Anyways, after a few hours of lazing in the setting sun, letting our core temperatures drop from a hot day, we decided that we had the itch to go dancing. *Ntsi-ntsi-ntsi-ntsi* (sound of dance music)
Now let me tell you a little something about myself: I am a professional nerd. And as a long-standing nerd, I haven't done the whole clubbing thing. Maybe once. Ever. As a young adult, I did not see the fun in staying out late in a crowded room, making an idiot of myself, and spending the next two days recovering. I am not a friendly person without sleep. And so while my generation was out living it up, I was curled up in bed trying to keep my eyes open long enough to reach the end of a chapter in a murder mystery.
But now I've hit 27 and it's as though something in my psyche has gone "What the... Wait a minute.... Wait, wait, did I miss something....???" I actually feel like dancing. That's not to say I'm a very good dancer - I actually suck on a whole new level - but it's fun, right?
So back to Friday night, we went to a nearby place called Billy the Bums... you may know it. It's hard to play it cool in a place where so many new exciting things cross your path. Like, for instance, the bar-tender who juggles with bottles and flicks them and throws them up then spins them behind his back then, oh my, he's doing it with two at once and.... I'm like a kitten chasing the red light of a laser-pen, I just can't play it cool. Ok, deep breath, so what, he's chucking a bottle around. So what? Puh-lease. Impress me if you can.
We stood around for an hour, which brings me to my next problem with clubbing... Why can't you start dancing whenever you want? Why must you wait until 11PM? Who decided that it's only nerds who dance before 11PM?? Whoever they are, they stink. They really, really do stink.
So yes, we stood around for a hour, during which time, my gracious companions warned me about Billy the Bums. It's a rough crowd, apparently. Lots of people picking people up, lots of guys getting too close to girls they don't know (I think 'grinding' was the word used, gross) and lots of girls getting in your space... kind-of like a battle for territory. So, considering myself duly warned, we eventually hit the dance floor, which was populated by people who did not look like nerds.
First song, cool, no issues. Second song, short fat old man bops his way across dance floor. Short fat old man gives nerdy-girl (me) cheesy grin. *shudder* Short fat old man utters the line that has failed so many of his kind before him: "So can I buy you a drink?"
Why!? Why do you do it, short fat old man??? You could be at home, reading the paper, ageing with grace. People would think you're adorable. Why??????
Short fat old man bops away, and goes to play it cool by the juggling bar-tender.
Which brings me to my next irritation... why must it always be a sad old man picking me up? It's not my first pick-up, and it's always some old fool who's disillusioned with life, grasping on desperately to his youth. Why can't it be a virile young stallion of a man with straight teeth and perfect hair? Look, I'm utterly happily married, so the answer would always be a big fat no-thank-you, but for once, it would be far more flattering to be picked up by Robert Pattinson or someone equally acceptable-looking.
*SIGH*
I danced a little longer, but soon realized that perhaps Billy the Bums is not for me, and excused myself shortly after 11PM.
Man, I'm a nerd.
No comments:
Post a Comment