nablopomo: my drink and my stripper pole

i am not a club person. truth be told i have never been to a club, it's never been my scene. i don't even have ambitions to go to a house party. i think that's why people think i'm very stuck up, and 'artsy fartsy', i'd rather go to a lounge, poetry slam, jazz festival than drag my ass to a club anyday....and from the pictures i see, and the stories i hear, i must say i'm not too impressed.

dutty ass girls dutty whining on a dutty floor littered with empty bottles. guys who don't know the meaning of the word 'no'. chicks who insist on assaulting the world with their mirrorless fashions. dj's interrupting every friggin song with 'all the sexy ladies..blah blah blah'. chicks who insist they are not there to get chopped but to chill with their girls. bullshit. hot breaths. danced off deoderants. corn worthy shoes (which their ass can't walk in). bathrooms that smell like home on the range. and expensive flavored juice costing me $10. wtf?!

and no matter how 'classy' the club is that you go to, there are always fall downs who ruin the night for you.
but as i get older i find myself wanting to take my stripper dancing ass to a club, of course it has to be high end club though, none of this ghetto ass bullshit. i think i would be an amazing clubber, and i must be honest after seeing this video i think to myself "if i could find a club atmosphere like the concert in this vid, i would be so there" soo if i do go to a club, i will share my failures and successes with you guys.

so, check out the vid and also this email i rummaged up from a disgruntled club goer.

.kisses.

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Reasons Why Clubs Are Just Absolutely Horrible.

Reason 1: The Line Up.
The line is filled with girls glittered up and guys wearing leather jackets. Why does every guy look exactly the same? Thankfully, I am set apart with my doughy face and detailed eyebrows. The Line Up is key because nobody believes they belong in it. If you wait in line, you’re not cool. To who? I’m not sure. Probably to the other people who are waiting in line who you think are not cool. We must impress them. So then we begin to suddenly know somebody who can get us in. Chatter, as follows: “Ask the bouncer if Mikey’s working, he’ll get us in.” “Tell them you’re with Sarah +10” “This is Joey’s place man, he’s the head promoter, he’ll get us in.”


Truth is, Mikey was fired, Sarah’s passed out on a toilet at home, and there is no Joey. You just made that up.
Wait in line.


Reason 2: The Girls Who Never Have To Wait In Line.
There’s this faction of women in this world that anchor their pride in this one fundamental belief:
I never wait in line at clubs.
When you meet them, they will immediately inform you of this fact. Wait in line? Me? Fuck that. Do you know who I am? The answer to that question is really just their name. Look. They even do it at job interviews:

"Well, Sarah, thank you for applying to become the Chief Budget Analyst at Royal Bank, let’s get started, shall we?"

"Okay, fun!"

"Let’s start with what you think your key strengths are, Sarah."

"Okay, you know at Lot? I know the owner so me and my girls literally walk in. Mink? I dated the head bouncer, so they don’t even check. I can totally get you in, just text me and I’ll text him, kay? Circa is nothing, they know us. We’re in like thirteen of their promo pictures on their website. They kind of owe me but my friend Tony, he told—"

"I think I lost you. You applied to be the Chief Budget Analyst right?"

"You know what I’m craving right now? Like one of those fun peach bellinis! Wanna go for one?"

"It’s 820am, Sarah."

The new Chief Budget Analyst at Royal Bank.

Reason 3: You’re Really Not That Hot.

At clubs, many young ladies believe they magically turn into Victoria Secret models. This is due to young men who magically develop cataracts. I blame the entire system. Guys walk into a club with one core mission: make out with anything that has an attached uterus. This makes it easy for women who wouldn’t normally get attention at say, 10 am waiting for a streetcar on King street to transform into Jessica Alba at 230am when everyone’s heavily intoxicated. And it’s not like the women are walking away winners here. The guys they’re making out with? Train wrecks. If you don’t believe me ladies, take a look at your friends list right now and tell me how many of your male friends with a name that doesn’t rhyme with Leepak Bethi you would actually make out with sober.
Exactly.


Reason 4: Can’t We All Just Pee?
Going to the bathroom is an event at a club. Hundreds of people seem to need to pee at the exact same time I want to. Also, I am privy to the most inane conversation in the history of the universe.
“Dude, Sarah actually looks hot tonight. Did you see that ass? Mikey, you should deal that.”
“Dude I’ve dealt it like nine times already.”
“Fuck you, no way. When? You lie.”
“No man seriously. It’s true. She totally wants me.”
Then several young men deconstruct Mikey’s claim as to how he ‘dealt Sarah’ until Mikey finally exhausts all of his weak supporting arguments and runs away from the bathroom crying, flailing his arms wildly in the air. Then, while washing my hands, I get to see several young men try to fix their eleven hairs on their head, each spiked up individually. When they have completed, they look exactly the same.
Gel doesn’t fix ugly.


Reason 5: You’re just too old.
If you’re thirty-five and you go to clubs every night, I think that’s cool. Nothing is more appealing than someone who knows what’s hot on a Tuesday night. And also, we enjoy when you tell us what the club was called in 1989 when you first went. It’s like a fun history lesson!


Reason 6: Eating shit food after the club.
Actually, I have nothing against this. Have you seen me? I weigh a staggering one hundred and seventy-five pounds and at several points in my life, I have teetered on the brink of obesity. This is absolutely tremendous.


Reason 7: People who can actually dance.

<------She probably waited in line.

Many of you know I can’t really dance. You’re nice enough not to tell me. Wait. You know what? No you’re not. Many of you have told me many times, shattering me emotionally. How dare you. But it’s true. Much like my poor swimming ability, I can’t really dance. I bop my head up and down to the beat of Biggie sometimes and throw one or perhaps both of my hands up in the air, creating the fascinating facade of me actually dancing. But this is all an illusion. It kind of works until some dude named Hugo comes along and salsas it up with everyone while I unravel on the inside. Who names a kid Hugo anyway? Ass.

PS. There’s no way in hell Mikey dealt Sarah.

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cassidy ft swizz beatz - My Drink N My 2 Step [new]

by Lvick