that keeps my ass from being substantially larger than it is, considering I can't seem to commit to going to a gym consistently for more than month), as I get older, the whole novelty is wearing off and I become painfully aware of what a silly little subculture I am immersing myself in.

A few reason why clubs are so utterly ridiculous (and, yes, some of these are wholly unoriginal and are said by pretty much every person who has ever set foot in such places):

#1- The whole worship-the-bouncer expectations. Somehow, by giving a select few individuals the power to decide who is admitted into a club and who has to wait in line and who does not, we have also given these bouncers superiority in all other realms of life. Now, I understand that some of them are merely doing their jobs, and also have to do a lot of dirty work, including kicking out drunk and angry folk. However, I resent the fact that I am supposed to flirt with them to skip a line-up, am not supposed to bring any men if I really really want to skip the line (which is often just a facade, anyways, as I will comment on later), and am never to protest any unfair treatment on their behalf. I also resent the ridiculous bribes they will demand from men or women who choose not to flirt with them to surpass these lines. It is just so crazy that getting into a club is enough to bestow these people with this power.

#2- The club strip. Where I live, there is one primary club strip that gets taken over by drunken twenty somethings every Friday and Saturday night. Somehow, the norms changes on these two nights of the week, such that random groping of strangers is acceptable, and the way to show someone you are interested in them is through a high pitched "wooooooo!". It also becomes acceptable to leave one's drunk barefooted friend passed out on the curb in order to flirt (I seriously saw this once. My friend got yelled at to mind her own business when she tried to intervene.) Not to mention the deceptive line-ups that dominate the street starting at around 10pm, which you are obligate to wait in for at least half an hour for the honour of paying to get into a club that is still empty.

#3- Prices- This needs little explanation. I know we Canadians still don't need to pay the prices that one has to in order to gain entrance into clubs in more prolific cities like New York or London-- but our clubs are nowhere near that good. Last night I paid $12 to get into a club because some DJ I'd never heard of was paying. Plus $3 for the mandatory service of storing my coat. Plus insanely overpriced drinks that you can finish off in two gulps-- and then you have to tip your bartender really well if you want to get decent service next time around. Those breast implants didn't pay for themselves, you know!

#4- Crowds. You might as well get in line before you even feel the inkling to pee, because you will have to go by the time you get to the front on the line. And apparently full force shoving a complete stranger is fully acceptable when you really really need to get to the dance floor in a hurry (OMG! It's my song!)

#5- Drunk girls who need attention. Any semi-decent looking woman who is not wearing a potato sack will get hit on in a club. It's just a fact (see point #6). Admittedly, I do try to make myself look a little more fabulous that usual-- but that means a nice pair of earring and a tank top. Not half a foot high high heels that you can barely walk in while sober and a skirt that doesn't cover your ass. Even worse is those who, even in the micro-mini, have not managed to pick up yet (I'm really in awe as to how this is even possible!)... about half an hour before closing time, predictably, the pseudo-lesbianism will begin-- a guaranteed attention getter.

For example... in the bathroom of the club I was in last night, there is a little lounge area with chairs across from floor-to-ceiling mirrors. My friend came out from the bathroom with a disgusted look on her face. Apparently, a girl in a tiny leopard print dress who I had observed getting more drunk and over the top as the night went on had decided to take the typical man-watching-TV stance on one on the chair... legs spread wide open... nothing underneath... in front of an enormous mirror. Yikes.

#6- Last, but not least, is the other side of the club meat market-- the men. I could write an entire post about the various lame pick-up attempts experienced and witnessed. Prime examples- the guy who followed me around screaming "Fuck you!" for an entire evening after I turned him down; the guy who threatened me after I told him to leave my married friend alone; the guy who thought it would be seductive to blow on me... hard... multiple times... after I mentioned I was feeling hot (he was seriously getting out of breath and even followed me, still puffing away, when I tried to leave). The funniest thing about all these attempt is that they must have worked one time for men to continue trying them so persistently. I really hate that girl who slept with the guy who randomly grabbed her ass on the dance floor. I also hate the whole drinks for conversation norms. Why do both sexes give into the notion that, if you buy her a drink, she is obliged to talk to you, and thus you get an opportunity to convince her to sleep with you? Doesn't that whole process really demean both parties?

I know you all love what a ranting judgmental girl I am!

However, to keep things fun, I will finish this post off with a silly little anecdote from last night. Some drunk guy was stumbling around and had something protruding from his fly. Perhaps primed by some alcohol consumption and my friend's past sighting in the women's washroom, I thought that the guy literally had his "male organ" hanging out. I gasped loudly and shook my friend. This fellow's friend saw me, and nudged him. He turned around, and it turned out it was just a party hat, and everyone thought the mistake was pretty funny. The guy came up to me a minute later and placed the offending party hat on my head, to which I loudly exclaimed "You put your penis on my head!" and frantically batted it away.